No crack in the ceiling. The bed is comfortable, but it's no cloud. That kicked-in-the-gut feeling of waking up alone has been familiar for more than a week. Starting the day next to Sam is just another one of those things Dean has to get over. Eventually, it'll be like it never happened.

Not the world's most amazing bed. Also not a couch, and he can smell bacon. It takes Dean a second to piece together where he is. Life with the Winchesters is like landing somewhere in Purgatory.

Dean takes a quick shower and heads downstairs. Jo looks up from her cereal, hair damp, eyes half shut. It's an intrusion to see her like this, and he glances away.

"Happy Halloween." Mrs. Winchester hands him a plate spilling over with bacon and eggs touched off by a pumpkin-shaped pancake. "Did you sleep well?"

He nods and thanks her for the food.

"We're going to get that room fixed up just the way you like. If you prefer a different color, John'll take you down to the Home Depot, let you pick out the paint. You're going to have to get a little dirty, but if you want posters or… I don't know how kids are decorating these days. Jo's got Hello Kitty."

"I do not."

Dean has been in her room that once and knows that she does.

Mrs. Winchester gets back to her griddle. "Whatever you want. Cars? Ball players. Whatever makes you feel at home, Dean."

'How about the backseat of a Ford POS?'

He nods again and sits next to Jo. He hasn't called his mom. She hasn't called him. It's not like he can't understand. Jody dragged his sorry ass around for sixteen years. He can't blame her for finally wanting to be free. He just can't understand why she's lying.

The idea that his coach is his father is an insane, unnecessary lie.

Dean stops thinking about it and eats his fucking breakfast.

"Morning." Coach Winchester kisses his wife's cheek, accepts the thermos from her hand and grabs a banana on his way out of the back door.

Dean narrows his eyes, unable to believe he had ever admired this phony. Here he is acting all husbandly when he doesn't even have the balls to tell Mrs. Winchester the truth about Jody. Whatever the truth is.

Jo drops her bowl in the sink and gives Dean a drowsy smile. "We ride with dad."

Sam drags himself into the kitchen feeling like a thousand-year-old carcass.

Castiel grins like he's trying to outshine the sun. "Good morning Sammy. Doesn't look like you slept much."

"I told you not to talk to me."

Cas' chuckle explodes into brazen laughter. "You have a lot of rules for someone who's been fucking his baby brother."

"He's not my-"

"You know, there are ways of finding out if you're so certain. But I can understand that you don't actually want to know." Castiel covers his mouth, pretending to hold back the hilarity.

Without eating, Sam walks back out of the kitchen and locks himself in his bedroom.

As the door creaks open, Dean catches the flash of a silver cask before Coach Winchester slams his drawer shut. The door snicks closed behind Dean, and he stands in the coach's airless office with his hands clasped behind his back, spine arrow straight, eyes staring pointedly at an empty corner. "Yes, sir."

"Have a seat, Dean."

"No, thank you, sir."

"We should talk, son."

Dean openly recoils at the word. "I disagree. Sir."

"This is just as strange for me as it is for you."

"I doubt that." Dean's eyes dart about the room looking for someplace safe to land.

Coach Winchester scrubs a paw over his stubble. "Jody … is a remarkable woman. What did she… How much do you remember?"

"Not you."

A wince flickers over the coach's face and quickly clears again. "No. I didn't expect that you would."

"Can I go, sir?"

After a moment of deliberation, the coach nods. "Course."

Sam taps the screen on his phone, but still, finds no reply to his message.

SW: We still on?

Dean is the last one to his locker after class. Drenched and muddy, he feeds in his combination and peels off the filthy shirt to his gym uniform as Ash comes in from the showers.

"'Sup, Smith?" Ash rolls up his towel and smacks Dean's ass.

Dean pulls his clean clothes together. Before he can overthink it, he turns around and says, "Hey. I want you to leave Garth alone."

Ash smiles like a barracuda. "Looking out for your cock warmer?"

