(A/N: Since this is the last chapter, see the end for notes and such.)

He rolls into Lawrence a little before seven that night, letting the familiarity of the drive – the houses, the sound of the gravel as he rolls into the driveway of the Roadhouse – drive out the ancient history that's occupied his mind the whole way home. He can't help but smile to himself when he sees Jo and Jess' rickety little station wagon already there, parked next to what is clearly Bobby's most recent rustbucket, and Ellen's typical small, sensible sedan. Sam, Ruby, and their coming hellspawn aren't getting there 'til tomorrow, so it's just Dean and the Singer-Harvelles for the night.

Before Dean can even knock on the back door that leads to the 'house' part of the Roadhouse, said door slams open and a large mass of plaid flannel and blonde hair half tackles him in a hug and the traditional words shouted into his shoulder, "Welcome home, dumbass." Dean returns the sentiment by lifting Jo off the ground and swinging her around in a circle as she screeches, only putting her down when he hears Jess laughing in the doorway.

"I'm assuming that ruckus means one of those Winchester idjits is here?" Bobby's voice calls from somewhere inside, sounding, as usual, equal amounts pissed and pleased to see the men who are practically his sons.

"Yep," Jess calls back, grinning at Dean and Jo and waving them inside.

"Well, come on in, it ain't exactly July out there, you're lettin' in the cold," Bobby grouses, and Dean rolls his eyes at Jo, who just laughs and tugs him indoors by the sleeve of his leather jacket.

Inside, Bobby wraps Dean in a firm, one-armed hug (his other hand is holding a bottle of beer) and says, "'Sgood to see you, boy." Jess nudges his shoulder with her own and says, "Long time no see, man-friend, how's it been out Eastward?" to which Dean gives a smile and a noncommittal reply. Ellen comes out of the kitchen area, where she's probably been fussing and preparing food all day, demanding help and kicking people out by turns (Dean knows from experience that this process will be repeated tomorrow) to give him a certified Harvelle hug – secretly Dean's favorite kind – and a "Welcome back, kid."

God, it's good to be home.

After everyone's finished hugging and greeting and bitching about their respective drives – Jo and Jess came all the way from San Francisco, and you'd be surprised what Bobby can complain about in the four miles between his house and Ellen's – everyone settles down in the den to catch up on each other's lives for the past year. Thanksgiving is really the only time they all get together, though there are random visits in between for Christmas or birthdays or just for the hell of it. But Thanksgiving is special.

Sometimes, sitting on a worn and comfortable couch in Ellen's den at Thanksgiving time, Dean can't help but get a little sappy and marvel at how they've all found each other like this. He never says that shit aloud, of course; Jess and Jo would never let him forget it, and Sam would be way too enthused to get misty-eyed and talk about feelings. But he thinks it.

Thinks about how, when Karen died when Dean was six, Bobby swore he'd never get married again, and everyone believed him. And when Bill died when Dean was fourteen, Ellen sort of shut down and moved on and closed ranks tighter around Jo and the kids she sorta adopted along the way. Somehow, loving Dean and Sam became something that Bobby and Ellen shared, and between caring for the kids and kicking John Winchester's ass and being ornery single people, the two of them came together over and over again, until they got so used to fighting and making up (and hooking up, but Dean's with Jo there – best not to think about it too much) that they ended up married so as to go on doing it more conveniently. Bobby's shaping up to be a curmudgeonly old fuck, insisting that he needs his space, dammit, and he refuses to sell his house; Ellen's just as stubborn, and still lives in the Roadhouse. Though they still spend most nights and half the day together, they're definitely not the most ordinary couple Dean's ever met.

All the same, they've got nothing on Jo and Jess, because Dean still has no fucking clue what their relationship is. Which is kinda sad, because he's pretty sure he understands better than anyone else in the family, because he was there through Jo's whole figuring-it-out process. For a couple years there, when she was in her late teens and early twenties, Jo and Dean were best friends. (He kinda misses that, because Jo's a fucking amazing friend, but he's got Lisa now, and Sam, and it's not like he doesn't still have Jo.) Jo and Jess were roommates for that one semester at Stanford before Jo dropped out, but they parted on bad terms and didn't speak again 'til Sam brought Jess home for Thanksgiving his sophomore year. Awkward. Dean's still not sure exactly how it happened (and neither is Sam, he thinks) but somehow Jess ended up leaving Sam for Jo. Again, awkward. But hey, now they're living together in what Jess calls a "Boston marriage" and Jo calls "queerplatonic life partners," whatever the hell that is. At this point, everyone just sorta accepts that they're at least thirty percent gay and really fucking happy, and that's enough.

