TEACH YOUR CHILDREN
PART 5: And You, Of Tender Years...

Castiel did not understand the importance of apples. How could such a simple fruit have so many varieties? Seventy-five hundred seemed a little excessive in his opinion.

Thanksgiving was also problematic for him—he had witnessed the atrocities that occurred during the colonization of the New World. The stories passed down through the centuries were storybook fantasies that erased the true horror of that time.

But he understood the day meant something very different to most Americans now. It was a day of gratitude, and remembrance. A celebration of blessings, both large and small. And the Winchesters had a lot to celebrate.

So, instead of questioning the holiday or apples, he listened intently as Mary gave Gabriel instructions on the ingredients needed. Gabriel took her list, making notes along the margins about the best locations and harvests for each item. He left, nervously promising that he'd be back in less than half an hour and begging them to pray to him if he was needed.

Gabriel reappeared three minutes later, arms laden with bags and surrounded by crates of produce. A chicken jumped from a basket of dried corn with a loud squawk. Mary jumped, then scowled at the archangel.

"What?" Gabriel asked innocently. "There was a sale! We go through a lot of popcorn in this place!"

"And was there a sale on live chickens, too?" Her hands went to her hips.

"Oh," Gabriel's face fell, "no. She was an accident. I didn't realize there was a stowaway."

"Gabriel, we are not killing chickens in this house. Bunker." She huffed in annoyance, trying to find the right word to describe their living location. "Home. We are not killing chickens in this home!"

"No! Of course not!" Gabriel rushed to reassure. "No chicken killing—I promise! I'll…uh…" he snapped his fingers and the chicken disappeared. "I sent her to this local humane egg farm where she'll roam free through insect-rich fields and sleep in clean roosts at night."

"Better," Mary said. She looked around at all the wooden crates and woven baskets. There was a lot more than she'd asked for on her list. "There was a sale?"

"A few sales," Gabriel admitted. "We really were running low on several things I consider staples for the pantry."

Castiel lifted the lid on a clay pot. It was filled with lavender-infused honey. He dipped a finger into the amber liquid and tasted it. The flavors were beyond anything else he'd ever experienced.

"Am I right, Cassie?" Gabriel asked, shooting him a wink.

"Absolutely," Castiel agreed. "These are all complete necessities." He smiled, and returned the wink. But he could never seem to make his face move fast enough to be effective.

Gabriel sputtered a laugh, making Castiel realize everyone was looking at him.

Mary sighed in exasperation, but the smile tugging at her lips told him she was more amused than frustrated. "I'm sure," she peeked into a crate, "twenty pounds of baker's chocolate is a thing found in most pantries. Just like I'm sure," she pulled the lid off a tall ceramic jug and made a face, "whatever this is was absolutely necessary. Actually, what the hell is this?"

"It's fresh cream!" Gabriel said, rushing over to replace the lid. "And it needs to stay sealed. I magicked the container to keep it preserved."

Together, they worked to fit the various crates and jars into the now-expanded pantry room. The small space had gradually grown in the days since the archangel had joined them. Now, what once was the size of two refrigerators was now several times larger than the kitchen itself. Dean had grumbled a few times—until the day he discovered the cold-meat storage area, full of steaks and slabs of bacon.

Castiel hoisted a bag of brown rice to onto a shelf, smiling in anticipation of Dean's reaction to Gabriel's most recent haul of food supplies. As much as the hunter loved cooking, he hated going grocery shopping. Or shopping of any kind, for that matter.

As though summoned by his thoughts, Castiel returned for another load to find Dean standing amidst the chaos. "Dean," he said, rushing over, "how is Sam?"

Dean met his eyes, and Castiel almost winced. Exhaustion made his face look bruised. The pain was old and heavy, and Castiel wished he could carry some of it for him.

"Sam is…Sam," Dean sighed.

Gabriel rushed back into the kitchen, knocking over Raphael in his haste. "Dean! You're back!"

Castiel watched as Dean smiled through the exhaustion, trying to appear much more cheerful for the archangel's sake. "I am—and so are you, along with half a market!"

"How is he?" Gabriel asked, once again a bundle of nerves.

"He's fine. Or he's gonna be fine once you two talk for, like, ten seconds."

"Talk?" Gabriel looked surprised. "He's willing to talk to me?"

