Sorry for the wait! Thanks so much for the reviews - you guys are the jam in my jelly roll.

Personal Trouble.

Sam found himself at the local diner; most diners had the same sort of feel, the same bustle about them, and Sam had grown up in them more than he'd grown up in any one home or motel, so he always found himself at ease at a vinyl-seated diner booth.

His frustration had waned slightly on the walk there and it didn't take long for him to settle into less riotous thoughts of the predicament that was Dean and Cas, as well as the case at hand. It took almost no time at all after that, when he'd settled into his booth, sliding the sugar, napkin-holder and ketchup to the edge of the table that was against the wall, and opened his laptop open in front of him, to notice the waitress behind the bar.

She was pretty in a she could be your best friend and your lover kind of way, utterly approachable despite how pretty she was. She had an easy smile and seemed to move around the cramped space behind the bar as if she had every inch of the place memorized and being one of only two waitresses around during a busy lunch hour was old hat. Sam noticed with a smirk that she had a few forgotten pens stuck in her ponytail and flour on her little black waist-apron.

Honestly, she was kind of a mess. But in a cute way. Sam already liked her.

So when the other waitress came walked into his line of sight and gruffly took his order, giving him the I know what you're thinking, forget about it tiger look, he couldn't help but be disappointed.

Several hours and a Greek omelette with homefries later Sam was leaning back against the booth with a heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes. This case was exhausting him. He wasn't suffering from a lack of leads, but from an overabundance. Being that it was such a small town, there was cross-over everywhere. There was no one obvious link. Everyone knew everyone and their lives overlapped in thousands of ways.

He leaned his head back, closing his eyes, hoping his mind would be able to untangle some of these webs of connection if he just relaxed.

He was just beginning to feel his mind go calm when a female voice interrupted.

"So..."

Sam's eyes shot open to see the pretty waitress standing right in front of him. He bolted up straight and running a hand through his hair.

She crossed her arms, smiling at him, "What're you looking for?"

He composed himself as quickly as he could manage. "What makes you think I'm looking for something?"

Smooth recovery, Sam. Nicely done.

The waitress smiled at him, "This isn't the kind of town you blow in to without a good reason. And you're not related to anyone I know, so it must be something else. There's no work here, and you don't seem to be looking. But you've got a table full of maps and highlighted google-searches, so..."

Sam was speechless as the waitress looked down at him with a satisfied smirk.

"Tell me what you're looking for. Maybe I can help you find it."

"Um..." he laughed awkwardly, "it's nothing really. I work for a uh, local newspaper, and I came down here to check out the weird stuff that's been happening in this town."

"Ahhh. Yeah, I was wondering when the UFO freaks and amateur hippies were gonna start rolling in."

He laughed again. "Yeah. So, you know anything about it?"

"Well let's see," she said, sliding into the seat across from him. "Few weeks ago Randy Gunning starts talking all this nonsense about how he never wanted to be a mechanic, only kept the business for his dad. Apparently he wanted to be a photographer. That in itself isn't that strange I guess... it was just..."

"What?" Sam leaned forward, waiting for what came next.

"Well he wouldn't shut up about it. He kept telling us, over and over. About all his thoughts and dreams and regrets. It's strange. He's kind of a man of few words you know? Keeps things bottled. Or at least he did. Now people keep seeing him out and about town with an old Polaroid, snapping pictures of this and that. Wasn't long before we started thinking his new artistic side was bringing out a certain medicinal liberality..."

Sam laughed at her choice of words and she smiled warmly at him.

She's smart. She's pretty when she smiles...

Crap - don't get distracted, keep listening.

"Ever since then Randy's been wandering around, stupid goofy grin plastered on his face like..."

"Like he's stoned?" Sam offered without the polite beating around the bush.

