Two: The Brother

"You guys are gross."

Dean was scrubbing at the burnt leftovers on the pan when he heard the voice, his heart floating up to his throat and warmth spreading through his nerve endings. "Sammy?"

The pan was in the sink the very next moment and he was in the living room, watching as Sam put down his bags and rested his cane against the wall. He shook his long hair back from his eyes. "Did you burn your breakfast again because you two couldn't stop having sex?"

Dean raised an eyebrow, but his brother shrugged. "I can smell it off Cas. The burnt stuff. And you wouldn't let him cook, but food is too important to you so I know you wouldn't let it burn like that, unless you were doing something better. Plus, Cas is smiling a lot." He turned to Cas. "You never smile that much, you know?"

There was a moment of silence as a grin crept up Dean's face and he went forward, extending his arms. "Hey, Sam."

"Hey." Sam's voice was soft when Dean pulled him into his arms, somehow swallowing his gigantic frame in the hug, even though Sam was so much bigger. And Sam held on, burying his face in Dean's shoulder for a moment, before they split.

"You're still disgusting, though," Sam said, wrinkling his nose.

"Your hair is disgusting."

"Shut up. Jess likes it."

"Jess is blind."

"I think we should have breakfast at the diner," Cas interrupted them, and Dean could see Sam already opening his mouth to protest.

He smirked. "I win, Sammy."

"No, your husband is way blinder and that wasn't a fair match," Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes. He retrieved his cane. "I'm hungry, though, so can we eat something quick?"

"Sure," Dean told him. "I'm gonna have to scrub out the pan a little bit so it doesn't get worse." He could feel the blush creep up his cheeks. Sam knew them too well.

"Ew," his sibling responded, limping to the couch. "Do it quickly then, jerk, I haven't eaten anything today."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean told him, heading back to the kitchen. "Bitch."

~o~

"Dean, you're an idiot."

Sam rubbed at his forehead slowly, fingering his coffee mug as Dean watched Charlie bustle about, serving their customers. He'd initially opened the diner for burgers only, but his customers increased and he and Cas had decided to expand the menu to include more breakfast items. Dean had been a little grumpy about it but it all worked out pretty well.

"Sam," Cas said quietly from beside Dean, "I tried telling him, but—"

"Are you even listening to us here, Dean?"

Dean snapped out of his reverie when he heard Sam's question. His brother looked concerned and a little pissed. Dean stared at the pancakes, feeling a little reprimanded at Sam's gaze. "You going to your doctor regularly?"

Sam sighed. "Just answer my question, man."

"I got pissed," Dean replied, shrugging. "Whad'ya guys want me to say?"

"Yeah, but…" Sam's jaw clenched as he looked around and then leaned forward, hissing, "I warned you two about this shit."

"Yeah," Dean whispered back, "but I told you I got angry, so you tell me, what the fuck do you want me to do about it?"

"I want you to control your fucking temper," Sam snapped back at him. He turned to Cas. "They asked you to see them with me today, right?" he asked, voice milder, and Dean folded his arms across his chest, annoyed at his brother's reproach.

"Yes."

Sam nodded, running his fingers through his hair. "All right, then. We'll talk." He fell silent for a second. "You worried?"

"Yes, Sam, I—"

"Don't be," he said, the confidence in his voice making Dean's chest swell with pride. "I'll handle it, okay?"

"I trust you, Sam." Cas looked so earnest in that moment, and so relieved, that Dean felt all the realisation creep up into him about Cas's unreasonable anger last night and that morning. He blinked at his husband, shame and regret mingling with his senses as the reason for Cas's behaviour became clear.

Dean had really hurt him.

He swallowed and nudged his husband behind him and locked eyes with Cas's. "I'll make it up to you tonight, yeah? Again, and better this time," he whispered, winking, and the only thing that broke their eye contact was Sam's fake retching from across the table.

"Seriously, guys, just get a room."

~o~

Sam had only been practising law for six months now, so he couldn't help but feel flattered to have Dean and Cas's utter trust in him. He supposed it shouldn't have counted, because they were his brother and brother-in-law, but to have their support was something else, if he were honest.