"Of course he'll talk to you—this is Sam we're talking about." Dean rubbed his eyes. "He's still a little freaked, but that'll only stop once he sees you're not mad at him. You're not, right? Mad at him?"

"No!" Gabriel's eyes went wide in distress. "I wasn't even mad at him outside!"

"Not even about your other brother those bastards talked about?" Dean pushed, pinning Gabriel with narrowed eyes. "The one Sam forgot to mention in the aftermath?"

"What?! No, I would never be mad at Sam for that!"

"Good," Dean nodded, fighting a yawn, "because he'd pick up on it right away if you were. Kid's always been good at seeing through fake feelings."

"Gabriel, perhaps you should go talk to Sam now while he's still awake," Castiel suggested. Dean's energy was quickly fading—a testament to how much his conversation with Sam was weighing on him. "He will likely become worried if you delay. You should not leave him alone with his thoughts too long."

Gabriel nodded, and wiped his hands on a towel. The whole kitchen was coated in dirt from the crates, and half of it seemed to cling to the archangel. Grunting in frustration when he realized the dirt was smearing instead of leaving, Gabriel snapped himself clean.

For a second, Castiel thought his brother would run from the room, but then Gabriel walked over to them. "Thank you, Dean," he said, grabbing the hunter in a fierce hug.

Dean grinned and patted the shorter being on the back. "Go on, you sap. Sam's probably half-asleep by now. Morpheus and I accidentally woke him up."

Gabriel chuckled, and pulled away. "You'll have to tell me about it tomorrow. Don't stay up too late, kids."

Castiel smiled as his brother left. Knowing that Sam was going to be okay was a huge relief. Witnessing the conflict between the two had been unsettling enough—he could only imagine the turmoil it had caused them.

"Is he really okay?" Mary asked from the pantry door. Raphael stood behind her. They wore identical worried expressions.

Dean grimaced before turning around to face her with a smile firmly in place. Only Castiel saw the toll all this was taking on the man. "Yeah, Sammy just needs to talk a bit and get some more sleep. He'll be back to his old self by morning. You'll see."

Mary frowned and walked over to the island. "This whole thing—Gabriel calling Sam his child and Sam calling him sir—it's about John, isn't it?"

Dean's shoulders dropped. Stooping down to grab a bushel of apples, he brought them to the island next to his mother. "Yeah," he admitted. "There was some other stuff mixed up in all of it, but Dad was the main issue here."

"Were you," she paused, clearly not wanting to ask the question, but her need for answers made her continue, "were you boys scared of him?"

Dean didn't meet her eyes. A controlled calm settled over him as he began sorting the apples. Castiel had no idea if there was an actual method to Dean's sorting or if he was just trying to keep up appearances.

"Only sometimes," he finally answered in a quiet voice, "if a hunt went wrong, or he'd been drinking too much."

Castiel knew the Winchesters' tendency for drinking in hard times. He'd seen both brothers search for peace in the bottom of a bottle. It disturbed him to think they'd picked up the habit from John-especially considering how alcohol tended to fuel already-present anger. It was not a healthy situation for children.

Tears filled Mary's eyes, but none fell. "I'm so sorry, baby. I-I never wanted you boys to ever see a hunter, let alone…"

Dean set down the apples and swept her into a hug. "Mom, it's okay. It isn't your fault," he reassured. "And it wasn't every day, just once in a…"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Mary huffed, only half-joking. "Just once would be too many times."

"I know," Dean whispered.

Castiel wished he could go back and change everything. Take the boys from John and raise them himself. Prevent Mary's death and Azazel's blood from ever reaching Sam's lips.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and Castiel looked up to find Raphael standing beside him. The archangel didn't smile, but warm comfort seeped through their bond. He reached up and covered the grounding hand with his own, pouring his gratitude and love back to the Healer.

"So," Mary sniffed, pulling away from Dean with a watery smile, "I'm guessing Sammy is sleeping in his old room again tonight?"

Dean nodded, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Looks like it. We'll have to wait till tomorrow before trying to lure him back to the other bedroom."

She caught his hand and kissed the back of it. "In that case, I think I'll take a hot bath and go to sleep in my own room too."

"You sure? I mean, I could stay with you if you wanted me to."

Mary smiled and patted his cheek. "No, honey. I'll be fine. I just need to think about some things."