The waitress seemed to appreciate it, "High as a damn kite." She shook her head, smiling slightly at the thought. "Not much changes around here, so it was the topic of many a speculative conversation. But then, Marcy Camp got up in the middle of church and yelled at the top of her lungs, with a smile on her face, that she didn't believe any of that horseshit. Her word, not mine. And she called out a few of her fellow parishoners too. Before wandering out into town center and laying in the grass happy as a pig in shit. Then Larry Thomas kisses Dawn Kenna and Dawn Kenna admits she loves him and they have been holed-up in his apartment ever since... It's been a lot of sudden free-spiritedness."

Sam nodded, "That is kind of strange."

She shook her head a little, like she couldn't really believe it herself. "Don't get me wrong, for the most part I'm enjoying this town loosening up some of its buttons. But poor Bryce Ryerson..." She paused, looking deep in thought. She seemed genuinely sad. "They said he was the same way. Like he drank the same dopey coolade or something."

"Poor Bryce?" Sam questioned, "He killed two people. He murdered his own father didn't he?"

"Oh yeah," she conceded, certain of it, "but he had it coming."

"How so?"

"Bryce was a sweet kid. Troubled, though. And his father didn't help any by beating the crap out of him daily. It was only a matter of time before the cops had a body to haul away. I'm just surprised it wasn't Bryce's."

"And the kid at school - a bully, right?"

She nodded. "You're quick."

He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

"Think someone's burning a poppy field the next town over or something?"

He laughed. God, she's so -

Dude. Stop. Pay attention.

"Maybe," he offered with a shrug. "Maybe it's in the water."

"I'd stick to cola and coffee then," she suggested. He nodded as if to say will do. "So," she started carefully, "you came in here in quite a tizzy. What was that about?"

Sam's cheeks flushed at the thought that A, she'd noticed him, and B, he'd been in any kind of tizzy in front of her. "W- what? I don't tizzy."

"Ok, fine. But you stormed in like a kicked hornets nest. So what's got you all riled up?"

"Oh... nothin' -"

"Come on, tell me. Who am I gonna tell?"

She smirked at him and it left him entirely debilitated. Before he even knew what was coming out of his mouth he admitted, "My brother is making me crazy." And God did it feel like a load off to say it out loud.

"Ah," she said with an air of understanding. "Sibling rivalry?"

"Not quite." She looked at him expectantly and Sam couldn't help it, "he's got this... friend. And this... friend has always been there for him. Even when he had no one else, and the stakes were high, and even when he was being a real jackass. And now I think... I think my brother is in love with-" he stopped himself short of giving too much information, namely the gender of Dean's friend, away.

The waitress nodded. "So he's in love with his best friend. What's the frustrating part? You're not in love with this friend too, are you?"

"No, no!" Sam corrected a little too enthusiastically. The waitress' head ducked bashfully as she smiled, and Sam laughed awkwardly. He explained, "My brother, he's... stubborn. He won't admit how he feels. And our friend is... well... I guess you could say shy. More like socially awkward. Even that's not really hitting the nail on the head..." Sam squinted down at the tabletop trying to think of an accurate way to describe Castiel.

His words utterly failed him. Cas was a great big, superpower wielding contradiction.

The waitress interrupted his internal struggle, "Ah, so they're totally in love and they're thinking about throwing each other against the bed and getting down and dirty once and for all, and anyone who's ever met them can see it, but neither will make the first move."

"Exactly." There was a definite appreciation to his voice.

She nodded, then decided concisely, "Sounds annoying."

"Thank you," Sam all but sighed in relief at the understanding. "It is. Very annoying."

She laughed a little at his sheer relief. And for a moment, their eyes just sort of lingered. Hers were a soft, light brown that shined with a certain freedom, openness, and Sam found it way too easy to get lost in them.

They both seemed to break at the same moment, laughing awkwardly and looking away. "So uh," she cleared her throat, obviously trying to cover the stilted moment, "you're trying to get them together?"

"Yeah," he quirked his head at her, "how'd you know?"

"You're way too invested." Sam shrugged, he guessed that was true. But his cheeks blushed a little, and he wasn't sure why.

As if to try and keep Sam from feeling embarrassed, the waitress offered, "It's cute."

Sam looked up, kind of surprised.

"I mean, it's nice of you. To try and make them happy."

