Following their steamy night together, Dean oversleeps.

So the next morning, when he realises his tardiness, he jumps out of bed (jolting his mother awake as he does) and he gets ready for school in a rush. He is barely able to mouth a few words to his mother, as Sam prepares some sandwiches for him, before he is forced to snatch them out of Sam's hands and shoot off to catch his ride with Jo and Ellen as he does some mornings.

Before he leaves, though, he remembers to give Sammy a small peck on the mouth but that's it.

Even in his hurry, Dean is able to feel how Sam has already slipped into the "mommy" frame of mind. Last night, after their intimate time under the shower, they got dressed, and slipped into bed together, facing each other. They murmured sweet nothings into each other's lips and slept soundly in each other's arms. During those moments, Dean had felt they were together together. Almost like husband and wife. And he guesses, the feeling was mutual.

It was a delicious sensation.

But now, he's not so sure. In the light of day, things are off. Of course, he had expected his mom to still resist this new thing between them, to relapse and to take sanctuary in denial, at first, but eventually, Dean thinks Sammy should come around.

At least, it's what he hopes and prays for.

The school day inches forward and Dean is itching for it to end so that he can meet up with Rhonda after. He told her earlier he wanted to talk to her. She said OK. When she leaned forward for a kiss, however, Dean turned his face sideways and Rhonda took the hint, and backed off. She looked curious but she didn't ask.

Smart girl. She knows when he's bottled up tight. Dean guesses it shows in his features, in his eyes, in the way he carries himself.

When it was finally time for them to meet, Rhonda was late. Dean stood outside of school shifting nervously on his feet, and checking his watch every few minutes. It's 10 minutes past their meeting time. 15 minutes. Now 20.

Thirty long minutes later, Rhonda appears, and Dean is furious she kept him waiting cos he's due for boxing soon.

But he doesn't want to be sidetracked. He's not here to talk to Rhonda about her erratic habits or general lack of responsibility. He's here to fuckin' end whatever it is that's between them.

When he goes back to Sammy, he wants to tell him that Rhonda is history - it's the least he can do, it'll be his apology.

When Rhonda's close enough to him to be in earshot, Dean smirks and asks if she's finally done blowing the football team. Rhonda, uncharacteristically, looks hurt by the sneer. Dean doesn't even bother listening to her excuses as she rambles. Detention, she says. Dean can't care less at the moment.

He doesn't beat around the bush.

"Listen, Rhonda. I'll be forward here. You and I? We're done."

"Slow down, Dean. What the hell happened?"

"Nothing. It's just, it's not working. Stops here."

"Really? That's it? You owe me some explanation, dude. We've been together, like what, two, three months? I've never had this before."

"Actually, we've never been together. Not really. I was clear from the onset, Rhonda. This was never headed anywhere. It's just sex ... Was."

"You don't have to sugarcoat it for my benefit, hun," she says, sarcastic, and for a moment, she looks older than her years. Like a woman who's been hurt and trampled on over and over. Like someone who knows the drill.

"Can't think how you could've expected anything else, considering ... " Dean trails off, and just gestures meaningfully between them.

"Well, yeah. You introduced me to your friends," she says it, like she hasn't seen it coming, clearly bewildered, and she's back to sounding like the teen that she is again. "Paraded me, more like it. I thought, you know-"

"Yeah, whatever it is, I don't wanna hear any more of it, Rhonda. Bottom line? You thought wrong."

"You know what? You're a jackass, Dean!"

"Whatever," Dean says, then notices how flushed Rhonda's face is and how her speech is somewhat slurred, only a little but Dean is observant. "Wait, have you been drinking?"

"No!" she says, then shrugs "Ok, I might have had a few brews." She smiles wryly and wiggles her eyebrows. Totally inappropriate, thinks Dean, considering they just "broke up" and she'd just started calling him names.