Raphael cleared his throat, startling them all. "Might I suggest journaling? It is an excellent method for organizing one's thoughts and recording them for later reflection."

"That's a wonderful idea, Raphael. Thank you." Mary hugged her son once more. "Don't stay up all night working on pies and side dishes, understand? I want you rested and fresh come morning. If all your stories are to be believed, then Sammy has limited cooking skills and even more limited experience with holidays. I'd like to show him as much as we can of both tomorrow."

Dean grinned. "Yes, ma'am!"

Mary looked like she wanted to protest being called "ma'am" but she held her tongue at seeing a genuine smile on Dean's face. She settled for shaking her head instead and calling him a brat under her breath.

Before she left the kitchen, she gave Raphael a hug as well. And then she turned to Castiel, pulling him down so she could whisper in his ear. "You make sure he gets some sleep tonight, okay?"

"I'll do my best," he promised, just as quiet.

Mary kissed his cheek, and left the kitchen before the blush reached his face.

"I need to return to Heaven again for the evening, but I shall be back before breakfast," Raphael announced.

"Trouble?" Dean asked, instantly on high-alert.

"No, no," Raphael quickly reassured, "just more healing sessions. I'll probably start spending most of my evenings there while you are all sleeping. There is still much to do to get Heaven back in order."

"As long as you're here by breakfast," Dean said, wagging a finger, "I don't wanna hear Gabe bitchin' because you're late."

"Father forbid." Raphael smiled, then disappeared in a whisper of wings.

Dean sighed, and leaned against the counter. All the masks and false energy fell suddenly away, leaving the man barely upright. Castiel felt honored that Dean did not feel the need to pretend otherwise in his presence.

"Dean," he said quietly.

The hunter grunted without raising his head.

Castiel walked to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. "This can all wait until tomorrow. It's been a long day, and you need to sleep."

"No, it's cool," Dean pushed himself upright and scrubbed at his face. Castiel feared he'd been crying, but it seemed more of an attempt to wake himself up than to hide tears. "There's a few dishes that need prepped tonight. But they won't take too long."

"Can I help?" Castiel asked, knowing it was useless to argue.

"You know where the flour ended up in all this mess?"

Castiel nodded and retrieved the sack from the pantry. "What are we 'prepping' tonight?" He used the finger quotes out of habit—and because it never failed to make Dean smile. Tonight was no exception.

Dean's grin was worth the knowledge that he'd been using the gesture incorrectly for years. "Dough for pie crusts!" he announced joyfully.

Dean showed him how to mix and knead the dough, explaining the process as they went. Castiel listened intently. They worked steadily, rolling each final product into a ball and wrapping them in plastic to set overnight.

By the time they finished placing everything in the expanded refrigerator, it was after nine-o'clock. Dean blinked wearily at the kitchen, as though debating what to do next. Castiel made the decision for him.

"The rest can wait until tomorrow," he said, looping an arm around the hunter's waist and steering him toward the hall.

"But Cas, I still gotta…" Dean started to protest, but Castiel cut him off.

"It can wait," he insisted. "You are tired, and I promised Mary you would be well rested come morning."

"My mom told you to make me go to bed early?" Dean scoffed. His voice was gruff, but Castiel felt a sharp hipbone try to playfully nudge him.

"Do I need to carry you?" Castiel asked wryly. It wasn't the first time he'd threatened Dean with such an action.

"No," Dean grumbled. But the warning was heeded—he walked all the way to his bedroom without complaint. "Thanks for your help. In the kitchen…and with all the other stuff," he said before going in.

"Of course, Dean," Castiel smiled. "Whatever you need—I'm here."

Emotions flashed across the hunter's face faster than Castiel could interpret them. He caught a twitch in Dean's right brow, blown pupils right before the eyes narrowed, and lips that parted while the jaw clenched. "Right," he swallowed, "well, don't let your brother stress-bake all night. I don't want to wake up and find he's time-warped my kitchen and spent three months cooking."

"You…don't want him to do the time warp? Again?" Castiel asked as dead-panned as possible.

Dean blinked. "Did you…did you just make the reference I think you made?"

Castiel allowed a slow grin. "Maybe." It was Gabriel's fault—he'd taken to making them watch movies while their charges slept. Rocky Horror Picture Show had premiered in the early morning hours three days ago. "You didn't strike me as one who enjoys musicals."