Somehow Sammy is the only one of them that ended up in anything resembling a normal relationship, which is honestly pretty much par for the course. Ruby, however, is completely unexpected. Sam met his lovely little demon of a wife at some point in his work as a defense attorney, though neither of them will say exactly how, except that Ruby saved Sam's ass more than once. She also doesn't seem to have much of a past, and Dean is pretty much convinced she's in like Witness Protection or some shit because some of the stuff that girl knows – well, let's just say that Dean adores Ruby, but she is sketch as hell. In any case, the two idjits ended up married and now they're having a baby, which even Dean can't hide how fucking excited he is about that, though he constantly refers to it as their hellspawn. (Dean thinks the baby's nickname is probably something Bobby started, given that his chosen endearment for Ruby is "Sam's hellbitch." Which, to be fair, Ruby kinda is. In a good way.)

It's good, catching up. Dean tells stories about Ben and trying to get the kid to try out for football, only to find out he'd rather try out for the school play – which is how Dean ended up making three dozen cupcakes for the drama club bake sale like a goddamn classroom mom. (Jo laughs and reminds him that it's not the first time, and explains to Jess about Sam's ninth and tenth grade obsession with musical theatre and Dean's wholehearted, if exasperated, support whenever he was in town.) Jess, as always, tells everyone the gossip from the hospital, where she works as a nurse, because Jess is a self-confessed gossip whore. Jo got promoted to Second Chief at her fire station, so they all toast to her. Ellen tells them all about her new girl at the Roadhouse, Charlie Bradbury (which Ellen doesn't think is her real name), that Ash found for her (yeah, Dean thinks, definitely not her real name) and how Charlie may or may not be dating Becky Rosen, this megadork-turned-journalist who totally had a crush on Sam in high school. Bobby makes his usual grumbling noises about how he's going to retire soon, getting too old to be putting up with customers' bullshit, and everyone rolls their eyes because no one believes him.

Later though, when the women are inside still and Dean and Bobby have wandered out to the back porch, Bobby turns to Dean and says, "I'm serious this time, Dean. About retiring. Only reason I haven't done it yet is 'cause I got no one to pass the shop on to."

"What, nobody at the shop up to your standards?" Dean asks, only half joking. Because seriously, Bobby's standards are friggin absurd. "Or do you just hate everyone that much?"

"The second one," Bobby grunts, a bit of humor sneaking into his tone. "I always wanted to hand it off to you, my half anyway, if you kept in the car-fixing business, 'specially after you got out of that insurance horseshit." Dean looks over at him in surprise, completely gobsmacked, something warm and unexpected blooming in his chest. (Goddamn Thanksgiving and goddamn family and goddamn feelings.) Bobby continues, "But now you got yerself all settled up in Cicero, in the damn suburbs, so I've been puttin' it off. Because everyone else is a dumbass."

"Bobby…" Dean trails off, not knowing what to say. Bobby just shrugs, ignoring Dean and staring at the sky.

"I could probably get the Milligan kid to do it, but he's been talkin' about going back to school. Rufus is threatening to buy me out of my half of the ownership and just fire me if I don't retire soon."

Dean snorts. Rufus Turner is Bobby's best friend and long-time business partner, and if Dean thinks Bobby is shaping up to be a curmudgeonly old fuck, he learned everything he knows on the subject from Rufus, who's been a curmudgeonly old fuck as long as Dean can remember.

"Anyway, I know you got your thing with Lisa and Ben, but you've always got a place here. I just want you to know that."

"I do know that, Bobby," Dean answers quietly. "Thanks."

"You know, boy," Bobby says, finally looking at Dean with something sad in his eyes. "Sometimes, I don't think you do."

The next morning, Sam and Ruby arrive at seven in the usual way – Sam crashing into things in the hall and Ruby shouting for everyone to rise and shine, motherfuckers. Dean stumbles downstairs from where he's sleeping in the guest room and grins at his Gigantor of a little brother, who looks utterly exhausted from driving all night. All the same, Sammy smiles huge and wraps his needy octopus arms around Dean in a crushing hug as Dean laughs and speaks into Sam's shirt, "Way to disrupt my beauty sleep, bitch."

