A/N: This was my 2012 Big Bang. It was several months in the making. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated.

The sounds of loud crashes and two men yelling had somehow worked their way through his wall, permeated his headboard, and bombarded his ears. His eyes shot open, red from exhaustion. It was impossible for him to sleep now. Castiel groaned loudly, cursing the world; he hadn't even had his coffee yet. He rolled out of his bed with a sigh, wiping the sleep from his eyes, still trying to determine if he was actually awake or if this was some hellish dream. His feet dragged on the carpet as he shuffled groggily out of his bedroom towards the nearest window. He knew it wasn't trash day, nor was he expecting a delivery, so he couldn't help but wonder who dared to wake him up.

Moving the dusty blue and cream checkered curtains aside, he glared out his tiny kitchen window. His eyes locked on to the source of the noise: a large commercial moving truck - or a mini semi, he wasn't exactly sure at this point - that stood in the driveway next door. Various sized cardboard boxes were scattered haphazardly about at the bottom of the loading ramp, secured with duct tape and covered in scribbles of permanent marker - not a very professional packing job.

The little white house next door had stood empty for years - for as long as he could remember - and he liked it that way. An empty house meant he could take out the trash without running into anyone and being forced to make small talk. It meant he could get the mail without that uneasy feeling like people were watching him. He frowned, a deep ache radiating from his stomach. That was all over now. Things have changed, and not for the better.

He swallowed hard, watching like a hawk, gleaning any information he could manage. Two men exited the house, at each other's throats, pointing wildly between the truck and the house, their postures rigid with tension. He couldn't make out any of the words and he suddenly felt glad for that. The boys looked young if their baggy jeans and t-shirts were any indication. One was much taller than the other, complete with a mop of hair. The shorter one appeared to be the older of the two, sporting an impressive 5 o'clock shadow. The man took his post at the back of the truck, pointing to boxes and tapping his foot rapidly as the younger one lifted them up.

The younger one made his way out of the truck and down the ramp, his arms filled with boxes, and headed towards their house with a nasty scowl on his face. The boy didn't seem too happy to be working with the other one, and Castiel worried now what his new neighbors would be like. Were these boys the new neighbors? There was no way they worked for a moving company, not with their attitudes. The older man remained in the back of the truck, standing around. The taller one had to do all the grunt work, while he got to relax and soak in the sun. Castiel smirked, amused by the man's gall. He would never dare to intentionally piss off a man that big...

The man suddenly looked at him, somehow homing in on the kitchen window. Castiel froze. He knew he had been spotted, but he didn't have many options. The rush of adrenaline said to run, the clenching in his stomach said to hide, but his curiosity said to keep watching. The guy appeared to be about his age, couldn't have been older than 30... though it seemed obvious that he tried to look younger with his short, styled-yet-messy hairdo. The man smiled at him and he felt his heart skip a beat... His brain went into overdrive, processing every possible implication of that smile, but his body overrode the endless loop, forcing his hand to let go of the curtain, cutting short their staring contest. Out of sight, out of mind. His eyes scanned the kitchen, begging for something to distract him. He hoped the ruckus would die down a little, especially if those boys knew someone was home next door, but, for some reason, he didn't think that would matter.

Searching through his oak cupboards, he pulled out a tin of ground coffee. The sound of the water filling the reservoir on his coffee maker was almost hypnotic, which didn't help his already drained mood. He groaned as he flipped the switch, bringing the machine to life. The smell of the freshly brewing coffee managed to perk his senses. Once it percolated, he fetched a mug from the nearest cupboard and poured himself a cup. He liked his coffee black, especially this early in the morning.

He chewed on his lip, warring with his practical-self over whether he should look outside again. His eyes flicked between the window and his coffee. The curtain was within arm's reach... and the temptation was too strong. He quickly grabbed the curtain, pulling it open just enough to reevaluate the situation. His eyes immediately locked with the older man's once again. Castiel let the curtain drop back into place, a flush of red creeping into his face. He grabbed his cup of coffee and hurried to his living room, needing to get out of the kitchen and to get away from the luring temptation. There was a book he had been wanting to finish, and it was due back to the library soon, so since he was awake now and freshly caffeinated, he figured he should attempt to complete it before Jess arrived.

He nestled into the corner of the brown leather couch furthest from the kitchen, trading his mug for the book resting on the end table.

"A frantic knock echoed through the halls of the stately house. It was the front door. Arousing her from her tasks in the kitchen, the woman cautiously approached the door. It was late, and she was home alone. 'Who is it?'

"'Excuse me, ma'am,' a voice pleaded from behind the door, 'I don't want to bother you, but I'm hurt and needing some help.'

"The woman looked through the peephole, surveying the woman on the other side. 'What happened to you?'

"'I'm hurt and needing some help,' she stumbled on her words, lacking all emotion and expression, 'Open the door.'

"Growing suspicious, the woman refused to open the door. 'Well, you said that,' she said, putting on the most caring voice possible. 'Can you tell me what happened? How did you get hurt?'

"The woman on the other side of the door began to grow impatient. 'Can't you see the blood on my face? He's out here!' The woman began pounding on the door violently, 'Let me in. What kind of woman are you? He's coming. He's gonna stab me!'

