The Joy is in The Process

No Time for Spreadin' Roots

Another two weeks go by in which Sam is the only one who brings a fishing pole when they go fishing. Dean and Cas sit next to him in the sand, their feet or thighs or hands touching, watching as Sam is the one who baits and casts and catches.

The talks about TV and sports and movies have given way to excitement and worry about the new school year. Once again he and Dean will be at a different school surrounded by strangers, but Sam's not concerned. He'll start out quiet and a little bit shy, having to deal with entering an elementary school where everyone has known each other since kindergarten. Then he'll get to know people, he'll excel in English and reading, kick a soccer ball around, and fifth grade will be like all the others.

Dean tolerates going to school. If he had his way he would probably quit and work on the Impala in the garage for the rest of his life. John, on the other hand, knows what he wants from his boys and expects them both to do well. Dean acknowledges this by passing all his classes but never overextending himself. He's perfectly content with C's and D's.

Cas is completely distracted about the upcoming school year. Dean tries to tell him not to worry, that everything will be fine, but as each of the hot days of August pass, Cas can talk about nothing else.

"I don't think I'm prepared to enter high school."

"Sure you are," Dean says, skipping a rock across the lake. "It's like any other school you've been in, only bigger."

Sam scowls at him from underneath too-long hair when the ripples make his bobber jump.

"Are you afraid you won't find your classes?" Sam asks Cas.

"Among other things. Remembering my locker combination. Taking harder courses. Eating lunch."

"That's the best part of the day, dude," Dean says.

"It's finding a place to sit that worries me. What if no one will allow me to sit next to them? What if the cafeteria is crowded? What if — "

"Jeez, Cas. We still have another week. Relax."

"Dean, you may not believe this, but I sometimes have trouble making friends."

Dean snorts, but then clears his throat. "Oh, uh, really?"

"Yes. I'm considered weird, remember?"

"Yeah, but that's what I like about you. Besides, you got me, right?"

"And me," Sam pipes up.

"You're sure gonna be a lot of help over there in fifth grade, Sammy."

"But I'm still his friend. Right, Cas?"

"Of course you are, Sam."

Sam makes a face at Dean. "See?"

"Don't worry about a thing. I'll be right there with you," Dean says, swiping at Sam's head.

"Do you promise?" Cas asks.

Cas sounds doubtful. Maybe there's something special about high school that Sam doesn't understand. Like Dean said, it's probably bigger and a lot more crowded, and you have to worry about remembering how to find your way and all, but Cas shouldn't have that much trouble making friends. Dean likes him, and Dean never likes anyone.

"Yeah, Cas." Dean tugs on the belt of Cas's trench coat. "I promise."

Cas doesn't look entirely convinced, but he smiles and nods his head.

"Can we stop talkin' about school now?" Dean asks. "I need somethin' to cheer me up."

Dean reaches over to the radio he's been carrying to the lake lately and presses Play. Their section of the lake is secluded enough that he doesn't worry about disturbing anyone with how loud it is. He takes it upon himself to make Cas listen so he can understand when Dean talks about music. Sam, unfortunately, has been forced to listen to every tape their father owns about a thousand times. It's bad enough when Dean and John are singing to the stuff at the top of their lungs in the Impala and he's trapped in the car with them. Now he has to suffer through Cas's education too.

Sam hears the unmistakable stuttering beat and strumming guitar of Dean's favorite song.

"Oh no," Sam groans. "Not Led Zeppelin again."

"Yes, Led Zeppelin, Sammy. It's the perfect cure for thoughts about school."

"Dean, Dad listens to that. That music is, like, ancient."

"You don't know what's good."

"Yes I do, except when I hear songs on the radio station they never say 'classic' before any of 'em!"

Cas chuckles, and Sam points to him.

"Cas agrees with me! This is torture!"

Dean cranks the music up louder. "Shut up, both of you. Nothin' is better than this."

"What about quiet? That would be better," Sam shouts.

Dean pays them no mind. He leans back in the sand, closes his eyes, and puts his hands behind his head, singing along with Ramble On. Cas watches him tapping his foot and mouthing the words, and then moves around to Dean's left side and stretches out with his head on Dean's stomach.

Dean lifts his arm to let Cas lie down without even opening his eyes. It's such a practiced movement that Sam knows they've been together like this before. He stands there looking down at both of them, and wonders what exactly it is they're doing when he's not around.

Sam walks across to Dean's right side as Robert Plant sings that he's got no time for spreadin' roots. He lies down next to Dean in the sand and puts his head on Dean's stomach, too. Then the chorus swells again, and Dean places his hands on both Sam's and Cas's chests to tap his fingers in time to the music.