August 14, 1997

Change happens two ways. Gradually, then suddenly.

The GED would take him all day to write. It fell on Thursday, a workday like any other. Dean had weeks to think of an excuse for John, but he never came up with one. He arranged with Jo to make sure everything at the farm was done. Her weird cousin Ash was up for a visit and could provide an extra hand. He’d worked at the stables before.

There was nothing Dean was needed for especially. He’d made no commitments or promises. He didn’t risk bringing up his absence with John for fear of it being forbidden, even if he courted trouble by not being present when expected. In the end, Dean left a note that said, Back late.

If there were consequences, he’d deal with them later.

He took the Impala, not just to enjoy having her out on the road, but so that John would have the truck Dean usually drove while John’s busted-up truck was under repair. Dean stopped outside the laundromat to pick up Cas, who told Dean to shove over into the passenger seat so that he could drive and Dean could think about his exams. He brought the library’s study book with him, although Dean didn’t open it on the drive. It sat between them on the seat like a talisman.

The nearest testing centre was just over an hour’s drive away in a small city that barely warranted the name. It was larger than any of the surrounding towns but hardly impressive. Still, it had a respectable downtown with old buildings and a river running through it. Dean, who had a good directional sense, navigated Cas down the streets till they found the right address.

Cas pulled up by the sidewalk under the shade of an oak tree. The Adult Learning Centre was attached to the back of a high school next to an old Carnegie library. Nearby, a bridge lined with flower boxes connected them to the rest of the downtown, but here it felt hushed and quiet. Ivy covered the library and lined the flat awning of the otherwise no-nonsense learning centre entrance.

“What will you do while I’m in there?” said Dean. “You really didn’t have to come, Cas.”

“I wanted to,” said Cas. “And I’ll likely be in there.” He nodded his head at the library. “Dean. You’re going to do well.” He reached his hand across the seat to Dean’s and squeezed it. Dean wanted a kiss for luck, but he couldn’t take it here. The ones they shared last night would have to last him. He pressed Cas’ hand in return.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” he said. “Five-thirty.”

The Adult Learning Centre smelled more like an office than a high school. The furniture was old, the plants fake, and the building underfunded, but the staff were nice. They offered Dean extra supplies if he needed them, although Dean came meticulously prepared. Cas had given him what he called his ‘lucky’ pencil sharpener, but Dean was fairly sure that he’d tacked on the epithet at just that moment.

The exam room would’ve looked on to diagonal parking at the side of the school, but burgundy blinds closed out the scene. Sunlight slotted through the gaps and made lines against the speckled brown floor tile. Wooden desks with chairs attached scattered singly through the room for a few other test-takers, some of whom already sat waiting and watching the clock above the large desk at the front of the room. Dean took his seat as the proctor came in, taking a seat at the desk and shuffling her papers, announcing that they’d begin in a few minutes. Dean looked between the clock and the proctor, sure that time had never moved so slowly.

The first test in Writing Skills was the longest. Dean’s leg bobbed through the multiple choice section and he chewed on the metal end of his pencil. He had time to go through all the questions and answers once more before the first session ended, feeling a sense of anticipation as they took away the paper. He kind of thought he had most of it right.

The multiple choice questions were followed by an essay, which Dean wrote and erased and wrote and fixed up till the very last minute.

Lots of people showed up only for one test, and Dean seemed to be the only person who stuck it out for all of them. A nice girl named Robin showed up for three of them in a row, and on the brief breaks between tests she shared her granola bar with Dean, and Dean gave her half his muffin. She wished him luck when she finally left and he headed into his last test.

Math. Not a great subject for him. He was exhausted, his brain overtaxed, and the algebra questions swam on the paper. He rubbed the heel of his palm against his eyes.

He needed to smarten up and figure this out. He had to. Because if he didn’t do this now, he wouldn’t have another chance. He didn’t know what he faced going home. Being out of contact all day like this with no explanation. John wouldn’t like that he was here. He’d see it as defiance, as a step towards mutiny. If Dean was going to face his wrath for this, he had to make it worth it. He had to pass this test. If he fucked up today, he was never going to have another window.

The sheets in front of him made less sense than before. He couldn’t look at them, couldn’t focus. What was John doing right now? Pacing the kitchen like an actor on stage, barking out a demand to know where his son had gone in front of an invisible audience. Would he be tearing into Jo? Gripping her arm and shaking her and asking her where Dean had gone when she honestly didn’t know? Would he hound Bobby for answers, turning up at his doorstep with threats, spit frothing at the corners of his mouth?

