The second time Sam Winchester fell in love, it was with a sexy, well-endowed, shiny-spandex-wearing superhero in one of Dean's comic books, but after the whole "you-can't-bang-fictional-characters-so-stop-drooling-into-your-broccoli-son" debacle (John Winchester did not have time for any distractions, no matter how pretty, while he was training his boys or out on a hunt), he wouldn't even acknowledge the incident. He didn't fall in love again until high school. Sure, there were crushes here and there, but Sam refused to let it develop any further. The longest they'd ever lived in one place was seven and a half months, and that didn't exactly lend itself to significant relationships.

But even the most rational human being has to give in to his heart at some point.

He was fifteen – almost old enough to drop out, as Dean often reminded him – and the Winchesters had just relocated to a small town in rural Tennessee. Dean at least was happy. He got a kick out of the southern accents, and he took full advantage of his longish sandy hair and bright green eyes every chance he got. He had a new girl every week or so, which drove Sam crazy, but since when had Dean ever listened to sense?

Sam liked to think he was a little more mature, but the day Abigail Wilson wore that white dress to school, he lost all sense of superiority and gave in to the long-suppressed hormonal side of his brain. Abigail was short, but not too short, much like her dress – it rose above the knee, which was near scandalous in a backwoods town like this, but it wasn't like it showed half her thigh or anything, and the neckline was conservative enough. She was cute, but also smart – she was in Sam's honors English class and advanced biology – and she drove most of the boys in school crazy with her unflappable charm. When she passed Sam in the hall, sashaying her tiny hips in that white dress, Sam's mouth fell open and he outright stared. The dress accentuated her subtle curves, and her long dark hair flowed in loose curls down her back, not restrained in its usual braid.

Sam was reduced to a gaping, speechless idiot.

He eventually regained his senses, although he was late to Spanish. "Dude," he said breathlessly to Eric, his best friend in this town. "Abigail Wilson…" He trailed off, noticing the profesora was giving him and Eric the evil eye.

Eric grinned. "Buena suerte, amigo," he smirked. "Good luck with that. She's a feisty little thing. Plus—"

"¡Chicos!" bellowed Sra. Green. "No hables en ingles en mi clase, por favor."

Appropriately chastised, Sam immediately shut up.

To his surprise, Dean was in the kitchen when he got home. "Dude. Aren't you supposed to be at work?" Sam asked.

Dean responded with his usual snark. "Dude. Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

Sam opened the refrigerator door in a vain effort to find an unspoiled jug of milk. "Shut up. You know school's over."

"Yeah, like, an hour ago. What'd you do, stay after for chess club?"

"Math tutoring," Sam mumbled, mouth full of very stale pretzels.

"Tutoring?" Dean looked genuinely surprised. "What happened, Sammy?"

"No, I mean, I was the one doing the tutoring. Some kid needed help in trig, which I happen to remember really well from last year, so I stayed after to help him," Sam explained. "Anyway, why aren't you at work?"

Dean shrugged. "Boss kicked me out. Weren't enough cars to work on, so he figured he'd give me a half day."

"Huh. Well, bonus for you, then."

The brothers were silent for a bit. Dean was the one to break it, obviously "What's on your mind, Samantha? You got girly troubles or somethin'?"

"Call me Samantha one more time," Sam threatened, "and I will tell Dad what you were really doing during that job last week when you said you had work."

"Hey, that Darlene chick was hot!" Dean shot back. "Besides, that's not the point. You've got something goin' on in that big brain of yours, Sam. Spill."

Sam heaved a huge, overly dramatic sigh, just to irritate his brother. "Well, there's a girl."

"Of course there's a girl. So who is she?"

"Abigail Wilson."

Dean whistled through his teeth. "You sure know how to pick 'em, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Her dad comes into the shop sometimes. He's a real piece of work. Crazy protective of his daughter, too. And she's got three older brothers."

"Oh, man." Sam cradled his head in his arms. "How am I going to…"

"Start small. Just talk to her," Dean advised. Clearly he understood that this situation was too serious for his usual ribbing. After all, it had been a long time since he'd had an opportunity to meddle with Sam's life like this.

"We already talk; she sits in front on me in English."

Dean gave him a lecherous grin. "Checking her out from the best angle, huh?"

Sam gritted his teeth. "They were assigned seats."

"Uh huh. At least you got the first part right."

Sam stared at his brother for a moment in confusion, and then blushed when he figured out what Dean meant. "It's not like that! Not all of us are such… such pervs, Dean." Sam shuddered. "I just want to ask her out on a date. One date."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Innocent little Sammy. But, fine. You want to ask her out, go ahead. I'll do my best to keep Pa Wilson from beating on you."

Sam began rambling. "So where should we go? What do I wear? What if she doesn't even like me like that?"

"First, I didn't hear a thank you. I just promised to keep some overprotective dad away from you, and I don't even get a measly thanks? Jeez, Sam, don't come running to me when some old guy shoves a shotgun in your face because he thinks you deflowered his little girl. Second, you're worrying about what to wear? Seriously? How gay are you?"

"Dean, I am currently attempting to win the favor of someone who's quite obviously female. Is my sexuality really in question here?"

"Whoa there, buddy. Knock it off with the big words."

"Alright, Dean, I'll make sure to keep it to two or three syllables, just for you," Sam snarked. "But seriously, what do you do for a first date?"

"Here's a tip for ya, Sam – don't get too far ahead of yourself. You gotta do the asking bit first, then start worrying your pretty head about the details."

Too late for that advice; Sam was already anxious. "I have to at least have an idea of what we're going to do! All the magazines say to ask her on a specific date, so if she turns you down –"

"Really, Samantha, must you rely on chick magazines for your dating info? With your big brother right here? I'm offended."

"Because you're so much help," Sam muttered.

"Okay, okay. How about this: ask her to a movie on Friday, and if she says yes – which she will, mind; no female can resist the Winchester charm—" Sam snorted. "—and if she doesn't suggest a particular movie, I'll help you come up with one. Sound good?"

Sam didn't really see how he could argue that point, so he agreed and ran off to consider possible outfits for the big day.