"Yeah, well," Dean huffed a flustered laugh and rubbed his face, "Rocky ain't exactly Oklahoma."

"The state?" Castiel asked, suddenly confused.

"The—good night, Cas." Dean patted him on the shoulder and shuffled into his room.

"Good night," Castiel said to the closed door. I'll just wait here then, he thought with a sigh.

Rolling his eyes, he walked through the hall towards Sam's room. Gabriel stood outside the boy's door, staring absently at the wall. It seemed Castiel wasn't the only angel feeling adrift with all their humans in separate beds.

How did your conversation with Sam go? Are things…better? Castiel asked silently, coming to stand next to his brother.

Better than I expected, in some regards. Kid had the nerve to try and make me feel better. Of course, he was a worse mess within a few minutes, so I was able to return the favor. Gabriel shook his head in bewilderment.

And in other regards? Castiel watched Gabriel's smile slide away.

Honestly? I'm worried about him. Sam's carrying so much guilt around, he can't understand how people could care about him, or even want him.

I believe that is a general Winchester trait, Castiel agreed.

What's he gonna do when he meets the host, Cassie? From what Raphael's told me, the few angels who've learned Sam's identity have quickly embraced him as the new baby. You think they'll all be as conscious of human psychology when it comes to keeping their enthusiasm under wraps?

I'm telling Sam you called him the 'new baby.'

Pffft, Gabriel waved him off, he's heard me say it. But seriously—Sam has an extended family now. He's gonna meet them eventually. And unless they all suddenly learn to cover their protective instincts, he's gonna freak.

Castiel frowned. He had not thought about Sam meeting their siblings, except in regards to keeping him safe from those who hated the Winchester name. But if Raphael was right, then they might be facing a completely different scenario.

His memories of Heaven's early years were hazy due to Naomi's constant reprogramming. But the few images that remained intact were of bright angels, full of love for each other and fiercely protective over the younger generations. He'd often heard Caretakers shooing non-Caretaker angels from the nursery. It had been a common game among seraphs to sneak in and play with the fledglings.

Teaching fledglings to fly had always been a disastrous season for the other ranks. The cry of a little one who'd stumbled or grown frustrated was enough to bring an entire garrison's training to a halt. Garrison leaders never tried to stop the seraphs from rushing to help—in fact, they usually led the charge toward Heaven's flying grounds.

He could only imagine their reaction to seeing their newest sibling. The wounds on Sam's soul were obvious with the grace. It reminded Castiel of Kintsugi, the Japanese tradition of fixing broken pottery with gold—only, in Sam's case, there was more grace than soul.

Our brothers and sisters have never seen a fledgling like Samuel—they will see his old scars immediately, and wish to soothe him, Castiel finally said. And Sam's only experience with angels beyond those of us here has been extremely negative.

No kidding, Gabriel grimaced.

Perhaps we should introduce him gradually to small, controlled groups, Castiel suggested. That way he does not get overwhelmed by the entire host, and our siblings can be prepared one by one.

That's a good idea, although it may take a few centuries to introduce him that way. Gabriel leaned back against the wall. I'm considering having the angel guard help out when we start Sam flying in a few days.

Oh, Castiel felt a jolt of anxiety at the thought of Sam flying, I hadn't realized we were progressing so quickly. He also had avoided the angel guard since their arrival. Most of the host despised him, and there was no reason to antagonize those willing to watch over the rest of the flock.

He's far enough along in grace work and forming feathers to start learning how to consciously control those wings. And anything that gives him a sense of control is going to help alleviate some of his anxieties. Besides, Gabriel snorted, if we don't teach that kid to fly in a controlled setting soon, he's gonna start accidentally flinging himself places.

He did that once, before he even had wings, Castiel reminded him.

A testament to Sam's power. Although, it was less flying and more like his grace just pushed him up the tree faster than his brain could process. But, yeah—he's gonna be a terror to teach, I can tell. Gabriel shuddered dramatically. Which is why I'm asking the guard to help. We'll need some extra hands and eyes to keep him within set boundaries while he learns control. I do not want to have to retrieve him from the Antarctic or the Moon or whatever place he manages to land if things go wrong.

You just don't want to explain it to Dean or Mary, Castiel said with a knowing smirk.

Gabriel shuddered again. Nope.