He packed his briefcase, double-checking the files he'd gotten made for Cas when Cas had told him about his ideas, and mentally recounted everything he'd need, hoping he wouldn't screw up for his family today.

Dean had stayed back at the diner, frantically making Sam promise that either he or Cas would call him after their talk with Henriksen and give him the details, and Sam knew he felt sorry for having lost his temper yesterday. Well, because of that, and the fact that he and Cas were being disgusting.

When he was done packing, Sam fixed his hair and collected his walking stick, smiling at it briefly. It had been a part of his life for a year now, ever since he'd been in a car accident with his old roommate, Brady. It had been pretty bad and Sam had injured his lumbar spine, giving him chronic pain as a lasting gift and Dean a lot of sleepless nights and anxiety. Sam could sometimes still hear Dean's muted voice, shouting at him though his haze of pain meds about road safety and how he would never allow Sam to drive and put him in a shell and hide him in a closet… or something.

He might have hallucinated that last bit, though.

Sam could understand why it had concerned and worried Dean so much. Brady had not survived that accident. Sam wasn't supposed to, either. He just got lucky.

The cane—or walking stick, as everyone in his old support group liked to call it—helped with a bit of the pain. Sam still had the option of a surgically inserted narcotic pump to help him, but he didn't like drugs that numbed his mind, so Dean and Jess had known not to suggest that one.

Presently Sam finished a trip to the bathroom, shaking off his thoughts about that damned accident, and was double-checking all his documents when he noticed the little blinking light on his phone. It was a voicemail. Sam opened it, seeing it was from Jess as he sat down to listen.

Hey, I'm back home! We're missing you. Dad wanted you to have his special lasagne. I asked him to pack some for when you get back. Tell Dean I love him. Cas, too. Love you!

His heart filled with a sense of longing for a moment, but it was interrupted when someone coughed from the doorway. Sam looked up to see Cas, who had a slight smile on his face. "You should propose, Sam," he said.

Sam's heart skipped a beat. He combed his fingers through his hair again and nodded, trying not to look into Cas's eyes. "I… I yeah, I guess, I don't know." He needed to talk to Dean about this, and he did love Cas, but he needed Dean first. He cleared his throat. "You know everything, so…"

He wasn't even sure if he was making sense.

He could feel Cas's gaze on him as his brother-in-law spoke. "I do know." There was a moment of silence. "We should leave now."

Sam picked up his briefcase and his cane. "Sure."

~o~

"Mr. Winchester, your clients have no convincing alibis that they weren't present at the crime scene on both days the bodies were found."

Cas watched Sam lean into his chair and wished he could look half as confident as that. There was sweat pooling on his upper lip and at the dip in his neck and he could barely open his mouth and answer the questions that Henriksen was asking. He wished Dean were with him now, but then he also knew that would be a bad idea.

"What do you have to say to that?" Henriksen demanded, briefly glancing at Cas.

"There were lots of people that evening, Agent, who would not be able to prove to you that they were not at the crime scene," Sam replied, voice placid. "Why is my client being scrutinised for this?"

"Because Dean Winchester owns the diner both victims were at before they were found dead," Henriksen told him.

"So?"

"And your brother-in-law here writes novels based on these incidents and they seem to be on-point with the information we have."

"If that's what you think proves that Cas is the murderer," Sam told him, "I think you should open the newspapers and see how much information is available about this case. On the Internet, too. Plus, all the events depicted in Cas's books are different. The circumstances of murder are different. Victims are different. Frequency of killings is different. The only real similarity here is that it's about a serial killer named after a mythical creature. Even the method of murder differs."

Henriksen arched an eyebrow. "What do you know about the method of murder?"

"I've read enough of both the newspapers and Cas's books to know that Cas is writing about cannibalism and lust killing, and the actual murderer you seem to be dealing with is a thrill killer."

"And you know the definition of all that? You and your client?"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "We're not idiots. Writing a book proves nothing, Agent, and I think even you know that." Sam stared into Henriksen's eyes, his glance cold and menacing, and Cas could see the other man's resolve break a little. Sam, an extremely sweet-natured person, was capable of being equally scary, and Cas had gotten to know that in the last twelve or so years of knowing him. And he knew that Henriksen would soon realise that it would be better for him to back down.