"At school? For fuck's sake Rhonda. Go easy on the alcohol ... and on rule breaking. Sometimes, it's not as cool as you think." For a second there, even Dean thought he might have been genuinely concerned. He sure sounds like it. But he doesn't stop to mull it over, and barrels on. "You know what? I don't care," he says, hands up in the air ... "So am I clear? Will you remember this conversation tomorrow?"

"I'm not gone, Dean, it was just a couple of beers. I'll remember," she says, and her frown is back. And that look of hurt from earlier.

Sure, Rhonda is a slut, and she's older, but did Dean expect her not to have feelings at all? Obviously, she has some. Maybe she actually likes him or something, like she might have developed feelings, Dean thinks and shudders at the thought. It's easier to break up with someone knowing they were both goofing off, playing around, anything but being serious. But if feelings are involved ... well, he can't do a thing about it anyway, not now.

He starts backing off, when Rhonda asks: "So who is it? Is it the boy or someone new?"

Dean shakes his head, frustrated. "It's none of your business," he says, turning away.

"Oh well, good luck Dean," she calls out after him, her voice now pitched a little higher. "I really mean it. Cos from the sound of it, if it's the thing with the married boy, you'll need some luck ... And by the way, when the whole thing crashes and burns, you'll come crawling back to Rhonda."

This makes Dean's blood boil but he suppresses it. It's the malice, and sheer confidence, lacing her words that anger him.

He slows down, and turns, taps his watch and tells her he's gotta run. He notices her eyes are teary. He's surprised but that doesn't stop him from being final about it all. "Gotta catch training. You done?"

She crosses her arms, looks away huffing a breath, then looks back at him again, meeting his eye: "See you later, Dean." It feels like a challenge, Dean thinks.

"Don't think so. Bye, Rhonda."

"Tall order," she spits, and Dean doesn't grace it with a response.

...

On his way back from work, Castiel decides to do something he hasn't done in a long time: swing by his parents' house.

He knows his dad is away on business; he keeps tabs on the going ons of his family, albeit from a distance, mainly through his sister Naomi whom he calls regularly.

Generally, his mother and Naomi are his favorites. He's emotionally distant with everyone else, and considering how he was brought up, Cas doesn't think anyone can blame him.

When he arrives there, even Naomi is out with friends, and it's only his mother, Deanna, who's at home.

Castiel's family can afford to hire several housekeepers and one of them lets him in.

He's in the terrace, gazing into the distance, enjoying their well-kept garden view, when his mom walks in on him. She still looks surprised that he's here, but unlike his father, Deanna is always welcoming and usually refrains from asking too many questions - Castiel believes it's partly due to her omega nature and how she's conditioned not to challenge or cause discomfort to an Alpha.

That being said, his mom is anything but submissive. Castiel's parents are blindly traditional and Deanna is a typical omega in many ways except for that. In her own very sly, passive aggressive way, she can hold her own. She even tricks his father sometimes into submitting to her will, mostly through the power of suggestion.

Castiel used to marvel at how she does it. He used to be proud of her for managing like this in a house full of Alphas. That is, until, Deanna didn't bat an eyelid when Cas was thrown out of favor for choosing Sam.

It was probably of course because she didn't approve either - she tried to change his mind many times over. All the same, Castiel had expected his mom to have his back, and for a long while, he resented the fact that when it came to Sam, she didn't and he was on his own. Only Naomi was mildly sympathetic.

But this is all in the past. Now, they've all reached a peaceful understanding, and Castiel had managed to forgive the majority of their actions, even found it in himself to appreciate and love his family again. His father - who rarely initiates contact - even called him a month earlier informing him that he is to make arrangements to be there during the Lupercalia festival next year, "with your family," his father had said, emphasizing the words, almost enunciating them, to indicate that Sam must come along, since he's usually absent from any Winchester family gatherings. It's a long enough notice. His father was making sure Castiel would have no excuse not to attend, along with Sam, and the kids of course.