They stood in silence for a moment, listening to the slow breathing past the door. It was shaping up to be a long night. Are you planning on standing here until Sam wakes up?

Yup.

Castiel nodded. Then I shall leave you to it. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me. There are still things to put away from your trip to the markets.

It felt odd to walk through the bunker alone at night. He'd grown accustomed to stretching out in the bed, keeping Sam and Morpheus safely barricaded between himself and Dean. The hours would pass in either silent conversations with his brothers, or in personal reflection. It seemed wrong for them to all be separated.

Fighting the urge to mimic Gabriel and stand outside Dean's door until morning, Castiel returned to the kitchen. It really was a mess. And Dean hated working in a messy kitchen.

He managed to get all the ingredients packed away before he heard it—a door opening, and the heavy fall of boots along the floor. Sighing, he snapped his fingers and made sure all the surfaces gleamed. Gabriel had taught him a variety of domestic uses for his grace.

"Couldn't sleep?" Castiel asked when the steps stopped at the doorway.

"No," Dean said gruffly. "Figured I may as well get some work done if I'm gonna be awake anyway. No use wasting the time."

Castiel stopped him from going to the pantry by standing in his way. "Resting is not a waste of time, even if you are not asleep."

"Cas," Dean started to protest, rolling his eyes as he geared up for a fight.

Castiel grasped his face gently between two palms. He ran his thumbs over the dark circles painting the skin below the man's eyes, wishing he could wipe away the weariness like dirt. "Dean, you are exhausted."

Dean stared at him, too stunned to speak for a second. Then, he tugged Castiel's hands away from his face. "I know, man. Believe me, I know."

"Then, why can you not sleep?" Castiel wondered if Dean knew he was still holding his wrists.

Dean looked away, flushed. "I…it's too…quiet," he muttered.

"Ah," Castiel smiled. "Gabriel and I have been similarly affected by the change of routine tonight."

"Yeah, I saw him standing guard outside Sam's room. I half…" Dean trailed off, releasing Castiel's wrist with a frown, and scratched the back of his neck.

"You half what?"

"I half expected to find you outside my door, honestly," he finally admitted.

"I considered it," Castiel confessed in turn. "I prefer the nights when we are all together, and I have everyone in my sights. The nights preceding Sam's kidnapping were difficult."

"Ugh," Dean groaned, remembering. "I hope Sam doesn't decide to stay in his room again. I mean, I know Morpheus is there, but still…"

"Yes, he sleeps better when he feels secure. And being surrounded by loved ones provides that safety—for both of you."

Dean laughed and turned away. "You know me, Cas—all I need is a gun under the pillow and a solid four hours and I'm good to go."

"Maybe three apocalypses ago, but now you need at least seven hours. And a gun is not substitute for the security of family." Castiel didn't wait for a response. He simply wrapped an arm around Dean's waist for the second time that evening and directed them back toward the bedroom. "Come on. Back to bed."

"When did you get so bossy?"

"About five minutes after I dragged your ass out of Hell."

"You were a bossy little shit back then, weren't you?" Dean yawned, and his weight sagged. Castiel held him easily, slinging the hunter's arm over his own shoulder to keep him upright. "God, I'm not even drunk," he said as he tripped over his own feet.

"No, but you are tired," Castiel pointed out as he opened the bedroom door with a touch of grace. "And it's been a very long day for everyone."

"It's been a long life."

"That too." Castiel got him to the edge of the bed and made him sit. Kneeling down, he began unlacing the worn-out boots. He made a mental note to find him more comfortable footwear—maybe for Christmas.

"Uh, Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?" Castiel pulled the boot off and started on the other.

"W-what are you doing?"

Castiel looked up into wide green eyes. It was a familiar expression now. Sam usually wore it whenever someone unexpectedly tried to take care of him. Winchesters.

"I am taking off your boots so you can lay down," he explained calmly. "You can barely keep your eyes open."

"You don't have to do…"

Castiel pushed him back against the pillow without a word. The blankets were in a tangled heap at the foot of the bed. He shook them out and laid them over Dean who just stared in shock.

Once finished, Castiel kicked off his own shoes and settled on the bed next to him.

"Umm…"

"I will stay so the room is not so empty."

"You don't have…"

"Would you rather I stood in the hallway?" Castiel cut him off. "Because I will if it ensures you remain in bed."

