"Absolutely not," Sam had barked in response when Castiel merely floated the idea of making Dean take some time away from the house, from them. Cas had tried to reason that it was mainly for Dean, "He's grown too dependent on you, he's almost 16 now. He should learn how to be alone, Sam. Your son is a man now," he'd said, but Sam was adamant that Dean stayed close. Cas hadn't even had a chance to make his case or begin to suggest where Dean should actually move to; the very idea of Dean spending any time away from them (whether in a summer camp for a few months or in boarding school) was immediately shot down by Sam. It was like he was expecting it.

Cas is furious about Sam's dead-fast opposition but he's also still worried about Sam's wellbeing ever since he collapsed, so he lets the conversation drop—for now.

Seeing Sam standing there in their kitchen, pale, scrubbing the dishes furiously like they've personally wronged him, with Adam sitting on the floor at his feet and clutching a stuffed, plush alligator while oblivious to their worries, is a sore reminder of how much responsibility and chores Sam is shouldering, physically and emotionally—usually without complaint.

Sam has been busting his back taking care of all of them and is now hanging by a thread. So yeah, Cas backs down.

Inwardly, he knows this is not over.

In fact, the first thing Cas does when he turns his back to Sam is dig his phone out of his pocket and get out of earshot. He walks out of the house, stands on their front yard and keys in his mother's number. He's well aware he's acting based on a nagging feeling that he can't even begin to explain, but it's a safety net, that is, if ever ...

He stands there, holds the phone to his ear and outright lies to his mother. He tells Deanna that he talked to Sam and that they're both strongly considering the idea of having Dean move to his grandparents. He has the audacity to tell her that Sam's of the same mind. It's not like she'll double check his story with Sam; his wife and Deanna rarely ever talk. This family has a complicated history, and though Cas has forgiven and forgotten, mostly, it's clear Sam still holds some grudges towards Castiel's parents.

Deanna senses her son's tension. Cas tries to keep his tone casual and light, but it's not above his mother to see through this and into the myriad of emotions that Castiel feels he's carrying right now. Deanna doesn't promise anything except talking to Henry, Castiel's dad, who's now enjoying a short break from work in their waterfront mansion in a different state. But she'll talk to him alright.

Sure, Castiel is half dreading the whole thing for obvious reasons, including the judgement of his lifestyle this upcoming talk with Henry might entail. His father will probably bring up the past, Castiel's rebellion, and his subsequent choices. He'd rather let sleeping dogs lie. Still, Cas is unsettled and feeling—threatened? Sam and Dean's co-dependence rubs him the wrong way. He can't even put a finger on why. It's primal.

Sam has also been drifting away from him. Even their moments of silence have turned from companionable to frosty.

Sometimes Cas feels like shaking Sam, confronting his wife with his thoughts and suspicions. What undid us, Sam? he'd ask. What happened to our great love? We used to ride the wind and promise each other our hearts. He barely recognises them these days. They were once Romeo and Juliet and now their love is snoring away somewhere; it feels distant and surreal—like a memory. What is it that's led them to this rut after they worked so hard to craft the perfect union? They had so many fitful starts and setbacks at the beginning of their marriage and they navigated through them all. Life had thrown many curveballs at them and they took pride in enduring. "We'll get through this, Cas, like we always do," Sam would promise. Have they become complacent?

Or was it Castiel's high-pressure job, the many nights he spent away from home that caused Sam to grow cold? Should he blame himself? He wonders. Is Castiel the reason Sam turned from one half of a madly-in-love couple to a wife who cries his way through sex? Is something irretrievably broken here? Castiel shuts his eyes and swallows the lump in his throat.

Dean. It's all about Dean, and Sam, and family. The move—if it happens—doesn't even have to happen any time soon, Castiel reasons; Dean still has a school year to finish and they can always wait until the Lupercalia, Dean's coming-of-age and the designated rite-of-passage ceremony, he tells Deanna.

The moment Castiel hangs up the phone with his mother, he instantly regrets it. He regrets lying to Deanna, who probably already figured out something wasn't right, but more importantly, lying to Sam—or rather, keeping this away from him.

You're the alpha, it's your right to make decisions for them, a voice whispers in his head, a voice he hadn't heard in a long time. His abdication of some alpha traditions and responsibilities shouldn't mean he's not allowed to put his foot down from time to time (even if it means trampling on Sam's feelings occasionally). Maybe it's not wrong to succumb to his basic instinct when it comes to this.

Or maybe, he thinks darkly, he's screwing his relationship with both Sam and Dean for nothing. Castiel sighs audibly.

"What's done is done," he whispers to no one in particular, pockets his cell phone then walks back into the house.

...