"I guess. I can't say it's all altruistic though. They're making me crazy. I'm just ready for the tension to break."

She smiled at him like she didn't really believe that.

"Order up!" a very irritated short order cook yelled from across the restaurant.

The waitress rolled her eyes. "Gotta go," she shot Sam one more heart-melting smile and headed off.

Sam felt vindicated for his frustration, and a lot relieved to have been able to vent even vaguely out loud. But also, he felt something he hadn't felt for awhile... It had been a long time since Sam had really liked a girl. Especially a sweet, seemingly normal girl. Something about her had him already intrigued.

He wasn't so eager to finish the case and roll out of town anymore.

Aftershocks.

The car ride over to the Ryerson house was more than a little tense for Dean. Although, when he snuck a glance over at Cas it seemed the Angel was calm and collected and not at all effected by the nearly demobilizing tension Dean felt pressing down on every inch of him.

After their... incident last night, Dean was feeling more than a little exposed. He'd tried, in vein, to convince himself it was just a friendly neck-rub. What's a little massage between friends?

Yeah right.

If it had been completely platonic Dean wouldn't have been praying for Cas' hands to go lower. He wouldn't have tipped his head back and left himself entirely exposed and parted his lips in ridiculous, embarrassing invitation.

It wouldn't still be making his heart jump every time he remembered Cas' shy hands sliding up his back beneath his shirt. He'd let that happen. He'd encouraged it, hadn't he?

It was a moment of insanity. Just stop thinking about it. Don't let it knock you off your game.

He'd been telling himself this and mantras similar all morning, but it didn't help. Because Cas' eyes were on him.

Non stop.

Even more non stop than usual.

Castiel had been watching him all day with a renewed kind of fascination and even less bother to hide his observation. Usually Cas was at least trying to be subtle, even if he did fail miserably. But now, Dean could feel those blue eyes burning into him. And it made his skin hot, like the trails of where Cas' hands had touched his skin were lit up from the Angel's gaze. It made him tingle and itch for something until he couldn't sit still.

And the part of him that wanted it -

No, that's not right. All of him wanted it. Part of him just couldn't admit it. And that part was barely making a blip compared the riotous feeling Dean wouldn't dare call love screaming underneath his skin.

Lust, maybe? Yeah, I can deal with that. It's been a long time since I got any... I'm just projecting.

Really? You're "projecting" that you want Cas' man-body against you, that you want to feel him against your thigh all hard and -

Woah! Ok, stop. Just... maybe it is lust but it's not... it's not... It's not that.

You can't even say the word. How fucked up are we?

He shook his head a little, silencing the inner-struggle, his eyes darting over to the Angel as if worried that he'd heard.

Dean had never spent so much time with Cas in one long, relentless stretch. It was difficult. The guy was break-the-scales kind of intense and it was disorienting at times. He never thought it would be so hard not to tell the truth. And he still got overwhelmed and stupid in front of him sometimes, like the mere presence of the Angel would throw him completely off his game.

He tried to cover it. But after last night... Dean was struggling. He woke up this morning deciding to be the happy-go-lucky version of himself. It was working for awhile. Until Dean had succeeded in being too happy and the stupid Angel smiled at him. A rare, full, I'm legitimately enjoying myself smile from the Angel whose lips barely twitched at the funniest of jokes.

And at the sight of Castiel's smile Dean's whole chest flooded with warmth, his heart fluttered and he went entirely mutely stupid for a moment.

His whole mood changed after that - Cas looking happy was gorgeous and entrancing and it made him stare at the Angel like a vapid idiot which made him even more embarrassed. So he thought, let's try a more subdued approach, tired-Dean. But it took more energy than he expected to pretend to be exhausted, and of course the Angel tilted his head and watched Dean carefully, as if trying to figure out what had happened to ruin the good mood. So Dean got frustrated and switched to moody, sniping, all-business Dean just to handle it.

He could still feel Cas studying him, and it touched him down to his core.

No matter what version of himself he was, Cas seemed equally interested.