Dean dragged his hands away from his eyes, left strained and red.

He swallowed back the disturbing thoughts that made him want to stand up and leave the room. He frowned at the problem on the page and gave it a good, hard look.

He’d gone over this with Cas. It was before they ever kissed. One of their earliest study sessions. Cas had been tired from a long night with a sick animal, but he sat on the floor and leaned back against the futon and explained the math problem more clearly than any book or teacher ever had. He made Dean practice it twice.

Dean put his pencil to paper and worked out the answer. He tested the equation a second time just to make sure and ended up with the same result. He knew this.

He was tired, but he plodded through every single math question. Some were iffy, but most looked and felt right to him. He answered the final one in time with the session’s end.

The test room and hallways had been dim and stale, with weak fluorescent lights and lowered window blinds to prevent outside distractions. When Dean stepped outside again, it was to a beautiful August day. Sun on deep green leaves that stirred with a breeze that smelled like the river that cut through town.

Cas stood up from his place on a bench under the oak tree, tucking a newspaper under his arm.

Dean barely had to look for his eyes to find Cas, always drawn to him before anything else. He could barely believe Cas was still here, the long hours of test-writing passing like geological ages. The world couldn’t possibly be the same.

The day caught up with Dean all at once. He ran to Cas and barrelled into a hug, swept up with relief and dizzy with the feeling of everything changing. Cas’ arms held him tightly in turn, their steady strength the only thing keeping Dean on the ground, both of them taking everything they could from this moment.

Dean squeezed his eyes closed. “I finished,” he said.

It would be weeks before he knew the results, but he’d done everything he could. He’d studied and practised and given it his all. He’d done well on his practice tests with Cas. He had to hope that counted for something.

“I’m so proud,” said Cas, chin dipping down against Dean’s shoulder. It was an effort not to kiss him in celebration. Voice lower, he said, “You did good.”

Dean slowly let go of Cas, a faint flush in his cheeks. He cast a glance around them, not sure if he’d shown too much of his hand. Men rarely hugged like that. He couldn’t tell that anyone noticed. The man a good ten years older than Dean who’d been at the desk behind him met his wife and kid outside with the same kind of hug, caught up with them.

“I found somewhere for supper,” said Cas, getting Dean’s attention back. “Let me take you out.”

Dean smiled, head bowing. “You know I don’t need to be wined and dined,” he said.

“We’re celebrating,” said Cas.

Dean, who seldom got taken out for celebrations and made his own cake on birthdays, stopped fighting it.

They left the Impala in the shade and walked across the bridge towards the main street. They didn’t have Cas’ beloved Indian food here, but Cas made do. He took Dean to a place that wasn’t too fancy, with ragtag furnishings, but it made good steaks. Dean would never be a white-linen tablecloth man, even if he were celebrating his own wedding. Still, he saw the prices on the menu when they sat down and had to ask Cas if he was sure.

“First,” said Cas, “you did something remarkable today, and we’re honouring it. Second, I don’t ever get to take you to a restaurant, so this has to count for all the dates we haven’t had.”

Dean eyed a passing server, but no one appeared to have marked what Cas said.

A date. They were on a date in public and no one suspected it. Nobody around here knew them and word wouldn’t get back. He wanted to imagine they could do this often. That they could sit beside one another at the Roadhouse counter or drive away to a city for dinner whenever they pleased.

“So who took you out?” said Dean. “When you got into vet school? When you graduated?”

Cas hummed and looked at the menu with unnecessary focus, brow furrowed in concentration. Vaguely he said, “There was some kind of party at the end of veterinary school. With a keg.”

So no special dinner. Not a select treat like this. Dean let his foot knock against Cas’.

“I’m gonna take you out one day,” he promised. “Fair’s fair.” He leaned forward and rested his chin in his hand, eyes catching the subdued light from the Tiffany lamp hanging above their table. He looked across at Cas, wrapped up in him, and feeling relaxed for the first time in ages. A smile quirked at his mouth. “Dose of your own medicine.”

Cas looked uncertain, thrown off for the first time today. He was fine when it came to the prospect of spoiling Dean, but didn’t know how to react when the same attention was put on himself. Honestly, Dean loved being the one to make Cas wide-eyed for a change. He smiled a little wider.