"He's a good kid."

"Is he good?" Ash leans back against the locker and runs his tongue over his sharp teeth like he's got something stuck in there. "Think I should try him out?"

"Ash, just leave him alone. It was funny. Just let it go now."

"Or what, oh captain, my captain?" Ash inches closer. It's almost imperceptible, but it must be happening, because Dean has the sense he's being cornered between Ash's naked body and his locker door.

"No or else. Just knock it off. As a personal favor."

"So, it's personal?" Ash licks his lips.

Dean does not want to have to kick this guy's ass, but it is becoming more and more likely. "I consider Garth a friend, so, yes."

"But other fags are still open season, right?"

Dean runs a hand through his hair. "What is your deal?"

"I don't like gays, man. They should all be exterminated. I don't want them in my school. Definitely not in my locker room. Is it okay with you if we have faggots in the locker room? Looking at your junk. Checking out your ass. Trying to get up next to you, breathe in your ear. Hump your leg." Ash starts fucking the air; his limp dick flapping all around. "That's disgusting, right? That's my deal. No set of rules is going to change it. I don't like fucking faggots, and they won't be tolerated."

"Just leave him alone." Without turning his back, Dean shuts his locker.

Thank fuck, that asshole is gone when he comes out of the shower. Once Dean pulls his hoodie on, he checks his phone.

Sam sticks his cell in his back pocket and drops his spoon into his teacup. He can practically feel Amelia stirring up the courage to talk to him and smiles when she manages to say, "How was your weekend?"

"Mildly insane. How was yours?"

She looks up at him, brown eyes dripping with an enchantment Sam would rather she would direct anywhere else. He searches the office for another person to can pull into the conversation.

"I visited my mom. That's about it."

Sam nods.

"Missouri said you've signed up for two tonight."

"Missouri?"

"Mrs. Mosely."

"Oh."

"So, you're bringing someone?" Amelia peers into her cup like she's trying to tell the future.

"I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to make it. My… uh, plus-one is… " he scratches the back of his neck.

"Oh. I didn't mean to pry."

"No. No. Just… We'll see." He clears his throat. "But you're going, right?"

She nods and grins down at her coffee.

"That's good." Sam sips his tea and wonders when it's polite to slip away.

The doorbell rings. Jo uses the remote control to pause A Nightmare on Elm Street. She pulls up her surgical mask and totes the bowl of candy to the door. Dean has been watching the movie with his Vader mask on because he can't get enough of how it amplifies his breath. He ignores the irony that the costume belongs to Coach Winchester.

He joins her at the door, grinning at the wide, terrified eyes of the tiny lobster and princess who hold out half-full plastic cauldrons.

"You can each take two." Jo holds the bowl low enough for them to help themselves.

The parents tell the kids to say thank you. They repeat it like the little automatons they are and skip off to the next house. Dean chuckles and watches them down the walkway. As Jo closes the door, he asks, "When do your folks get home?"

"When they feel like it because they're both adults." She trudges back to the living room and drops the bowl on the coffee table so hard that half the candy sloshes over the sides.

Dean raises his mask. "You're just going to be mad about this forever?"

"Or until you stop going out with my brother."

"I'm not…" He sighs. "It's not like that anymore."

Jo plants her fists on her hips and glares in a way that is improbably fierce for such a petite girl. "If a guy was coming to pick me up and take me to a party and we had fucked like two days before..."

Dean stops mid-stride, flinching at her choice of language.

"I'm sorry. I would call that a date." She tosses her mask onto the massacred candy and crosses her arms. "And if the guy was ten years older than me, I would say he was a freak. I don't care how legal it is. Sam is a freak for wanting you."

"I'm not arguing with that."

Jo sucks her teeth and rolls her eyes. When Dean's phone starts to buzz in his pocket, she scowls at it like it's a hand grenade. "It's weird."

"It's not weird." Dean types in a reply. "And the weird part's over anyway."