From the kitchen window above the sink, where he stands washing the dishes, Sam watches Castiel walk out their front door and flip open his phone. After he hangs up, there's a moment of stillness where his husband just stares into nothingness, as if seeing what no one else sees. His shoulders are tense, and Sam feels a pang of guilt for the umpteenth time today for hurting the man he is supposed to love the most. Cas is nothing but good, Sam thinks, his heart twisting in his chest. Cas is his life partner. His commitment to their marriage has never dulled. He's the same man who once rescued Sam from his personal demons; who'd refused to hew to tradition and loved him for who he was and is, unconditionally. He's Dean's and Adam's father. The apples of Sam's eyes are part Sam, part Castiel.

Sam continues to watch his husband, feeling like a voyeur or that maybe he's witnessing something he shouldn't. He feels even smaller as he sees Castiel dragging his feet back into their house.

Perhaps Sam's a bad husband and parent, but he's not just that: he feels he's broken, too. He sees clearly what his failure to control himself has lead to. Maybe Sam knew all along that it would come down to this thing with Dean and he let it. In retrospect, Dean and him were silently circling around each other for months, maybe years. And it wasn't just Dean who was breaching boundaries. Sam still remembers the first time his own arousal stirred at the touch of his son. He pushed it down to a level of consciousness that he thought was deep enough. He pushed and pushed, denied and justified, did all the mental gymnastics needed to make his and Dean's growing affections sound okay until the sickening final turn: his son desired him, and Sam desired him back.

He's twisted his own son out of shape in search of ... love? Well, he had love with Cas. So what had changed?

Everything, it seems.

The coup de grace? He not only cheated on Cas with his own son, but he couldn't even pluck up enough courage to do the right thing and separate Dean from the household temporarily. In fact, he emphatically fought for Dean to stay.

This retrograde step—despite earlier promises to himself that he'd be stronger about this—is typical of Sam. He does plan to limit his affections, and he's already been rebutting fresh attempts from Dean following their last make-out session in Sam's own martial bed, but he hasn't ended it definitively. And he should.

It hurts, but he's aware he's figuratively footing the bill for his choices, for his growing emotional and erotic codependency on his oldest son.

He hears Cas walking up the stairs to the second floor of their house. A moment later, Dean walks in through the front door, back from his training and ready for dinner.

"Hey mom, hey pipsqueak," Dean says, looking fresh after his training. "Hey, Dean," says Sam, his voice tight. "How did your day go?"

"OK, I guess," he says as he moves behind Sam, circling his arms around him, his palms resting on Sam's belly, his chin on Sam's right shoulder. He starts peppering small kisses along his shoulder like it's the most natural thing in the world (like Sam is his wife waiting for him to get home, Sam thinks with a small shudder). Dean doesn't stop; he starts kissing the side of Sam's neck. He's bold, kissing Sam so suggestively with Castiel under the same roof.

Dean's lips are damp for some reason, soft, and his kisses leave Sam's skin tingling in their wake. Dean removes a hand from around Sam's waist, wraps it around the nape of his neck and turns Sam's face gently toward him. Before Sam can protest, his son locks their lips together.

His lips are closed, but Dean's are glued to them, sealed as they are. The passion is paralysing. Almost.

Because, against every fibre in his being, Sam twists and pushes Dean back. "No, Dean," he says. Dean, his lips still moist and a little swollen from the hard kiss, asks quizzically "what? what's wrong?"

For God's sake, thinks Sam. "This, Dean," Sam says, getting worked up but not wanting to turn this into a fight, least of all when Castiel is in the house, and Adam is sitting there right at their feet. He gestures between them, "This can't go on."

Dean just stares back, slack-jawed. His eyes are crestfallen. Sam feels horrible for putting this confused and lost look on his son's face. He feels like throwing up, but holds the bile in and soldiers on, "Dean, I know it's all on me. Baby, I'm the one who let this happen in the first place."

"Mom, what are you doing? Don't do this," Dean says, running his hands through his hair in obvious frustration. Adam chooses this moment to speak, "Are you mad, mommy?"

"No, sweetheart, I'm alright. Just discussing something with your big brother."

"OK," Adam says. But he's only silent for a second. He mumbles something about being bored, looking up so innocently at DeeDee as he calls him sometimes, and asks if he wants to play together.

"Come here buddy, I'll put something on," says Dean. He's a little disoriented, his mind still rummaging for an explanation of his mom's recoil. He carries Adam out of the kitchen.

Sam takes this moment of reprieve to lean back against the kitchen counter—bracing himself with his arms—and breathe. This is it, Sam, this is the moment where you should be strong. Don't back out. You can do it.

Sam can hear the sound of the TV as it's turned on in the living room. It looks like Dean has decided to sit for a few minutes with his little brother until he's absorbed in the cartoon on screen. Then Dean walks back into the kitchen. He watches Sam. He's chagrined at the rejection. Frankly, he expected some reluctance but not this.