At the beginning, Sam was (like Cas) barred from the Winchester house. When amends were made and Sam was finally allowed to be part of the family functions again, his wife was reluctant to make any appearances. Sam almost always chose to fall back, and let Castiel make appearances alone with Dean and Adam - something that Castiel's father saw as another sign of weakness; a proof that Castiel can't control his omega, and a potent reminder that his son had parted with their traditions and lifestyle.

But it looks like, at the Lupercalia, Sam has to be there, and it's Castiel's father that is putting his foot down this time and is making the decision for all of them.

Castiel doesn't mind it, since Dean's Alpha status will be officially acknowledged and celebrated, and it's a big deal. Considering how Dean's nature is shaped, from what Cas can tell, Dean wouldn't want to miss it either. Cas thinks Sam should be there for his son's coming of age as well.

On the terrace, though, all these thoughts are skipped in favor of greeting Deanna. Cas bends forward to pull his much shorter mother into his arms, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. After giving her a brief report of their latest, including his upcoming promotion, almost a reality now, Deanna smiles softly then asks how he's really doing.

"I'm fine, I guess. Just a little overworked."

His mother gives a knowing smile, about to say something when a female servant comes in with a tray. "Here, have some camomile," she says, offering him one of the tea cups. "I've asked Jill to add some cinnamon to it. It's the way you like it, isn't it?" It's not a question. His mother knows him inside out.

Castiel takes the tea and it's just the right temperature. When he starts sipping, the warm juice warms him up inside, and the smell relaxes him. He closes his eyes, savoring.

"So, trouble in paradise?" his mom asks, seemingly nonchalant, like she's talking about the weather.

"Nah, Sam and I are good." Cas lies, a lump rising in his throat at the mention of his wife. Then he remembers the night before, the crying, his failure to comfort Sam and Sam ending up in Dean's bed. He clears the imaginary mass in his throat and swallows. "Why would you think so, mom?"

"Well, you're here to talk about something."

Castiel throws his head back and smiles, amused. "Can't a son swing by to see his mother these days without harboring an agenda?"

"A son can. But you're not here just to see me, sweetheart. And we both know it," she says it and sips on her own tea, smiling.

There's not a hint of resentment in her voice. She's always genuinely happy when Castiel seeks her - it's not very often that he does anymore, not since he married Sam, but it still happens sometimes. Cas and Deanna always had a special relationship. Of all her sons, he was the closest to her. Perhaps it's his dampened Alpha nature, and his reluctance to give orders, his sensitivity growing up (especially after he met Sam), that endeared him to her - the opposite of the effect all this had on Castiel's father.

Castiel sighs, gives his mother a long look and somehow he feels she knows already what all his woes are for, even if she really doesn't.

"I want to send Dean away," he says finally, his voice even.

His mom nods, like she expected it. Of course, she didn't. She's not privy to Castiel's thoughts, or the details of his life. But her nod is one of understanding, or perhaps foresight. Like she knew things would eventually come to that.

"Where to?"

"Haven't decided on this yet. Perhaps here? I don't know."

"Clearly, you don't," says his mom, her tone suddenly acquiring a firmer tang. "You know our ways Castiel. This is a traditional household. Your father still rules this house. You surely don't expect Dean to fit in, or fall in line, considering the way you've raised him, do you? It will be hard on all of us. And Dean is almost a man, now. A boarding school will do him better. It'll be painfully difficult to bend him out of shape and force him to follow our house rules. And if he's anything like you or Sam, it will be impossible to tame him."

"That's the thing, mother. Dean is different." Like my father and my brothers, he almost says. He swallows the words, and thinks of a way to put this, without sounding like he's regretting the lifestyle he chose or failing to control his own son's leanings towards the tradition.

His mom doesn't comment, just waits for him to collect his thoughts.