"Then don't go." Her offense is already crumbling. Her breath hitches, voice falters. "Stay with me. We can watch Freddy movies, like, all night."

Dean smiles. "I'm only going because I said I would. I won't be gone long. We can keep watching Freddy when I get back."

As if Dean's mouth and his eyes aren't already distracting enough, the mask leaves only those features and his square jaw visible. Sam's thumb runs over his lower lip. "God."

Dean jerks away from the touch. "Hey."

"Sorry," Sam says. "You look amazing."

"Yeah, well. Charlie is a genius." Dean curls and unfurls his fist and then runs his gloved hand down the chest armor of a suit identical to Bale's in Dark Knight - complete with Kevlar. "What the hell did you pay for this?"

"Don't know. They were a package deal."

Dean grins over at him. "You look insane. You know that, right?"

"Charlie asked me which Robin. I had no idea, so I told her she should pick. I guess now we know she has a sense of humor." Sam pulls at the elastic around the thigh of his green briefs - because that's what they are - briefs. He scratches his calf in one of the many places the flesh colored tights itch his leg hairs.

"So, what have you told these people?"

"Nothing. And they won't ask." Sam checks through the rearview mirror while he backs into a parking space in the company garage. "You want to be brothers?"

Dean shrugs.

"That's fine. If that's what you want," Sam says, amazed his voice doesn't break and that he doesn't crack into a million jagged pieces.

Dean scratches his chin and inhales loudly.

"Is that what you want?"

Dean knocks his gloves against the suit, making a deep, hollow sound. "Let's just do this."

As they walk, Sam reaches for the small of his back. Dean rolls back his shoulders and steps aside. "Look…"

Sam huffs and holds his hands up, like an apprehended criminal. "I'm sorry."

Dean could have very easily backed out altogether, and Sam is just glad to have him here. He keeps reminding himself of that and forgetting that he promised not to touch.

A few women are dancing to The Monster Mash. Mrs. Mosely, who is dressed like a jar of creamy Jif peanut butter, waves her hand, and two-steps right over to them. "Hey, Sam. Hello, Sam's date."

Dean looks like he's swallowed a whole, living frog. "I'm … not his date."

She lets out a high-pitched laugh and rests a hand on Dean's arm. "For a second, I thought you were going to say, 'I'm Batman.'"

Dean chuckles but remains more stilted than Sam has ever seen him.

"Well, we're glad you finally brought Sam out. He never comes to these things. I had assumed he just didn't like us."

Richard Roman from HR sidles up alongside Mrs. Mosely with his hand on her shoulder. "I always figured the job was just a cover. Proven correct, although I would not have guessed he was Robin."

The man has the smile of a rat, but the way he laughs with Mrs. Mosely makes him a little more human. The handwritten sign safety-pinned to Richard's shirt reads: 'Welch's Jelly.'

"I always thought you were a spy. Hi, I'm Amelia. Wicked costume."

Dean shakes her hand. Sam can't tell what she's supposed to be, but he does notice Dean's eyes flick over her slight form. Maybe he's just checking out her costume, too. Sam purses his lips into a tight line as Mrs. Mosely goes on with introductions. "This is Sam's date. What was your name, honey?"

Dean's mouth falls open, and she grins.

A man who Sam knows is named Rufus, but has never actually spoken to, joins the small crowd gathering around them. "Winchester showed up and brought a date. I didn't know you were gay, man. Hey, Carmen look who's here."

"Winchester?"

Sam has never spoken with most of them.

Mrs. Mosely exchanges a knowing glance with Richard who asks, "So, is this a first date or a second date? It's kind of hard to read?"

"It's not a date."

Sam isn't sure what comes over him, but he wraps an arm around Dean's waist and plants a kiss on his ear, or where Dean's ear must be, well below the bat ears. Even with the mask on, the blush creeping prettily over his skin is plain as day. Dean elbows him in the ribs, and Sam lets him go.

But the damage is done.