His mom's eyes are still closed, and it looks like he's trying to get his breath under control. Dean can't resist. He walks towards Sam, grabs his belt loops and yanks his pelvis toward him. Sam

reluctantly comes along, but as Dean tries to wrap his arms around his mom, Sam resists again. Dean holds on strong though, one arm clutching Sammy's waist, another holding his arm in a death grip so he won't twist away. He looks at Sam, trying to make their eyes meet. When they finally do—

"Mom, come on, we love each other," he pleads.

"Yes, we do, sweetheart," Sam says, and for a second he sounds like the old version of himself, the one who wouldn't deny Dean anything. "But not like this," Sam says, shoving him back, without losing eye contact, and this time with force.

Dean stumbles back, hurt and humiliated. What on Earth is going on? This resignation he's seeing in his mother's eyes is something new and it shakes up his core. He doesn't know what to make of it.

Dean's world has just imploded and come raining down on him.

"Mom, you want this too," he implores. He's not above begging. Not when Sammy is slipping from between his fingers.

"No, I don't. Not anymore. Never again."

"Sammy-"

"It's mom."

Dean is visibly shocked, dejected, but besides shock, Sam can now almost literally see the agony and fury rising up in his son.

"Mom, I'm warning you. You can't ... you just– can't," Dean says darkly. His breaths are coming faster and he looks like he wants to punch something (or someone), and Sam is suddenly afraid this might turn physical. The last time he and his son had a showdown this intense, his son ended up in the ER with a broken fist and Sam ended up feeling like the vilest person on Earth.

"Dean, look, don't make this harder than it already is. Whatever you thought we had, son, it's over. We're over."

"Wh-Wait, what does this even mean?" Dean glowers at him.

"Dean, I'll never stop loving you. But whatever boundaries we stepped over to get to this, to get to the point where we ..." Sam trails off, leaving this hanging between them for a few seconds too long. He doesn't want to say it but he must.

Sam speaks the next words with trepidation, like he's announcing a verdict (and it is the death sentence to what's between them). "Where we are now, Dean. It's not love. It's incest ... and it's wrong." He says it while staring Dean in the eyes.

"Wow," Dean says, jeering. Tears well up in his eyes against his will. "Calling our love something so dirty. Never thought-"

"Well, you thought wrong, De. You're old enough—we're both old enough to know right from wrong. I'm your mother, I'm married, to your dad, and I love my husb—"

"Stop! Stop ... just stop talking," Dean says, stepping back, and his knees are about to give out. He waves up a hand at his mother; he doesn't want to hear the rest of that sentence.

The finality of it is sinking in, it seems, and Sam is at once satisfied his point is hitting home and breaking into little pieces inside.

It's inevitable, this hurt, Sam thinks, to save his family.

"Dean," Sam says, his voice even. Sam is refusing to let the sight of his son so stricken, and in tears, faze him. He's being strong for both of them, for Castiel, for this family to work, he tells himself. This is the price you gotta pay, Sam. It's to see your great love crashing and burning, he thinks.

Again, he feels like emptying the contents of his stomach on the kitchen floor. He doesn't want to be standing here saying any of this. He doesn't want to tell Dean they're done. He wants to tell his oldest son that he's his oxygen, that he wants his touch everywhere, that at night he dreams that he's naked in his arms, that they're in an alternative reality where they're happily married and Sam is pregnant with Dean's child. He wants to throw himself at him and hold him, and kiss him until he can't breathe. He wants to tell him that he's terrified for his sanity. He wants to tell Dean that Cas won't have it; that he wants to send him away.

He also wants to tell his son that he's young, too painfully young and that he's disillusioned, and that Sam is old, broken, and that Dean is way, way, better than him. Dean is perfect. And he has a long, full life ahead of him, and he shouldn't be wasting his thoughts on Sam.

But he doesn't say any of it. He just stands there as his son shuts down and backs off from him.

"This is really happening, isn't it?" Dean whispers and it feels like he's talking to someone else. To himself. To the universe, perhaps. Sam nods.

"Maybe I'll take Rhonda back," Dean says. He's sure he goes for defiant but combined with his tears, it feels juvenile. But it's, well, a last ditch effort to try and stir something inside of Sammy, who he barely recognises at the moment. He watches his mom. Sammy's shoulders are squared, his eyes vacant and he's radiating a cruel brand of dogged determination so alien to their relationship it's painful to observe.

"Maybe you should," Sam responds softly, keeping his face hard and unreadable. Dean nods— tears streaming—and walks out of the kitchen and away from Sam.

That's it. It's done, Sam thinks when Dean is out of his sight, and the tears come unbidden.