As if responding to an unasked question, Castiel, now getting worked up (though still projecting a calm manner), begins again, "I can't describe it. He's not like me or Sam. He has his own ... thoughts."

"Did he voice any objections to your lifestyle?"

"Not in words."

"Ok, sweetheart, what's really at stake here? And what does your wife think of this?"

"Sam, ha!" Cas says, and shakes his head. "Sam doesn't see a problem. He's ... well, he's Sam. He worships the ground Dean walks on, and Dean ends up walking all over us. Or tries."

"Hmmm."

Somehow, her silence sounds accusing to Castiel's ears, like his mom wants to ask Cas, what did you expect?

"Mother, it's not us. There's nothing wrong with the way we raised him."

"Well, and I didn't suggest it!"

"Perhaps Sam was a little too lenient. But I overcompensated in this area," Casiel says, clearly still defensive.

It's his mother's turn to sigh.

"What is this really about, Castiel?"

Cas doesn't know where to begin. So he stays silent and looks away, contemplating. He knows his mother is watching closely, he can almost feel his thoughts being read, his every gesture processed and analyzed. His mother, however, doesn't force an answer out of him, instead joins him in his silence.

After a while, not too long, Deanna moves closer to him then takes one of his hands in both of hers and squeezes, reassuring. "It's fine not to know, Castiel. Not to feel in control. The uncertainty. It comes with being a parent."

"How did father do it?" Cas asks watching their clasped hands, grateful for the warmth it's pumping into him.

"You know how, son," says his mom, her lips pursed, like she's lightly scolding. She's not.

"Yeah, I guess," Castiel says, then gently slips his hand out of his mother's, and rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

"Have you been sleeping well?"

"Not really."

"Well, here's what you could do. How about you sleep tonight, and we talk again tomorrow? I'm assuming you haven't talked to your wife about sending Dean away."

"You're correct in your assumption, mother."

"Well then, if you want my advise, talk to Sam. And if you're serious about having Dean move here, we'll discuss the details then. I'd be happy to. But at least give me a chance to test the waters with your father, see if he'll like the idea to begin with. See if he has any considerations. And God knows, even if agrees, he'll want to lay down some laws. And trust me, knowing you, sweetheart, you'll hate most of them."

Castiel huffs a laugh. "You bet," he says, and he feels grateful for his mother.

She's right. He should talk to Sam first. He should think about what this means for all of them. And man, he should sleep. His mother and him talk some more, casually, about Naomi, the family business, and his brothers, then Castiel soon excuses himself to leave.

He's already tired by work and a mind that doesn't wane. His mother gives him a parting hug that for a moment makes it feel like things are right again. Then Castiel takes off. On his way home, his phone rings, and it's Sam.

...

Sam spends the day doing everything mechanically. He's on autopilot when he's arranging beds, cleaning the house, feeding and bathing Adam plus entertaining him, going out for some grocery shopping, cooking lunch, and then starting early on dinner preparations as he tries to subdue a moody Adam. In that order.

Except for the few hours of sleep he caught last night, he has been insomniac and in turn dead on his feet for weeks.

He hasn't eaten anything either. He doesn't feel like tasting food today. And he feels he'll soon empty his stomach if he does.

Dean will be late today on account of boxing training, and God knows when Castiel will finish work.

So, in conclusion, he's running on an empty stomach, on little sleep, and he's on his own ...

... with his thoughts of course.

Sam can only block what happened the night before for so long before it catches up with him. Just a few fragmented thoughts of how he and Dean were together are enough to send the blood in his veins rushing downstairs, making his face heat up, partly in shame at how the memories turn him on.

The thought of having the privilege of being intimate with Dean revoked (if he faces reality and puts an end to this, as he should) is dark and daunting.

His head is killing him.

When his finally stops chasing the racing thoughts of how he and his ended up like this and starts digesting what he got himself into, his mood starts to be choleric, and Sam starts absently taking it on Adam - he's wearing a pained expression, he's distant, impatient, and at one point he finally snaps at his three-year-old. Adam's lips pout sadly, quiver and he starts to cry, then wail, breaking Sam's heart to pieces.