"Nothing's ever going to make you pretty, jerk," Sam responds as he pulls away – or rather, Ruby shoves him aside so that she can shove her enormous baby gut at Dean as she half hugs him, half reaches out to punch him.

"Hey, asshole," she says fondly.

"Hey, demon bitch and coming hellspawn," Dean retorts, speaking the last to Ruby's truly intimidating stomach and grinning like an idiot. He and Ruby have always gotten along best this way, through insults and cussing and general rudeness in each other's presence. Sam groans that they bring out the worst in each other, but really, Dean thinks they get along swell. Which is actually probably what Sammy objects to so much.

"I wish you two wouldn't curse around the baby," Sam whines, and Ruby rolls her eyes because they've clearly had this argument a thousand times.

"Sam, it's gonna grow up in our house, it's gonna hear it eventually. And often."

"You're a bad influence on our unborn child," Sam accuses, but his heart's not in it, and he's smiling because he loves his foul-mouthed wife so much Dean thinks it's kinda gross.

The rest of the family arrives to greet them shortly, Jo hugging Ruby and punching Sam as she bitches about time zones and beauty sleep, while Jess rubs her eyes and wonders aloud if it's possible to have jet lag if you haven't technically flown anywhere, but gives Ruby the biggest hug of all of them, all the same. Bobby tells Ruby that, "shit, she's huge" and Sam that he "looks like hell, boy, the fuck is he doing driving." He calls Ruby a hellbitch in the same fond tone he calls Sam an idjit. Ellen rolls her eyes at her husband, doles out hugs, and shows Sam and Ruby to their room so they can get some sleep before the eating starts in a few hours. Because yeah, dinner may not be 'til four, but Thanksgiving is an all-day affair, thank you very much.

As expected, Ellen spends the day holed up in the enormous kitchen her half of the house shares with the actual Roadhouse. Most of the time, it seems excessive to cook in there, especially for just her and Bobby; but on Thanksgiving – well, they may only be seven people, but Dean swears they cook and eat as much as a busy Saturday night's worth of customers. Ellen tries to get everyone to help her out, but Dean and Jo get kicked out early on for eating more food than they're making and Bobby manages to make himself scarce somehow (Dean can't blame him – Ellen's fierce). So basically it's just Ellen and Jess and eventually Sam taking things in and out of ovens, setting timers, adding seasoning.

Left to their own devices, Dean and Jo bicker and laze about and munch on stolen food all day (courtesy of Ruby, who somehow uses her pregnancy to gain regular access to the kitchen and unfinished meal) as well as the appetizers that Sam will occasionally emerge with. Said appetizers are generally already half-eaten because, as Jess shouts at them from behind the kitchen door, the kitchen workers need sustenance back here, okay? At some point, as usual, the bickering devolves into name-calling and the both of them busting out old blackmail from the years they were best friends ("Oh yeah? Well, then everyone should know that Jo knows every word of the Wicked soundtrack – " "Oh, are we going there? In that case, in sixth grade, Dean had a crush on Dr. Sexy – " "Jo, you promised!" – and Sam's voice, drifting in from the kitchen – "Don't be stupid, Jo, Dean still has a crush on Dr. Sexy!" "Traitors, all of you –") until Ruby verbally kicks their asses into setting the table. At four o'clock sharp, the turkey appears.

Ellen makes them all say grace, of a sort, because she's really the only civilized one among them and they really don't deserve her. Grace is simply a moment when Ellen clears her throat and they all go quiet. Looking at each of them in turn, she quietly says, "This is a family that knows loss. But we got each other, and we got it good, and for that, we're grateful." There's a moment of silence to appreciate what she's said, and also to remember the members of their ragtag family no longer here to celebrate with them, and then Ellen smiles. "Now let's eat."

And eat they do.

There's tofurkey for Sam and Jess, because they are fucking tragic like that and Dean and Jo eat twice what they should in real turkey to make up for all the dead bird the vegheads don't eat. There's twice the number of crescent rolls that can logically be consumed by a family their size that all get eaten anyway, Bobby and Ruby squabbling over the last one until Ruby pulls the pregnant card and Bobby grudgingly gives it up. Which Dean thinks really isn't fair considering just how much Ruby has eaten – the woman's even got an enormous pile of French fries on her plate because apparently that's what her hormones are demanding. Sam worries that their baby will be born with clogged arteries and Ruby just shrugs and says that the fries are like deep-fried crack, which makes everyone a bit nervous because they all have suspicions about Ruby's past, and some of the more popular theories have involved drug lords.