Which was frustrating because if Cas was watching him, he couldn't watch Cas. Not without acknowledging what he was doing.

His mind drifted to the idea of letting his eyes rest on the Angel, Cas knowing exactly what he was doing and why when Dean watched him with awe and affection, tracing the planes of his pale face, his blue eyes, his lips... It gave Dean a strange feeling in his stomach - not a bad one. But one he didn't recognize. Curious, he pushed his mind to continue imagining this hypothetical situation, where Cas would be entirely aware of the nature of Dean's gaze...

Dean imagined Cas not being freaked out by it. He imagined him sitting silently, facing forward, only the hint of smile on his lips to tell Dean that Cas knew exactly what was happening. Dean imagined Cas would indulge him. Dean imagined Cas would like it when he reached over and brushed his thumb against his lips, and maybe Cas would even press those lips to the pad of Dean's finger in a natural response. Maybe... maybe Cas would smile at him, and it would reach his eyes like it had earlier...

A loud and abrasive car-horn snapped Dean out of his reverie just in time to realize two things - he was still driving, and he was blatantly staring at Cas' lips.

And Cas was staring back at him.

Dean's heart thudded with the adrenaline of nearly causing a head-on collision. And maybe because of something else.

He kept his eyes on the road after that.

Dean pulled the Impala to the curb on the Ryerson's street, stalking toward the house on a misison. Cas trailed behind silently. Dean looked over his shoulder suspiciously before starting to pick the lock on the front door. He smiled at himself when he heard that satisfying click but turned to see Castiel tilting his head at a nearly dilapidated garden lattice resting against the front of the house.

"What?" Dean asked, knowing that look.

"It's strange..." he reached out to touch the lattice, holding a piece of leaf between his fingers, "this Ivy usually only grown in Greece."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I guess if the Angel thing doesn't work out you could always be a landscaper."

Castiel ignored him. "It's familiar... I can't remember..."

Dean left him to his thoughts, heading into the house and finding that on the surface everything was normal. But upon closer examination, there was something kind of off about the place. The kid, Bryce's room was too tidy to be lived in by a teenager of any discipline. There was nothing remotely personal about it. It was a cell, more than a room. A cell with a desk and a nice twin mattress and a pleasant coat of paint, but a cell none the less. Either the kid had no personality, or he was afraid to show it.

Meanwhile the dad's room was an unholy mess. Dean noted, with a jaw clenching sigh, that one of the father's belts was hanging over the back of a chair, dark reddish-brown stain marking the leather.

A terrified kid, and a dad's bloody belt.

Didn't take a genius to put it together.

Castiel sensed Dean's mood darken, "What does it mean?"

"Means the Dad had it comin'."

Castiel examined the belt and put two and two together. He couldn't say he disagreed.

Cas followed quietly as Dean scoured the house, looking for clues. The only thing he found was a receipt for the Grapevine Diner in the teenager's desk with somebody's phone number on it. He snagged it and declared with a huff that it was time to go.

When they got back outside they were met with a ruckus across the street. A woman in a bathrobe was bellowing at the top of her lungs at a man, who was cowering inside of a car. The woman had a shotgun cocked at the car, and appeared to be waving the cars keys up in the air, brandishing them, mocking her husband. She tossed them easily into a sewer grate with a smile.

The husband could hide in there if he wanted, but he wasn't going anywhere.

A few neighborhood bystanders were watching the domestic drama unfold. Dean ran up to the small group, some trying to dissuade the woman from killing her husband and trying to convince her to put the gun down. Dean approached a level-headed looking black man in his pyjamas and bathrobe, flashing his false police credentials and asking him what the Hell was going on.

"Evelyn Park," the man informed Dean, motioning toward the enraged housewife. "I was getting the mail, heard her screaming, came to check it out. She's got her husband trapped in the car. Talking about shooting him in the goods for cheating on her."

"Yikes..." Dean pitied the sleezbag.

"I think she's on something," the man offered.

"Why do you say that?"

"She looks like the others - you know, the other sick ones. She's kind of... drunk or something."