"I'm sorry, so sorry sweetheart," begins Sam, realizing his mistake.

"Mommy hateses Adam," he says between hiccups, his face blotched and teary. Of course Adam thinks he hates him. He's been anything but present for the boy today.

"Never!" Sam says, and kisses his son's red and wet cheeks repeatedly, and hugs him close. "You're my sweetest. I could never."

It's a wake up call, of sorts. And Sam decides he should rest his over-exhausted brain and body and sit down with Adam to watch some cartoons or something, and try to get himself together. So he abandons the task at hand, screw dinner prepping, takes Adam to the living room, and tries to make up with his son by offering some ice cream and some downtime in front of the TV, a suggestion to which Adam is enthusiastic and giddy.

And thankfully, all's forgiven!

Sam still refuses to eat.

A couple of hours later when Adam is napping in the safety of Sam's arms, it all finally sinks in.

What he's doing to his family. What he has done long ago when he sought Dean for comfort, ruining his own son and inspiring forbidden thoughts in him by forcing himself on Dean. Not listening to Cas' warnings about how tied up he is with Dean. And now, cheating on his husband with his own son, allowing himself to have something he should never have.

Sam cannot lie to himself any longer. It was already happening when he allowed Dean to smash through one boundary after another. It was decided the moment Sam let his guard down and allowed himself to enjoy and relish in how Dean was braving new territory, one after another. It happened because Sam let himself get carried away ... until Dean's kisses and hugs and attention became his bread and butter, and until Dean became more important to him than the air he breathes.

He's a bad, needy mother and a worse caretaker, and now he could lose everything if he doesn't backtrack and try to cure Dean of the very thing that he, as a mother, caused due to his own shortcomings and emotional defects.

Sam starts crying, for the umpteenth time, only this week, and as he cries, his chest closes up, not just with guilt towards his family, but with his longing for Dean still, with the realization that he'll end it.

He loves him. He's in love with his son. He loves him in ways he cannot count. He loves him in a perverted, twisted way.

And he doesn't want to end this thing between them. If Dean abandons him altogether, he'll collapse, he thinks, and hugs Adam closer and cries some more.

He must do it then, Sam decides. When Dean's back, he'll sit down with him, and let him know. He'll tell him it's not his fault, at least not just his fault. He'll ask his son for forgiveness. And he'll be ready to bear the consequences of his deviance - including the possibility that he may never be forgiven. Not by himself at least.

He gets up, Adam still in his arms, and he puts his kid in his room so he'll continue napping, as late as it is in the afternoon for siestas. Sam knows he'll pay the price for this in the form of a grumpy kid, who'll refuse to sleep on time, later in the night. But that's later. He'll deal with it then.

Now, he goes into the restroom to splash his face with some water. After he does, and as he still stands over the sink, tired, and holding onto its edge with both hands, his grip hard, he dares to glance at his reflection in the mirror and he looks like a ghost of himself.

He can't believe that after being so close to something he thought was impossible, an intimacy he never experienced in his life before, a completeness he might not have ever again, he'll let it go ... He can't fathom that after having a taste of something he didn't know he'd always longed for until he had it, that he will be forced to give it up.

He wishes he had never tasted it to begin with.

The tears come. He starts sobbing again, so hard, until he feels his chest is aching and his breaths are coming shorter and shorter. And until he feels he needs something, an anchor, because he's drowning fast. He's suddenly barely clinging to consciousness.

Weary and swaying on his feet, he reaches for his cell phone, wedged in his jeans pocket, removes it and blearily dials Castiel's number.

When his husband finally picks up, Sam only has the energy for muttering a few words before, with a heavy thud, he collapses to the floor.

"Cas. Help me."

Then darkness overtakes him.