---

It was getting late when they drove back into town. Dean felt giddy, high from his sense of accomplishment and keyed up with having to look at Cas so long without kissing him. It was unfair to go on such a good date—eating good food and making each other laugh—and not get to make out under a streetlamp by the river. Not get to show his appreciation for Cas being there today and waiting for hours just to support Dean.

He followed Cas up to his apartment and they were lost in kisses before the door closed, before Cas’ hand could seek out a light switch.

Dean wanted to celebrate. He unfastened the buttons of Cas’ shirt rapidly, trying to focus on this and receiving Cas’ kisses in equal measure. Nearly tripping over one another as Cas pulled Dean’s hips towards his own.

Behind Cas, the phone rang.

“Ignore it,” Cas said against Dean’s mouth. It rang another three times before Cas’ answering machine kicked in, and Dean had his hands below the fabric of Cas’ undershirt. The person on the phone hung up before the recording ended. Then the phone rang again.

Cas finally looked over. A red light flashed on the answering machine, indicating someone had already tried to leave a message.

Truth be told, Dean had never heard the phone ring here before.

“Sorry,” Cas said. “I’ll just—”

He reluctantly dropped his hands from around Dean and picked up the phone.

Dean heard only his side, from the flat, “Hello?” to the quiet, “Oh.” Cas searched around himself and picked up a pen, clicking it open, saying, “I see. Of course,” and, “I just got in, but… Yes. Of course.” He scrawled a few notes on a paper pad before wrapping up the call.

He hung up the phone and looked at it for a moment.

“Cas?” said Dean. “What is it?”

“Doc Benton,” said Cas. “He’s had a heart attack.”

“Another one?” said Dean. This was the fourth, by his count.

“He’s dead,” said Cas.

Dean slackened at the news. He always thought old Doc would be around forever. His was the only practice in town and everybody relied on him. John always joked that it would be Doc, Keith Richards, and the roaches left at the end of the world.

“Man, Cas, I’m sorry,” said Dean. That was his boss, his mentor. Doc never sounded particularly warm, but he must not have been bad to work for either.

“I have to go into the clinic,” said Cas.

Dean jerked back to attention. “What do they need you for? What can you do at this time of night?” Cas couldn’t bring him back from the dead. It wasn’t fair to call on Cas at this late hour.

“Unfortunately, plenty,” said Cas. “I’m the only veterinarian now. There will be a lot to sort out.” He crossed the room to Dean, his hands raising to his face as Cas kissed him. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he said. “I’ll call you when I can.”

Dean had to understand. Cas was important, he was needed. There was more to his world than Dean’s small wins.

And of course there should be. Dean liked that Cas was so smart and good at his work. He liked that Cas had such a useful and important job. He wouldn’t like Cas as much as he did if Cas didn’t care about it and all the animals in his charge.

Dean turned his head and kissed Cas’ palm, eyes closed, a tender gesture. He nodded his head. “Yeah. Okay.”

Cas followed him outside and waited for a moment at the end of the alley. Dean looked at him over the top of the Impala before getting in.

He had a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach like he’d never see Cas again.

---

GUILDENSTERN
There must have been a moment, at the beginning, where we could have said — no. But somehow we missed it.
— Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead

The house was quiet when Dean got back. He cut the engine of the Impala. There were a few lights on inside, but the truck Dean used wasn’t in the lane. John must have taken it out.

That was good. Dean was so worn-out from the day that just passed, it was a mercy not to have to think further about it now. Commuting his inquest to another day.

He went upstairs and paused in the hall. There was light from under Sam’s door, but it was shut. Dean started back towards his own room.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice said. “That you?”

“Yeah,” said Dean. He thought that might be all there was to it, but something made him turn. He knocked a knuckle against the door before opening it. Sam sat on his bed with his back to Dean, looking towards the dark window.

“You were gone a long time,” said Sam.

“Yeah,” said Dean, looking away. He should just tell Sam. It was over now, the exam written. He’d kept silent less as a point of pride than for fear of jinxing himself with nerves. He wouldn’t know the outcome for weeks, but talking about it now wouldn’t change his answers or the result.

Sam spoke again before Dean could say it.

“No one knew where you were,” said Sam. “I asked Jo and she said maybe you had a doctor’s appointment. You know. A follow-up. From your broken arm.”

Dean closed his eyes.

