A light spring breeze playfully tossed the canopy of leaves just being kissed by the dawn as the boys made their way along a well-worn path in the woods surrounding Pine Lake. Their destination was the best fishing spot on the whole of the lake—at least according to Stan at Stan's Bait and Tackle Shop, where they'd rented two fishing poles and bought some bait.

Suddenly, the sound of whistling filled the air, and Sam shot his brother a strange look. "Dude, why are you whistling the theme from 'The Andy Griffith Show'?"

"I dunno—seemed appropriate," Dean shrugged and grinned, a lighthearted expression on his normally too serious face. "I kinda feel like Sheriff Andy Taylor right now." He wiggled the fishing pole he carried in his right hand.

Sam smiled at Dean's bit of silliness and played along. "Hey, wait a minute—if you're Andy, then does that mean I'm Opie?" the taller brother dramatically splayed his hand across his chest, "Because I am so NOT Opie!"

Pausing for a moment, Dean eyed his brother from head to toe before saying, "Nah. Not Opie. I've always had you pegged as more like Barney Fife."

"Barney Fife—oh, dude—NOW I'm insulted."

"Hey, could be worse, I coulda said that you were more like Aunt Bee," Dean smirked, his eyes crinkling at the corners, "Ahh, that Aunt Bee—she was quite a woman, wasn't she?"

Sam snorted. "You are one messed up individual." He playfully slugged Dean in the arm.

Their laughter, lately such a rare sound, reached the highest treetops.

By now, they'd reached the lake and headed for a small sandy stretch dotted with a few good-sized boulders. Dean set his fishing pole and the tackle box he carried on the ground and then rubbed his hands together. "So . . . what do we do next?"

"We have to bait the hooks and cast off, I guess." Sam grabbed a fishing pole and the container of earthworms they'd purchased at Stan's.

"Um . . . oookay," Dean muttered hesitantly.

"Here, I'll show you," Sam selected a worm from the container. "Watch."

"Yuck."

The younger Winchester shot his brother an incredulous look. "Yuck? What do you mean yuck?"

Dean fidgeted. "Nuthin. It's just . . . worms are gross."

"Seriously? Dude, you see worse than this on almost every hunt!"

Sam could have sworn his brother actually shuddered.

"All slimy. And they have a nasty smell."

"Worms do not smell," scoffed Sam.

"Sure they do. Haven't you ever smelled that nasty smell after it's rained a long time? It's almost as bad as sulfur."

"Dean, that's just plain weird. Of course," Sam chuckled, "you're weird so it makes sense."

The older Winchester tossed a disgruntled look in his brother's direction. "Yeah, well, you never had to eat one before."

"You've eaten a worm? What—did it just get in the way when you were chomping on something else?"

That earned him a fierce glare. "Ha ha. Very funny."

"Dude, I've seen you eat, remember? It was a logical assumption."

The elder Winchester snorted. "What're you Mr. Spock now? Look, it was a bet. What was I supposed to do?"

"So someone bet you money you could eat a worm and you did it?"

"No, not for money," Dean sarcastically mimicked his brother's tone, "It was in the early days of my badass big brother career."

"So it was because of me?" Sam thumped his hand to his chest.

Dean shrugged. "Well, it was that or let the bully get a hold of you." A heartbeat or two of silence went by before Dean continued, "Sammy, do not—I repeat, do not—get that look in your eye."

All innocence, Sam said, "What look?"

"That sappy, melty, shimmery thing you do," Dean groused, "Besides if you start blubbering you'll scare the fish."

"But—"

Dean elbowed Sam in the side. "Just finish doin' the hook thing."

Sam, though frustrated, did as his brother wanted and finished baiting the hook. "And then you cast off—like this." The younger man planted his feet just so and let the fishing line fly. A couple of seconds later, the baited hook plopped into the still water of Pine Lake.

"Hey, that was pretty good. Where'd you learn to do that?"

Now it was the younger Winchester's turn to shrug nonchalantly. "Ah, I went on a couple of fishing trips with Jess. She taught me."

"Wait a minute—your girlfriend taught you to fish?"

"Yeah, and she was really good at it too. Learned from her Dad. Now you try."

Taking a deep breath, Dean reluctantly selected a worm and, ignoring the feel of it wiggling between his fingers, concentrated on getting it on his hook. Once it was done, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Now cast off like I showed you."

Dean assumed the stance and let the line fly. At least, he thought he did. His first attempt ended with the hook and line tangled around a tree branch. His second attempt resulted in the hook embedding in Sam's shirt when he didn't duck fast enough. Finally, on his third attempt, he was successful and he grinned in satisfaction as the hook sank into the water.

After about an hour, Dean sighed and rubbed the back of his free hand across his forehead, wiping away the sweat beaded there. He felt oddly tired.

"Man, this is supposed to be the best fishing spot on the lake? That Stan guy didn't know what he was talking about."

"Fishing is a sport of patience, Dean," counseled Sam, "besides half the fun of fishing is simply enjoying nature."

Frowning over at his brother, Dean grumbled, "Yeah, well, you can enjoy nature 'cause you don't have the sun beating down on you like you're under a magnifying glass."

"Stop being so grouchy. Why don't you just move to a more comfortable spot?"

"Good idea." Dean glanced around looking for a new place to stand. His gaze stopped on a small, shaded outcropping over the lake. It seemed to call his name. "I'm goin' over there," he jerked his chin to the right.

Sam watched his brother as he made his way over to the new area. He felt a tug on his line and turned his attention back to his fishing pole, testing to see if he'd gotten a bite. The tugging stopped moments later and the line loosened. Nope, not a fish—most likely some sort of debris. He looked back toward Dean and was startled to see his brother just standing there, barely gripping his fishing pole. His head was cocked slightly to the left as if he was listening to something.

"Dean? Hey, Dean?" he called loudly.

Dean jumped when he heard Sam's yell. He blinked a few times. "Um, what?"

"You okay over there?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure you should be standing up there? That it's safe?"

"Sam, stop worrying. It's fi—"

Without warning, a loud rumble filled the air and the ground crumbled beneath Dean's feet. The last thing Sam heard was Dean's yelp when he hit the cold water of Pine Lake.

TBC . . .