Mrs. Mosely and Carmen coo in unison. Richard Roman clears his throat and is suddenly riveted by his drink. Amelia lowers her eyes and mumbles something about the restroom. Rufus raises his cup to them in a toast.

"I think I need some of that." Dean makes a beeline for the snack table.

"Don't worry. He'll loosen up," Mrs. Mosely says.

"Why'd you keep … You know, saying that?" Sam asks.

She pats his arm. "Because I have the feeling you two are far more connected than either of you wants to admit to himself."

Sam nods. Dean downs a cup of punch and goes back for another.

"Sure is cute."

Sam grins and leans down to whisper, "Wait'll you see him without the mask."

"I just bet." She swats his arm. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Sam Winchester."

Parked outside of his parents' house with The Marriage of Figaro thrumming quietly in the background, Sam turns in his seat to ask, "What'd you think of that?"

"They seem like nice people."

"Yeah, they do." Sam can't remember the last time he's had friends.

Not that his co-workers immediately qualify as that, but it's a welcome change just to have fun and not worry… about anything. Now, if Dean would only let Sam kiss him, all would be right with the world again.

The kid knocks against his chest, knuckles rapping loudly against his suit. "Thanks for ... this was awesome."

"Of course. I thought you would like it."

Dean nods. "If you want to wait, I'll change out of it -"

"It's for you." Sam runs his fingers over the point of the bat ears. "There's nothing I can do with it. You probably won't even fit it next year. It was just a one-time thing."

Dean takes off the mask and frowns down at it. His hair is all matted down. Sam ruffles his hands over Dean's scalp to revive it.

"Sam, stop," he demands, still staring at the mask. "I can't pay you back."

"Dean."

"I mean, you spent all this money and -"

"Dean."

"There's not really anything I can do to …"

Sam lays a hand on his. Dean looks at it but doesn't move. That's progress. "Dean. If they're… if our parents are telling the truth, we're half brothers. But why? Why would my father not just tell my mom and get it off his chest? Why keep it this huge secret? Because it's bullshit. It's his way to … He's just trying to keep us apart." There's no subtle way to say this, so Sam just lets it out. "But even if you were my brother, I don't really care. I want you. More than anything."

Dean still doesn't move. He stares straight ahead out of the windshield. "Starting to believe in Murphy's Law."

Sam huffs, hoping the joke means Dean is coming around. It's hard to tell when he won't meet Sam's eyes.

"You know what's funny? When I was a little kid, I always wished I had a brother. 'More than anything.' Figured, it'd be cool to have someone to help me keep Jody out of trouble. She's a fucking trouble magnet, you know? It seems to me that having a brother would be even better than ... whatever we were doing … because brothers is bone-deep. Forever. Right?"

"Yeah," Sam says, more to humor him than anything else.

"But we're not really brothers, are we?"

"I'll be anything you need."

Dean's hand slips out from under Sam's. "I don't need anything. I didn't have a father, a brother, whatever we were, I didn't have any of that before we got here and I was fine."

"I wasn't." Sam's throat closes, his heart twists. His whole body aches with the effort of trying to make Dean hear him. "I wasn't fine before you. And whatever we are ... is everything to me. Lovers? Brothers? We could be forever, Dean."

"Good night, Sam." He gets out of the car like he hasn't heard a word.

Sam startles at the sharp sound of the door closing. He sits still for a moment, trying to collect himself. His face stings. He takes a deep breath. Does not want to cry. Through the passenger's window, he watches Dean near the front door. Then, he practically dives out of the car, leaving the driver's door hanging open. "Hey!"

Brisk steps carry him swiftly up the walkway.

Dean turns around and sucks his teeth. "What?"

Sam's hand brushes over his cheek. "I think we should …"

'I think we should do what makes us happy, because that's too rare and too precious and I've never had it before, and I'm too selfish to give it up.'

None of the words come out. They well up in Sam's throat and threaten to choke the life out of him.