He wanted to rewind himself down the hall. Drive his car in reverse to the laundromat, give back that kiss to Cas, take back dinner, take back the long day in the exam room with the slanting sun through the blinds moving west to east. Go back further to any of Sam’s phone calls over the time between. Back to the night Dean fought with John.

“She said a horse threw you. Jagger, apparently. Better riders than you have been thrown before, that’s true at least.” Sam looked down at his hands. His mouth twisted. A bitter, humourless laugh left his mouth. “And I guess she believed you. And I wish I could.”

“Sammy—”

“But I know Dad too well. And I know you too well. He could hold you at gunpoint and you’d still make his excuses.”

“Sam.”

“What gave it away is that you never told me. We would’ve talked on the phone the next day and it never came up. Because you knew I’d know. Dad never stopped, did he?” Sam looked over his shoulder. He’d been speaking through such a clear distillation of anger that Dean didn’t expect to see the tears blurring Sam’s eyes.

Dean stood in Sam’s doorway, unmoving. His jaw ticked with the tight clench he held it in. How did Sam expect him to answer that?

“Dean,” said Sam, “I don’t think I can keep coming back here.”

“Sam.” Dean’s face fell and he took a step into the room. “Sam, don’t say that. This is home. It’s always gonna be your home.”

“I don’t want it,” said Sam. “I don’t wanna be part of it anymore.”

“He won’t hurt you,” said Dean. “Now just—”

“But he’ll hurt you,” said Sam, standing up from his spot. “You always putting yourself between him and me— is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Dean stood taller with a flash of anger. “Yeah, actually. It is.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” said Sam. “I’ve seen him treat you like a punching bag. And I don’t even know how bad it could be because you hide everything. He broke your arm and I didn’t know it for months. Like, what else have I missed?”

Dean looked away, anxiously wetting his lips. He was so used to coming up with convenient evasions. Never had anyone torn back the curtain quite like this.

“So there is more,” Sam concluded. “Go fucking figure. Why are you still here, Dean? Why don’t you just leave?”

“And go where?” Dean asked. “You have your fancy school and you have a future. You have scholarships and residence and college recruiters just waiting to snap you up. I don’t have any of that. I’ve got a horse that’s half-blind and if I get turned out, I don’t even have the money to feed it.”

“Go to Bobby’s,” said Sam. “Go to Ellen. Anybody but Dad.”

“It’s not that simple,” said Dean, shaking his head. “Dad would kill me if I left. And they might listen, but they don’t want me. I’m not some puppy that turns up on a doorstep. I’m—” He was a disaster. He’d be a burden. He was too old to be looking for the comfort of a new family. Too old to expect coddling and sympathy. And if they got to know him too well, they’d realise, as John did, that Dean was more trouble than he was worth.

“So you’re gonna stay,” said Sam. “You won’t even consider leaving. He’s never going to change, you know that? Assholes like Dad never do. He could keep this up your whole life.”

“Maybe you don’t know everything, Sam,” said Dean. “Maybe you’ve got it wrong.”

Downstairs, the front door shut after the sound of John coming in. Dean froze in place.

Sam looked at him with vicious accusation.

“Stay in here, Sam,” said Dean.

He needed to head John off. He needed to find out if he’d brought down anger by being gone all day, and he couldn’t have Sam anywhere nearby. Sam was too charged up. Dean wouldn’t be able to control the situation if Sam put himself in the way.

It could be nothing. Nobody said that John had to mind Dean being gone today. All the work was done. John had a set of wheels. Most days, John didn’t want to be bothered by the details of what Dean was up to if it wasn’t related to the farm.

Dean stepped quietly down the stairs, listening for Sam in his room as much as for what John’s footfalls and pathways through the house might confer about his mood.

John had gone into the kitchen, opening the fridge and taking out a beer. Dean made himself walk there. He shouldn’t stop outside the door or he’d look like he was hiding. He took two steps in. He found a clear, easy voice from somewhere in his throat. “Hey, Dad,” he said.

John looked over with an impartial expression. “Dean,” he said. He snapped open his beer can. “You were gone for a while today.”

Dean nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said.

“Feel the difference when you’re not around,” said John. He leaned back against the counter and took a drink from his can, one arm loosely crossed over his chest. “Jo’s cousin Ash was here half the day. Weird-ass kid.”

Dean gave a huff of agreement, tipping his head. “That he is,” he said. “Jo mentioned she might bring him.”

