A/N: Hi there! This is a collaboration project between two people. We've written the first chapter together, and the story is an AU set in Massachusetts, 1800s. Hope you enjoy! ~December Tarot

Nighttime had fallen. Sam Winchester had grown used to the night. There was something different about hunting in the dusty twilight hours, something haunting. But nothing would ever compare to dealing with his brother.

"Why are you even here!?" Dean's voice carried past the thick oak door. "It's not like you're really our brother!"

Yes, the night was truly magical. One hour back from the longest hunt of his life, and he was already killing a beast of a different nature.

Sam stepped back from the door anxiously and sighed a heavy sigh. Cas is probably on the verge of tears about now, he thought dejectedly. I should probably step in.

Without waiting any further, Sam reached out towards the doorknob, and swung the door open uneasily. It slapped the wall of the adjacent room with a weak bang, and the inhabitants didn't even notice.

The room was situated at the back of the old brick house: the only entrance Sam would use. He liked to come in quietly, in these hours, to avoid any unwanted attention from the servants or his family. But now, he had to face them, whether he wanted to or not.

Dean was inching closer and closer to Castiel with every shout, his eyes dark. Cas was clutching onto the nearest wall, his vacant expression affixed to Dean's face. It was hard to pick out emotion on him, but Sam could nearly smell the fear and anger.

"Why don't you ever say anything? You freak me out sometimes!" Dean Winchester waved his arms. He had no lack of emotion, of course.

At the mention of the word freak, a flash of sudden anger crashed over Cas' face. His blue eyes darkened, and he frowned bitterly. Sam cleared his throat loudly, momentarily freezing the two in argument. Both Dean and Cas turned their heads to stare at him, the air thick with dust.

"Dean, don't be ridiculous. He'll always be my brother."

Cas beamed. Dean, frowning, forced his arms into a knot across his chest.

"Sammy. Welcome back." He sounded strained as he walked forward to embrace his brother.

Over the shoulder of Dean, Sam pointed a meaningful look at Cas, still frozen against the wall. Somewhat awkwardly, Cas started forward to join them. Dean pulled away, still frowning.

Sam gave Cas a light hug, and ruffled his hair with a small grin. He had always been the tall one–Dean was about the same height as Cas, but for some reason, he seemed bigger. Maybe it was his mouth. Sam smirked.

"I'm home, Cas. Miss me?"

Dean scoffed, and leaned heavily against the doorframe. Sam raised an eyebrow, frowning ("Family is thy virtue, Sammy. Family is thy virtue.") He turned back towards Cas.

"Well, don't get too excited," he said, rolling his eyes. "I'm going to go wash up, I'll meet you two in the dining room for dinner, okay?"

Cas pushed past Dean, giving Sam a quick glance before disappearing up the staircase and out of view.

Dean grunted. He glared at Sam, an accusatory look on his face.

"Why do you even care about him, Sammy? He's not really our brother, you know."

Sam just sighed, and shrugged. He shot an equally annoyed look at Dean, and patted his shoulder once, awkwardly, as he started up the stairs after Cas.

Uncle Bobby was waiting for them upstairs. He sat at the head of the battered wooden table, his arms crossed.

"Well, look who the cat dragged in." He said, sarcastically. "Never thought you'd come back, boy."

Sam plopped down in the chair beside him, letting out a long breath. He could smell dinner, and he let it wash over him like a warm rain.

"How was the hunt?" Bobby leaned forward to whisper behind his hand. Sam chuckled, smirking.

"Taken care of," he smiled again. "Vamps never had a chance."

Bobby gave a grunt of approval.

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Dean and Cas.

"And those idjits?" He asked. "I heard them shouting all afternoon."

"I think you only heard one of them shouting," Sam replied, leaning back in his chair.

Bobby held back a dry laugh.

"Well, they shut up pretty darn fast after you came," he said, with a swig of his drink. "Must've said somethin' right."

"You don't need to be too eloquent to shut Dean's pie hole."

Dean jerked up, looking suddenly excited.

"Did someone say pie?" He shouted, waving his arms.

Bobby sighed, looking tired.

"No, seriously. Where's the pie?"

"There was never any…" Cas began, in a monotone. "…pie." He stared at his plate blankly. He looked confused.

"I wasn't asking you," Dean pouted.

"Sit down, you idjit." Bobby barked. "There's no damn pie!"

Dean looked as if his uncle had just shot his favorite horse (a black-coated thing that their father had given him on his nineteenth birthday).

"No pie?"

Sam stood abruptly, with a nervous laugh.

"You know what, Dean? We can go out and get some pie tomorrow, okay? I heard the Harvelle's can cook up something good."

Dean nodded fiercely, still pouting.

"Damn straight." He said. "Damn straight."

…...

Diary Entry #1,

I am starting to think Dean does not like me. Sam always says Dean is just something called an "asshole", but when l called him that, all I got was a sarcastic laugh and a warning about "language" from one of the maids. Sometimes Sam makes no sense.

It has been ten years since I came to live with the Winchesters and Bobby Singer. My last name, or my real one, is as lost as my past. John Winchester told me I was his illegitimate son, whatever that means. Sam says it's a miracle that they found me, but I don't remember anything at all. I have always been here, in this house. John died a year ago, and Mary before I came, but Bobby is a good man, and I like it here. I do not understand why Dean dislikes me–he tends to talk loudly when I'm around, call me things–but Sam is more than a brother. He's a friend. Sam calls this "best friends" but I am not entirely sure that's what it is. All I know is without Sam, I wouldn't be here at all.

Castiel. Friday, May Fourth, 1842.