When Ellen asks Dean to help her with the dishes after dinner, citing his complete unhelpfulness earlier in the day, Dean really should pay attention to his senses of déjà vu and impending doom. Though, to be fair, the last time Ellen had used dirty dishes to rope him into talking about Cas, Dean had been seventeen years old, so he really can't be blamed for getting fooled a second time.

"So," she says, once they're set up at the enormous, industrial-size sink that still barely contains the monstrous pile of dishes they've managed to produce. She doesn't say anything more for a moment, waiting for Dean to either finish washing his first plate or say something. Dean catches Ellen's eye as he hands her a clean dish to dry, and suddenly he just knows.

"Cas?" he asks, closing his eyes and suppressing a sigh.

"Cas," Ellen confirms, and they go back to silently washing the dishes (and Jesus, how many plates can seven people use?). After a moment, she continues. "He came into the Roadhouse on Tuesday. Looks good. Taller than I expected. Ugly-ass trench coat, though."

She talks slowly, with long pauses between her sentences, like she's picking her words carefully or waiting for Dean to react. Dean doesn't say anything. Ellen raises an eyebrow and keeps talking anyway.

"I knew he was in town, of course, Missouri called me before he even showed. I'm starting to believe her about the damn psychic thing." Dean snorts, and Ellen smiles, because they both know they've believed Missouri about the damn psychic thing for a long time. Woman knows too much. "I'm gonna tell you this whole exchange, unless you say otherwise, kid." Goddammit, Dean wishes everyone would stop talking like he'll break if they talk about Cas in front of him. It's been fifteen fucking years, almost. Dean still doesn't say anything, just shoves a handful of forks at her. Ellen nods. "So he came by to say hi, and we did the pleasantries. I told it'd been a long time since Lawrence had seen him around, and he just agreed. Never was a chatty one.

"Asked him what brought him back to town." Damn good question, Dean thinks, after all this time. "Said he got the idea from one of his programs – "

She's cut off by a shattering sound, and it takes Dean a minute to realize the sound was him dropping a plate. He can feel his face flushing, but Ellen just waves a hand at him and goes to get the broom as he mumbles apologies. Dean tries to keep washing dishes while Ellen sweeps up broken glass, pretending that his hands aren't shaking in the soapy water as Ellen continues her story as though nothing has happened. Because, shit.

"I don't know what his poison was, in the end, he didn't say, but – he's clean now, Dean. He looks good. Healthy. Trust me, hon, I know a junkie when I see one and Castiel…whatever it was, he's off it now. His program or whatever worked. Doesn't even drink – I offered him a beer before he mentioned the 'program,' but he told me he's dry now.

"Anyway, this idea that brought him back – he wasn't exactly into specifics, very vague about the whole thing, very Cas. He said he'd had to make amends to everyone he hurt with his addiction, and that he wanted to try maybe making amends to himself, too. So he wanted to start in Lawrence."

Ellen dumps the remains of the plate into the trash and takes up her position drying dishes next to Dean again. She stands a little closer now, shoulder occasionally brushing Dean's, and he would be lying if he said he doesn't take comfort in the contact.

"Asked him what he was doing in the Winchester house, and the bastard got sappy on me. What was it he said?" Ellen pauses, tilting her head up at the ceiling, trying to remember. "Something along the lines of – he's had very few happy moments in the past fifteen years, and my place and yours were some of the last of them, and he intends to stay in town for longer than a few nights in a rented Roadhouse room. He even almost smiled as he said it – you know that thing he does, with his eyes."

Dean knows. Fifteen years, and he knows. The way Cas' eyes crinkle at the corners and seem to sparkle a bit like a goddamn cartoon, and you know he's smiling even if his mouth doesn't so much as twitch. Dean can't quite picture how it must be now – how the crinkles are deeper, embedded in crow's feet, highlighted by a frown line or two. All he can see is the boy he knew.

After a few minutes where the only sound is the sloshing of the water and the swish of the towel wiping dishes dry, Ellen starts talking again. "He asked about you. All of you. Says he's sorry to hear about John, that he didn't know. Offered his congrats for me and Bobby, and for Sam."

"How'd he react about Jo and Jess?" Dean asks, because he can't help but remember exactly why Cas was sent away in the first place.