Sam folded his arms over his chest. "Are we done here? Or are you going to arrest every artist who has based his or her work upon a real-life crime? I can present you with sufficient alibis for my clients on the day of the second murder.

"As for the first one," he said with a smirk, "I think Dean's already told you about that. We have an alibi there, too. Now, you might want to stop pointlessly chasing my clients. Because we both know you're trying to make a case out of nothing. Against my family. If you want to extend it, by all means, you can go on ahead and I'll make sure I prove you wrong." He narrowed his eyes, and Cas had goosebumps. But he relaxed when Sam put a hand on his shoulder and let out a long breath, addressing Henriksen again. "Not good for your reputation, when you're working a high-profile case like this, is it?"

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife. Henriksen looked like he was internally fuming but Sam's presence was solid, looming, and authoritative. Eventually, Henriksen crossed his arms and seemed to slump back ever so slightly. "We're done."

"Good." Sam stood up. "Cas?"

Cas complied and followed Sam out of the room, thinking of how proud Dean was going to be of his brother.

~o~

Dean took them all out to the bar that night.

Sam nursed a beer while watching his brother tell everyone around him about just how much of a genius he was, and he couldn't believe Dean sometimes. But he let his brother do it, and watched. Watched the happiness on Dean's face and his laugh and his pride and adoration and everything that Sam had always seen in him, coming out fourfold. And it was when Dean came back to sit next to him, to order another beer, when Sam found himself spilling a secret to his brother.

"I don't think I want to marry Jess."

~o~

"Talk to me."

Cas was asleep and it was one in the morning, Sam's favourite time of the day, because he loved the silence and peace. None of what was going on now was quiet or peaceful, though. Dean had come back from the bar with Sam and he seemed dejected, confused, and worried for Sam. Overprotective bastard.

He was perched on the edge of Sam's bed as Sam tried to turn away from his brother but he knew Dean would have none of it. And, okay, Sam was the one who had initiated this conversation, but he'd actually changed his mind about wanting to talk about it.

"Sam, come on, what the fuck is happening?" Dean asked him, sounding frustrated now. "You can't leave it there."

"Watch me," Sam muttered under his breath.

"Did she say something? Jess? Do I have to talk to her?"

"No – no… I…"

"You what?"

Sam finally looked up at his brother and Dean sighed, sadness etched in his face. "Sammy."

"Cas asked me," Sam said. "He asked me earlier today whether I'd be proposing."

"Okay." Dean's face was scrunched in confusion, like he still didn't get it.

Sam licked his lip. "Dean, I've been with Jess a couple of years now. You think she wants me to propose?"

"You don't have to," Dean told him. "I dated Cas for nine years. Getting married ain't the be-all end-all."

"Yeah, but I don't—I can't—"

"I know," Dean told him. He moved closer, putting a hand on Sam's arm. "I know, Sammy. Take it easy. It ain't like you to be like this about anything, man."

"Jess must be—"

"You'll figure it out," Dean told him, leaning forward to run his fingers through Sam's hair once, and Sam shut his eyes and took it in because God, he fucking missed Dean sometimes.

Dean stroked Sam's hair another time, and then once more, and Sam's eyes were heavy as he heard his brother's light humming and felt the familiar calloused fingers in his hair over and over again and he was drifting away before he could even open his mouth to thank his elder brother.

~o~

"What the hell, man?"

Cas jerked awake when Dean entered their room, talking as loudly as he could. He shut the door behind him and landed heavily on the bed. "What the fucking hell?"

"I need context," Cas yawned, rubbing his eyes, nonchalant at Dean's anger.

"Who asked you to interfere with Sammy's personal life?" Dean hissed at him, pulling away Cas's blankets. His brain buzzed with anger because Cas, of all people, knew. He knew about Sam and there had been absolutely no reason to freak him out like that about Jess.

"You messed Sam up, you bastard," Dean growled.

"What are you talking about? I didn't do anything, Dean."

"Yeah? You weren't goddamned excited about him and Jess getting married?"

"Yes, so I asked him a simple question."