"Great..." Dean muttered, pulling his gun to the ready as he approached the woman with caution. "Ma'am?"

She turned at the sound of his voice, pulling the shotgun around with her like she'd forgotten it was there. Dean cocked his handgun, just in case. A shot rang out and Dean hit the deck. He checked himself, thankfully not hit and looked back up to the woman who seemed just as shocked.

"Woops..." she smiled at him. "Glad I missed ya."

"Woops?" he yelled back at her. "Lady, you almost shot me!"

"Who are you?" she asked calmly.

"Agent Howe*, FBI. Ma'am, I'm gonna need you to put the shotgun down."

"Nah, not yet."

She was way too relaxed with that response, and as she turned back toward the car, Dean was kind of at a loss. He had a gun aimed directly at her, and it didn't seem to phase her one bit. "Uh...Ma'am-"

"Please, call me Evelyn. Ma'am makes me sound so old. And you know, I'm not that old. I don't feel old. I don't think I look that old... But this jackass!" She cocked the gun at her husband who cowered in fear, ducking out of sight. "You slept with that sorority skank! And I only let it go to keep up appearances!... Well not anymore buddy! I never forgave you! I've always hated you for that! You and your little pointer there!"

Dean's face jolted into an expression of surprise and maybe distaste. Cas simply tilted his head, watching the situation unfold. A few of the bystanders snickered despite themselves.

"Evie please!" the man's muffled voice came from inside the car, "I'm sorry!"

"Bullshit!" She pumped the shotgun and cocked it, aiming at the door the man was cowering behind. Dean sprang into action - he tackled poor Evelyn to the blacktop and knocked away the gun. Evelyn watched the gun scrape away across the ground and gave a heavy, disappointed sigh.

"I would really have liked to shoot him in the junk."

Dean was still reeling from that last statement when the actual cops rolled up, hurrying over to Evelyn and handcuffing her, hoisting her up and towards the cruiser.

Dean brushed himself off half noticing out of the corner of his eye that Cas wandered toward Evelyn's house. One of the cops approached him. With Evie safely locked away in the cruiser, the other cop set to work trying convince the husband to come out of the car. Dean shook his head, almost smiling at crazy-ass Evelyn. As the cop walked up, Dean flashed his fake badge, demanding to speak to Evelyn before they took her away.

The cop opened the car door, not at all concerned that she might try to run, and left Dean to interrogate Evelyn.

"Hello," she smiled at Dean.

"Sorry for the tackle," Dean started. "Can't say I blame you for wanting to maim the guy. But... a shotgun? A little harsh."

"In retrospect... maybe..." she gazed up at the sky, thinking. Dean watched her, his eyebrows raised warily. Then she looked back at him suddenly, "Don't worry about the tackle. I was the only girl on the junior varsity football team when I was twelve. Of course, they cut me as soon as I got boobs..."

"Oh. Right... That must've been..." he cleared his throat. "So, Evelyn..."

"Yes cutie?" she smiled up at him.

"You experienced anything particularly strange lately? Anything maybe, right before you went batshit on your husband."

"Hmm..." she closed her eyes, thinking hard, then excitedly responded, "Nope!"

She smiled up at him and he tried not to let his irritation show. "Where have you been in the last 24 hours?"

"Home. And... to the mailbox... and then back home..."

Dean rolled his eyes, losing patience.

"And Grapevine. But mostly home."

"Did you say Grapevine? The diner?"

She nodded. "If you haven't been yet, go order the Eggs Benedict. I should have gotten them more often - fattening though, you know? but so good. Who cares anymore - I'm gonna have them every time from now on!"

"That sounds like a plan. You enjoy that." Having found his solid lead, Dean went to close the door but was stopped when Evelyn put a hand out calling, "Oh and dear!"

Dean looked back down at the dopey-faced woman. "Yes?"

"Congratulations!"

He cocked his head to the side, "For?"

"Well, duh. You're in love aren't you? You should yell it from rooftops... Love songs always talk about stuff like that. My husband, rat bastard, he never did any of that for me. And I never felt like doing it for him. But you're really in love. So you should do it. That'd be so romantic-"

"Excuse me, excuse me," he interrupted, flustered. She stared up at him with big eyes and he informed her, "I, am not, in love."