Ellen snorts. "Dean, he wears a little rainbow flag pin on the lapel of his stupid coat now, I think he's fine with it." And huh, it's unexpected that he'd be so open about it – I'm not saying I want to leap from the closet covered in rainbows – but Dean can't deny that he feels his shoulders relax a bit in relief. Relief that they couldn't take Cas away, not really – they hadn't fucked him over for good at wherever Michael'd sent him.

"Says maybe he'll see you while he's in town," Ellen says, and Dean has to stop what he's doing so he doesn't break anything else. Ellen sighs, reaching over Dean's arms to take the pan he was washing from his hands and rinse it herself before drying it. "Look, I know you two didn't exactly part the best way, and now you've spent half your lives apart. But I remember, Dean, and I think you do, too, that you also spent half your lives together. I think maybe you oughta see him so the two of you can work out which of those is more important."

It's mom advice, Ellen advice, good advice, and he knows it. Dean begins to move again, mechanically, scrubbing the grease off the last of the cooking utensils before rinsing and handing it to Ellen. "You're probably right."

"Don't be an idjit, boy, she's always right," Bobby says from the doorway, where he's suddenly appeared as if from nowhere. Sneaky old bastard.

"Damn straight," Ellen grins, and Dean can't help but smile again in return.

"Now if you two princesses are done having whatever emotional moment I've managed to dodge, Sam's hormone-crazed hellbitch wants to know if there's dessert."

Dean spends the rest of the night brooding on the subject of Cas, distracted out of his reverie only by Ruby chucking French fries at his face and Sam puppy-dog eye-ing him like he wants to talk about Dean's feelings or something, which, hell no. So eventually, Dean stands up, stretches, and, citing tryptophan poisoning or whatever the hell it is about eating stupid amounts of food that is just exhausting, goes to bed.

He takes hours to fall asleep, even after he hears everyone else stumble to bed in their respective guest rooms. He wakes up in the morning unable to remember his dreams, except to know that Cas was there, and Dean felt like he was drowning.

Friday is quiet – leftovers and family time. Jo and Jess are talking about finally moving out of their tiny and overpriced apartment and buying a house, maybe on one of the islands in the Bay. Ellen tries to counsel them about mortgages, while Dean extols the virtues of having a driveway and a garage and your own washing machine (he remembers his years in the dingy apartment paying for Sammy's schooling way too vividly), and Ruby delightedly thinks of ugly and-or useless housewarming gifts, much to Jess' delight. (The friendship those two immediately struck up initially terrified Sam, and it still makes him nervous, which Dean and Jo find hilarious.) Later, Sam and Ruby tell them about the baby names they have picked out, which devolves into Jess making cooing noises at Ruby's gut and Sam looking like he's on the verge of either panic or proud papa tears. (For the record, the names are Mary for a girl, after Sam and Dean's mom, and Luke for a boy, which Ruby says is a family name on her side but refuses to elaborate further on the matter.)

Sam and Ruby and Jo and Jess all leave mid-afternoon on Friday – it's a long-ass couple of drives out to California, and Sam and Jess can only ever get a few days off work at a time. Sam's already gotten three calls about a new case, and every time his Blackberry dings, he looks more stressed; Jess just cites the fact that the nurses who couldn't get Thanksgiving off at least want the weekend, so she's gotta be there. So Friday finds an increasingly restless Dean left in the house with just Bobby and Ellen, until Bobby tells him to "get his act together, boy, or get the fuck out, because Dean's making him nervous with all this brooding shit."

So Dean gets the fuck out.

He drives.

He drives to the park, where he sits in the Impala for a full ten minutes, willing himself to get up and wander the old paths. But he doesn't. He puts his baby back in gear and drives away. Around back roads, county roads, state roads, and back again, never quite making it to the highway as the sun starts to go down and he has to turn his headlights on.

He eventually finds himself in his old neighborhood, just like he knew he would. He never pretended to himself that he wouldn't end up here tonight. The streetlights are just flickering on as Dean pulls onto the street he grew up on, well-lit too from the patches of lighted windows behind colored curtains.

There are no lights on at the old Winchester place.

Dean drives around the block.

There are still no lights on.

Dean drives around the entirety of his old neighborhood three times and is almost beginning to worry that he looks more than a little bit creepy when he finally spots a light in the window of his childhood home and a car – a small, sensible hybrid, of fucking course – in the driveway. And it's that, that little bit of physical evidence, that more than anything else, makes it hit home for him.