"Stop being so fucking dramatic, man. There's other dicks out there."

"Don't do this."

Dean presses the bat mask in Sam's outstretched hands and leaves him alone on the porch in the dark.

Dean runs up the stairs, pins his back to the bedroom door and slides to the floor. The bat suit is restrictive as fuck in this position. That has to be why it's so hard to breathe.

He nearly pops his shoulder out of the socket, contorting to unzip and get himself out of the damn thing. When he's finally free, he leaves it on the floor and trudges, naked, to the bed. He doesn't answer his phone. He just sits there, staring at the wall.

There's obviously no God, so this whole thing must be a cosmic joke. The more he wants Sam, the more clear it becomes that Dean can't have him. There comes a point, no matter how much you want something when you throw in the towel, if only to preserve what's left of your fucking sanity.

He should have listened to his mother and not let himself get all caught up in this emotional bullshit.

Jody.

Dean still hasn't heard a peep from her. The only time he'd gone more than 24 hours without talking to her was when he was locked up and when he was with Sam. Once she figures out where to stop next, she'll burn the old phone, switch numbers and Dean won't be able to get in touch with her. He won't be able to check in and hear that she's all right.

She's not the type to look back after she's made a decision, never went crawling back to any of her string of bad choice boyfriends. Just on to the next one. She won't be calling to check up on Dean. It's not her style. Jody raised him to be the same way. He should be over her and over Sam, but he's not.

If he hears her voice, maybe he can get to sleep.

When the nonstop buzzing from Sam's calls finally ends, Dean picks up the phone.

Jody answers on the second ring. The wind whistles loudly behind her. "You okay?"

"No."

Sam hangs his cape on a hook by the front door. The apartment is dark except for a weak light coming from the living room. Squinting, Sam follows it. Castiel sits with his legs folded on the sofa with his head slumped forward, almost certainly drunk.

"If you're tired, go to-" Sam shuts his eyes for just a moment to let the cold rush over him.

He kneels before Castiel and pries the box cutter from his hand. It's covered in blood, as are his fingers, his jaw, and his bare chest. In the glow of the computer screen, the wound is plain to see. Sam shakes his head, eyes crinkling in pain he can't feel, but feels he's caused. "Jesus, Cas."

An overturned and empty bottle of Smirnoff tells at least part of the evening's tale.

Sam places a finger under Castiel's chin so he can lift his face and examine the inch-long gash he's carved into the left corner of his mouth.

"Castiel?"

Cas' eyes flutter open, he attempts to smile and whimpers. He shuts Sam out again.

Once again, he's hacked into Sam's laptop. The calendar is a small window in the upper left corner of the screen. Today's date and appointments are superimposed over a photo on the company Facebook page. Batman and a much-taller Robin smile awkwardly for the camera, sandwiched between a deeply grinning jar of peanut butter and whatever Amelia was supposed to be.

"We need to go to the emergency room."

"No." Castiel's eyes remain closed as he sucks in a gasp of air. Talking must be agony.

"Castiel," Sam repeats, unsure of what else to say.

Laughter decays into sobs. Castiel's face contorts in a grotesque blend of levity and pain, tugging at the laceration and causing it to bleed a fresh stream down his chin. "Just let me die."

"Would you stop it?" Still kneeling, Sam searches for anything to stop the bleeding. Finding only sofa pillows, he throws up his hands and sprints into the kitchen for a clean dish rag.

On his knees before him again, Sam squeezes Castiel's thigh. "You're not going to die. It's just ... It's going to ruin your smile. You have a beautiful smile, Castiel, and it would be a shame."

Cas' eyes flicker open, tears flowing freely down his twisted face.

"Can I, please, take you to the ER?" Sam says. "Let me take care of you."

Finally, Castiel nods and drops his head. While Sam helps him to his feet, he murmurs out of the side of his disfigured mouth, "In what universe would Robin be half a foot taller than Batman, you couple of morons?"