Dean clenched his jaw. "You know how shitty this past year has been for him. You know we're not supposed to introduce or suggest any sudden changes in his life."

"How is this a sudden change? He lives with her already."

"Yeah, Cas, but marriage a big thing for him. You know that. It's huge for him, okay? It might have not changed much for us but you know he thinks of it in a very different way."

Cas stared at Dean for a long moment and sighed. "I…" He hesitated. "I know the doctor said no sudden changes, Dean, but I thought Sam might appreciate a positive one at this point. He's had a hard year. Jessica is a wonderful woman. He was listening to her voicemail like it was the most precious—"

"So he likes her!" Dean interjected.

"Likes her? Dean, if they have a future together it's best they pursue it. Sam doesn't just like Jessica."

"He doesn't want to marry her."

"Why?"

"Because it's a free fucking country, why do you think?" Dean glared at his husband.

Cas met his eyes, blinking innocently through Dean's most malicious glare, and Dean wanted to throttle the asshole. Cas sighed. "Go to sleep, Dean."

"You don't know Sam."

Cas lay back down and adjusted himself under the covers, yawning. "Sleep."

"Don't tell my brother what to do."

"I meant well. I didn't want to hurt him. I'll apologise in the morning," Cas said quietly, reaching for Dean's hand. "Now can we sleep?"

Dean pulled his hand away. "He's not your brother."

Cas's face fell, both at his empty hand and Dean's statement. He took a deep breath, and Dean knew he was guarding his own erupting fury. "You know I'd do anything for Sam. Why are you talking like this? Why are you making a mountain out of a molehill?"

"No, fuck you."

"There is no need to be so angry," Cas snapped, and Dean realised that this was the end of his calmness. "Stop behaving like I committed a crime, Dean. Sam will be over this in the morning. I'll apologise if required. Stop blaming me for things that don't even make sense."

And fuck him. Cas had been a pissy little asshole for two days now, with his 'you hurt me, Dean,' and 'you don't care about my feelings,' and Dean was the one making mountains out of molehills here? Seriously?

Cas turned around and buried his face into the pillow. "Just lie down," he said in a muffled voice.

Dean obeyed and lay down beside Cas, crossing his arms. "You've changed. I don't like it."

"You have, too."

"No, I haven't."

Cas surfaced from his pillow. "You're being rude and inconsiderate and you're angry for no reason."

"I was always like that, Cas. Maybe you're being a bitch about this."

"No, you weren't always like that. I'd know."

Dean snorted. "Seriously, dude. You're a bigger bitch than Sammy."

"Stop saying that."

"What, bitch?"

Dean could sense Cas's wince at that one. "Please don't call me that. You know—"

"Go to sleep, whiny bitch." Dean laughed.

"What is wrong with you?"

"It's been twelve years," Dean said. "Get the fuck over it. And you were the one who said I was rude and inconsiderate. So I need to fit into my new description, don't I?"

There was silence. Silence so thick, Dean thought he could hear his own heartbeat. He wondered if he'd gone too far. But Cas was not some wuss. He could take a beating and God knows, Dean was very much aware of that. And they'd be okay tomorrow.

"Dean."

His husband's voice cut the silence, hurt reverberating through every sentence. Dean felt Cas shift beside him. He turned around, only to see Cas take his pillows and blanket.

"Hey, hey, whoa, Cas—!"

Cas walked to the door and opened it. "I'm sorry about what I said to Sam, but I wish you'd think a bit more before you talked. There was a world of other things you could have called me," he said, "but you've really changed, you know." And he left the room before Dean could respond, shutting the door behind him and leaving Dean blinking at the darkness.

o

-Then-

Dean met Cas for the first time when he was living in his sixth (and last) foster home. John had been dead two years then and Sam was with Dean this time, unlike those horrid instances when they'd been dragged to separate foster homes. And that was really counterproductive to CPS because they had always ultimately run away from foster care to find each other, so thank fuck everyone had their head in the right place this time.

Their current foster dad was a wealthy, retired English professor named David Banks—and he was so nice, Dean couldn't trust him. Their foster mom was better, though she was rude and decidedly did not like Sam and Dean. Dean didn't mind that. At least she wasn't trying to look or sound nice so he could always trust her to dislike Sam. The fact that he couldn't read her husband completely was discomforting.