Dean knew better than to think the word safe, but John wasn’t in a high temper and wasn’t fixing towards it. Right now, he looked like the father Dean preferred to think of. His eyes fairly clear beneath his dark brows, his posture relaxed after a day of work. He wasn’t coming from or looking for a fight.

“Did you hear?” Dean asked, keeping the course smooth and impersonal. The further they got from the topic of his absence, the better. “Doc Benton died.”

“Doc, really?” John asked, lifting a brow.

“Heart attack.”

“No shit,” said John. He lifted his beer thoughtfully. “Guess your buddy Cas is sticking around, then. They’ll want him to take over the clinic.”

Dean hadn’t thought of it like that, even though he’d been there when Cas got the call. He thought they were just summoning Cas to look after the animals that Doc was supposed to attend to. But it was going to be so much more than that.

Dean turned his head at the sound of Sam coming downstairs.

He had a terrible feeling. Things had been fine. He’d been so close to keeping the peace. The rhythm of Sam’s steps betokened disaster. Dean wanted to turn around and shepherd him back upstairs, but Sam marched past Dean and into the centre of the kitchen.

“I thought you should know,” said Sam, “that I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

John fixed his gaze on Sam, not giving anything away. “Thought your school didn’t start for another week,” he said.

“I’m gonna stay with Charlie,” said Sam.

“Like hell you are,” said John.

“I’m taking the first bus out of town.” Sam looked between Dean and John. “And I might not be coming back. Ever.”

John’s gaze switched to Dean. “Did you know anything about this?” he asked. This was the critical question that could flick John’s rage on like a switch. To have two sons against him would be treachery.

“No, sir,” said Dean. He felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Sam was going to leave tomorrow. It felt like he just got here.

Dean’s answer satisfied John as true. He turned his face back to Sam, eyes narrowed but chilled. “Did we do something to offend you, your highness?” John asked. “Or are we just not good enough company anymore?”

“Dad, don’t—” Dean started to say.

“If you can’t figure out why I’m leaving, that’s on you,” said Sam.

John kept a placid expression. Dean couldn’t figure out why he was so still. Dean held himself tightly coiled, prepared to pull Sam out, prepared to leap in his way. His body jerked back when John finally moved, but it was just so that John could slink to a stand. He finished off his beer with a long drag, crumpled the can in a fist, then left it behind him to fall over on the counter. He sauntered between Dean and Sam to open the fridge, leaning down to pull out another beer.

“You’re lucky,” he remarked. “I’ll let you sleep under this roof tonight as long as you’re out of my fucking house by morning.” The fridge door closed with a thud that made the kitchen jitter. “Once you walk out that door, you don’t ever come back.”

They saw only his back walking out to the porch as John said, “Good riddance.”

The wild tension in the room broke. Sam turned and rapidly went back upstairs

“Sam,” Dean called after him, following. “Sammy.”

“I have to pack, Dean,” Sam said in a strained voice.

“He didn’t mean it,” said Dean. “Neither of you did.”

“I did,” said Sam, pulling up a suitcase from under his bed. “I’m not coming back.”

“You wanted him to blow up at you. You wanted an excuse to leave. And now… I can fix this, Sam. You don’t have to go—”

“I’m going.”

“—and he’ll cool off by the time holidays roll around. I can talk to him. Maybe if I could get him drinking less—”

“He hates me almost as much as I hate him,” said Sam. He shoved clothes from his drawers into his bag. “You remember the first time I left, when I told him I was going to school in California? Big fight. Shouting match to end them all. This time? Nada. You know, it’s almost better not to be cared about.”

“I still care, Sam,” said Dean.

“I know,” said Sam, pausing with a pair of jeans in his hands. He turned towards his bag and started rolling them. “And you’ll always be my brother. And this won’t be the last time I see you. It won’t. But never here. Never again.”

“You can change your mind, Sam,” said Dean. “Maybe you need to go away early. For both your sakes. I can make peace with that.” It stung. He was supposed to have another whole week at least. He never got to take Sam for that back-to-school shop. Never brought him out for his favourite burgers. “But Dad doesn’t hate you. He’ll want you back here.”

“You wanna know why he didn’t get mad, Dean? Because he already wrote me off a long time ago. Can’t you see it? He’s got a new family,” said Sam. “He’s more interested in them than either of us. Maybe it’s better to hand him off now and let them deal with his crap. I wish ‘em good fucking luck.”

Dean backed against the door with a hollow feeling in his chest.