"No! I just…"

"You think that I only take care of Sam because he is child-sized and has grace?" Castiel met Dean's gaze in the dark room.

"Well, you didn't exactly go around dressing, or um, undressing us before. So, yeah. Maybe?"

Castiel frowned. "You have removed or fixed articles of my clothing in the past."

"That's not…I…never mind," Dean's voice trailed off as he hid his face in the pillow. "You can lay down, you know."

Castiel could barely hear the muffled words. Confused by the rapid change in signals from Dean, he scooted down the bed nevertheless. Staring at the ceiling, he listened for the change in breathing that would indicate Dean was asleep.

Twenty minutes later, the hunter was still awake. When he restlessly shifted in the bed for the fifteenth time with a grunt, Castiel turned to face him. "What is wrong, Dean?"

Dean sighed and twisted back around so they could see each other. "Can't stop thinking."

"About what?"

"Everything. Thanksgiving. Mom. Sam. Dad."

"The incident between Sam and Gabriel took a toll on you."

"I—yeah. Anything involving our dad is hard. Growing up, he was my hero. I tried to be just like him, and couldn't understand why Sam had to fight him on everything. He'd do things, knowing it would set Dad off, and I'd get so mad."

"You tried to keep the peace."

"I tried to protect him! Because I knew there was nothing I could do if he pushed Dad past a breaking point. But he never listened."

"Did John have a temper that was easily provoked?"

Dean gave a hollow laugh. "You could say that."

Castiel thought about it, trying to picture Sam purposefully pestering an adult into a rage. "Perhaps it gave Sam a sense of control."

Dean's face scrunched up in confusion. "What? No. That's the stupidest…it was the opposite of control once Dad got mad enough. He'd just explode."

"I have seen you do the same thing on many occasions," Castiel said.

"What? When?"

"When confronting an enemy, knowing the situation will end in battle, you often taunt them into swinging first."

"That's different, Cas."

"Why? Because it's a creature?"

"Because I'm an adult hunter! I have weapons and experience and I'm damn good at what I do. And I don't always feel like letting the monster of the week waste my time with some stupid monologue. I'd rather get it over with so I can get some food, grab a beer, and sleep."

Castiel chose his words carefully. "Sometimes, the tension of waiting for an attack is harder to deal with than the fight itself. Maybe Sam preferred forcing John to lose his temper rather than waiting to see what kind of mood he'd be in that night."

Dean mulled it over. Castiel could almost see the wheels turning as the hunter recalled various incidents from their childhood. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, "I could never figure out why Sam would choose the worst nights to antagonize him. The nights when he started drinking early, or look for any excuse to call us out no matter how hard we'd tried—weapons were never clean enough, our running time not fast enough. I always tried to appease him, but Sam…Sam dug in until…"

"It is never a child's responsibility to pacify a parent. You should never have been placed in a situation where you needed to protect Sam from anything—let alone, your father."

Dean shut his eyes and buried his face against Castiel's shoulder. "But I was and I failed. I've failed him so many times now."

Castiel adjusted their position, getting his arm under Dean's head. It allowed him to bring his hand up to the hunter's shoulder and draw him closer. "We have all failed each other. But we keep trying—keep working toward making things better. And you are not alone anymore."

Dean nodded without answering. His shoulders shook slightly, and his breathing felt erratic. But no noise escaped him.

Castiel brought his other arm around to rub his back. Offering physical comfort had become second nature with Sam, so he followed his instincts. He wasn't prepared for how right it felt with Dean.

"Go to sleep. You are not alone." He pressed a kiss to Dean's hair and felt him settle. "Not anymore."

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Blame Castiel for this chapter.
He hijacked everything-the computer, my brain, the world.
I swear we will have the Thanksgiving scene next!
And I've had some comments about the "action levels" of the fic dropping off. Here's the thing: action in my stories hits like a hurricane. And there is a LOT coming...some pretty soon actually. I promise. But the main motivation of this whole story is healing from traumas, both past and current. The conversations and healing aren't afterthoughts. They aren't there as filler between action sequences. They are the main purpose. And I need the characters to reach a certain place (like with Sam's training) before some of the action can happen. This is gonna be a LOOOONG story ;)
Thanks for your patience, y'all!
Remember to come find me on Tumblr: theriverscribe AND/OR spn-bythegraceofgod