He'd been eighteen for more than four months already, living on extended support until he finished high school. He had a plan in place for when he could get out of here and take Sam with him. Of course, they had Bobby waiting for them out there in South Dakota and they could leave anytime. Bobby was their dad's friend. John had left Sam and Dean at Bobby's a lot when they were kids and he was out on his business trips.

Dean reckoned he and Sam needed to wait for a bit to get back to Bobby, though. Both their schooling was paid for and this family didn't bother either of them, so Dean was sitting his ass down for a bit now. Uprooting Sammy to switch schools wasn't a good idea at this time of the year, especially when the kid was finally making friends here.

Bobby had been trying to adopt them for ages now, but as it turned out, not many people trusted a grumpy drunk to be a good single dad. If those fuckheads knew that Bobby was way better than half the assholes in the foster system, and actually even better than John, Sam and Dean would have been out of it long ago.

They just needed another month to finish school and then Dean was relocating them. Bobby had applied for legal guardianship and the papers would come through by the time they finished. He was pretty darned awesome, if not a little ornery, so Dean was happy to be going there. He'd just been telling himself, repeating to himself the benefits of taking whatever he and Sam got from the foster system until he could, and that was how he'd hung on so long anyway.

On the fateful day when Dean would meet his future husband, he had been helping Sam with homework for well over an hour. The kid was very good at it all, and Dean didn't see a point in Sammy insisting he sit close by and help, but he went with it. His brother got clingy sometimes. They'd had a shitty two years and Dean understood.

He was staring absently at the trig problems when he heard a nervous cough. He looked up to see yet another college guy, in his very early twenties from what it seemed, standing in their living room before them, looking unsure. Dean knew he was here for some good-old tutoring from the professor. The man tutored students from the university nearby for free (although there was a rumour about that Dean wasn't quite sure of) and he got many people coming to him to get help, which he provided in that annoyingly cheery demeanour of his. But Dean reckoned this was a good thing. Not many people had that kind of a heart. He still couldn't trust the prof, though.

Cas, as Dean would learn was his name, stood there in the living room for a good fifteen minutes while Dean pretended to ignore him and the others. He was all tense, clutching at his books and explaining to another student that he knew this and couldn't understand that and all Dean could see was that this dude was hot. And no, honestly, really hot. Cas was dressed in a plain t-shirt, a hoodie, and jeans, but everything about him, his eyes and that jaw and those fucking lips and…

"So you like him?" Sam muttered suddenly. "That new guy?"

Dean turned away, trying to concentrate on Sam's math problem. "I don't even know him," he managed, voice barely coming out of his throat because his head had other crazy ideas and, no way, not right now. He bent closer to Sam's book. "So you know, you need to see your log tables for the—"

"You should talk to him."

"Do your homework."

"You can't fool me, Dean."

Dean stared at his brother for a moment before ruffling his hair, because, boy did he know how much he couldn't fool his little brother. But he wasn't trying to fool Sam. He wanted to get out of this house as soon as possible and there was no time to look at dudes right now. Even if they were really pretty dudes and…

He took a deep breath. One month. He'd be able to leave in a month. Then he was hauling ass to Bobby's with Sam and they were going to have a great life, even better than this peaceful last leg of his stint in foster care.

The students came in, Sam finished his homework and went off for a game of football with his friends, but Dean found himself hanging around, staring now and then at the closed study, waiting for the tutoring session to end, but he couldn't—he just wanted to look and he knew he was leaving, and—

The door opened, and the young man walked out. His gaze connected with Dean's once again as he headed to the door. A gaze that took Dean aback by how deep and sincere it was. His eyes were blue, hair dark and a little messy. His lips looked chapped, corrugated, somehow, and Dean had to hold his breath for a minute as he looked away.

He kept holding it, only to let it out when he heard the door shut and knew the stranger was gone.

A/N: This story was written through five months of sleepless nights and it's nothing like I've ever written before. So much grief haha. Things will get bigger with each chapter. Please consider leaving me feedback if you can find time. Thank you for reading. :)