Evelyn shot him an almost maternally disapproving look that shut him right up. "Now Dean," he balked at the mention of his real name, which he had, as always, left out. "Don't deny it. It's obvious. You have to embrace it. You have to. Be true to yourself, live it up, you'll feel so much better."

Dean stared at her, slack-jawed, before closing the door on her, turning on his heel and walking very quickly away.

Out of instinct he headed toward Cas.

Hearing Dean walk up behind him and knowing it was him, Castiel didn't bother to turn around when he spoke to Dean, "You learned something useful from her I hope."

Dean stopped dead, his heart dropped, "W-what...?"

"Was the woman able to give you any leads?" Cas clarified, his focus still very much aimed at the side of the house, and not at Dean.

Dean shook his head, clearing his mind. "Uh, yeah," he pulled Bryce Ryerson's receipt out of his pocket, "Grapevine."

Castiel turned to look at him.

"It's a diner in town. The kid was there, and so was Evelyn. It a connection at least." Cas nodded and turned back to what he was studying. Dean stepped forward to stand beside him, "What are you scrutinizing over here? Trying to set the house on fire with your eyes superman?"

Castiel ignored Dean's strange attempt at wit and simply waited for Dean's gaze to follow his.

Ate the base of the house's foundation was a weedy green patch of Ivy that had sneakily climbed up the siding.

"Huh. More of that. You said it's unusual. Maybe it's connected to whatever's going on here."

Castiel's eyes narrowed, "I don't remember where I saw it."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Helpful..."

Castiel shot him a hard look.

When Sam returned to the motel he was still smiling. Dean caught the grin, "I hope your day was better than mine."

Sam tried to get his smile in check. "Alright. Mildly informative."

"Where ya been?"

"Diner."

Dean's ears all but perked up, "Grapevine?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Not feeling overly honest or cracked out are you? Cause that place is the only lead I have right now."

"Uh no. And if all you have is that they both went to the diner then we're still screwed. It's a tiny town, Dean. Everyone's been to that diner in the past two weeks."

Dean soured at the obliteration of his one lead. "Anything weird there?"

"Nah."

"You sure? I mean, you were there all day? Whatta they have the best toast this side of the Mississippi? I did hear the eggs benedict was good. Or maybe, they've got the hottest waitresses." Dean joked, his laughter cutting short when first he catches the disapproving eye roll of the Angel, and then when he glances over to Sam and sees him out-right blushing.

"Ohhh," Dean smirked, not having had an opportunity for a good Sammy likes a girl! teasing in a long time. "So it's the waitresses," he laughed as his little brother rolled his eyes and pretended so unconvincingly that he had no idea what Dean was talking about. "Tell us Sammy, what were you doing all day while we were out getting shot?"

"Neither of us was shot," Castiel offered plainly, thinking it was definitely right to diffuse any needless worry for Sam.

The brothers ignored him. Dean continued, "Getting a little afternoon delight?"

"Dude," Sam tried to brush it off, "what're you talking about?"

"Come on Sam, tell the truth... You at least gave her a good tip after, right?"

"Hey!" his anger was protective and offended.

It was exactly what Dean was hoping for.

Dean smacked his hands together once in victory. He knew a jibe like that would force Sam to show his true colors, and Dean could tell by the way Sam got so irritated and flushed that he did, indeed, have a crush.

"Sam's got a crush on the Diner Girl!" Dean announced, thoroughly pleased.

And Cas smiled to see Dean smile, which caused Dean to turn away with a blush of his own.

Sam smirked in retaliation.

(*Brian Howe of Bad Company. yes, I just made a reference glossary at the bottom of the page like this is an English Lit. class.)

I hope there weren't too many spelling errors. I kind of rushed to get this chapter up. So excuse any mistakes or unedited craziness!

I finally amended the description of the story as well, as per request. I've come to terms with this being a whole story. Seven chapters into it...