Cas is back.

Dean parks on the side of the road, across the street from the house, and tries to teach himself how to breathe again. He's not sure what he's doing here, or what he expects, or hell, even what he'll say. Hi, Cas, long time no see, remember me, your high school boyfriend who got you sent to crazy Jesus camp? Hi, Cas, heard you were back in town, thought I'd stake out my old house where I heard you were living just so I could drop in and say hi. Hi, Cas – Well, he can start with hi, he supposes.

Eventually, after enough minutes pass to definitely up his creeper level about ten points, Dean gets out of the car and crosses the street. He pauses at the walkway to the house – he hasn't set foot here since he cleaned it out after selling it to Missouri. He said goodbye to this place so long ago, he didn't ever expect it to figure in his life again.

The cobblestones are the same, but someone's repainted the porch – it's a pale blue now – and Dean wonders vaguely if it was Missouri or one of the half dozen families that have rented it from her in the past decade. He trails his fingers up the smooth wooden railing, his footsteps falling heavier than they used to on the hollow stairs. The door is the same as it ever was, the doorbell, too, though now yellowed a bit with the years.

Dean never liked that doorbell. He knocks instead.

It takes a few seconds, barely enough time for Dean to shuffle from one foot to the other; but it's plenty of time for his palms to start sweating and his breath to start hitching and his brain to start berating him for thinking that coming here in the first place was ever a good idea, because how, how, how can it be?

The door opens, and there's Cas. He's whole and there and beautifully, unmistakably, Cas.

Dean can't help but stare. Cas looks…good, Dean is a little surprised to find, especially after what Ellen said about the trench coat. Like really friggin good. He's taller than Dean had expected, almost-but-not-quite Dean's height, and the part of Dean that's still the teenager that dated Cas gloats in the fact that he's still the tallest. He's wearing a rumpled suit, and Dean can see the coat he was forewarned about hanging on a hook just behind the door, clearly tossed there only a minute ago. Under the suit, Cas has filled out some, though he's still slim and maybe a bit pale and tired-looking. There's a five o'clock shadow showing on his jaw, and that stupid black hair is just as mussed as ever.

Ellen's right, Dean thinks – whatever Cas was on, he's obviously clean now, because in spite of the rumpled hair and the rumpled suit, he looks healthy and put together in a way that addicts don't, in a way that even high school Cas didn't.

Cas' eyes (still that stupid wonderful familiar blue, the blue that Dean's never seen anywhere else, except maybe on late-night drives across the country, in the sky over the mountains right before the sun starts to come up) widen slightly as he takes Dean in, recognition dawning in the fine lines that frame his features now. There are more frown lines in that face than Dean wants to see, but there are laugh lines hidden in there, too. The silence stretches out between them as they both just stare at each other, and Dean recalls (semi-hysterically) how Jo used to roll her eyes and tell them to tone down the eye sex, already.

Dean clears his throat awkwardly, and it's impossibly loud in the scant space between them. "Hey, Cas," he says quietly, his voice rough with emotion that he never intended to show.

It takes a second for Cas, still frozen in the doorway, to react, but when he does –. His eyes crinkle up in that way that means he's smiling even when his mouth isn't. The expression is so achingly familiar that the years just seem to start to melt a way, and Dean feels himself relax; though he refuses to acknowledge the way Cas' almost-smile brightens his whole face, how it makes Dean's heart do something horribly girlish that he won't even try to name.

When Cas speaks, his voice is deep and gravelly and completely unexpected.

"Hello, Dean."

A/N, for realsies now: So uh, that's it. That's the fic.

So this was my first attempt at Destiel, and my first serious multi-chapter fic, so thanks for your patience as I worked my way through figuring that out. I really really really really really - a whole page full of really's, Lemony Snicket style - appreciate all the support and positive feedback y'all have given me. It warms my heart, truly.

An enormous thank you to my friend Lee, who, when I emailed him the words, "Melissa Etheridge's "Shriner's Park" - HS AU Destiel, y/y?" responded with a "AAAAAAH THAT SONG I HATE EVERYTHING WAH write that fic now please," and was equally enthused about all subsequent chapter drafts sent his way. Without him, this fic never woulda done got writ.

I think that's basically all. I really liked working with this universe, and might do more with it - I'm currently working on a oneshot that goes into Jo and Jess' relationship, since it's kinda a random and bizarre ship, a little bit.

But yeah, that's our show, thanks for watching.