"'I'm... I'm gonna get help. I'm calling 9-1-1,' but it was too late... The moment she went for her phone, the door flew open... And before she could even scream-"

A knock rattled the door and Cas jumped, managing to drop his book in the process. He had been so immersed in his story, trying to drown out all the polluting noise from next door. He sighed, leaning over to pick the book back up and tossing it on his coffee table. He took a moment to calm himself before getting up to see who it was.

He was expecting Jess, but it didn't stop the uneasy feeling in his stomach each time he heard someone knock at this door. He unlocked the door and opened it just a crack before she nearly burst through the door, barging her way in, rushing towards the nearest counter. Her arms were weighed down with brown paper bags; her purse slung haphazardly on her shoulder.

With a grunt and a huff, she heaved the bags onto the open surface. "Man, it took you long enough. That stuff gets heavy."

Castiel quickly closed the door, refastening the chain. He turned towards her, the guilt weighing down his smile. "Sorry, Jess. Wanted to make sure it was you."

She rolled her eyes. "Who else would it be?" She grinned, "It's not like you ever have company anymore."

He frowned. "I know, I know... But still." He hated being reminded, but he had his reasons for it.

She started to unpack the bags that she brought in, putting the canned food in the top cupboards, the boxed goods in the bottom cupboards, the bread in the bread box, the cold items in the refrigerator... He marveled at how she had his entire kitchen layout memorized. The marvel was soon replaced with guilt; she shouldn't have it memorized. She shouldn't be the one out shopping - he was perfectly capable of doing it on his own. But she seemed to enjoy it, if the smile on her face was any indication, so he wasn't going to get in her way. Anything to see that smile on her face.

She crumpled up some of the empty paper bags, the sound catching his attention. "So what's with that truck outside?" She peeked up at him, eyebrow arched in question.

The question hit him hard. He had almost forgotten about the nuisances next door. His lips fell into a frown, his eyes flicking towards the kitchen window behind Jess, the window that now acted as a portal into misery. "Looks like I have new neighbors," he said dryly.

"Wow, really?" She crumpled another bag. "Huh..." she mused, "how long's that house been empty, anyway?"

He shrugged, trying to keep his eyes on Jess and not the window, forcing his mind not to wander back to the memories of earlier that day. "It was empty before I moved back." He paused, lightly, "...you know, when Dad was still here."

Her smile faltered. He didn't intend to make her feel guilty. He never bothered to introduce her to his father, only sharing stories about her during their monthly Father-Son phone call. He did it to protect her, mostly. But he knew she still felt guilty whenever he brought his father up in conversation. He could tell by the way her gaze would drop to the floor and the way her smile became too heavy to hold. "Glad to see it's finally being put to use." She compressed the empty bags, forming them into a pile. "Let me get the rest of your stuff. I'll be back in a sec."

He nodded, still feeling guilty. "Yeah, alright."

She started for the door, passing him, but paused. She turned back towards the kitchen, "Actually..." she began to grin, "I have a surprise for you."

A sudden twinge of pain shot through his stomach. "A surprise?"

"I know it wasn't on your list," she said as she walked back towards the kitchen, "but..." She started digging through her purse, "I had to get it..."

He walked towards the counter, curious but still combating the gremlins in his stomach. "What is it?"

She pulled an item out of her purse, dramatically revealing it like a model out of The Price is Right. "Ta-da!" Grinning, she wiggled her eyebrows. "Popcorn!"

"Huh..." He stared at the item, mouth partially agape, not sure what to make of it. He hadn't had popcorn in years, nor had it ever been on his grocery list... He didn't like surprises, especially if gifts were involved. He never knew how to respond. "Cool, I guess."

The surprises didn't end there, though. "It's for..." She continued rummaging through her bag before finally pulling out another item. "This! We're gonna have a movie night." She laid the DVD case on the counter in front of him. "Just the two of us. Just like old times."

He felt his stomach unclench, easing the tension in his shoulders he wasn't aware he was carrying. "Oh... Yeah. That sounds nice." He feigned a smile. It wasn't that he didn't want to watch movies with Jess, it was more the fact that it was unexpected and unannounced. He had no time to prepare.

"Good. I'll be back." She opened the door as he followed behind her. He froze at the threshold of the door, though it might as well have been the Grand Canyon. Jess tried grabbing the rest of the bags from her trunk, shuffling the items around in her arms, all while he stood in the doorway and watched. He wanted to go out and help her, he really did - it was the gentlemanly thing to do, after all - but his legs wouldn't allow him. Not in broad daylight. Not with new lingering neighbors.

The shorter neighbor boy must have seen Jess struggling, though, because he approached her and started talking to her. She started giggling... He frowned. He could always tell when she was flirting because she had a tendency to bite her bottom lip and giggle a lot. It was one of the many little things he learned about her in their brief relationship; like how she was ticklish on her right knee only, how she always put others before herself, and how she loved unconditionally and with all her heart.

She glanced towards him in the doorway, which lead the neighbor boy to look over towards him as well. A million thoughts came flooding into his mind, his body gave mixed signals; to run or cry, but he could only respond by shutting the door as quickly as possible. He didn't know why his body did it. Maybe he just wasn't feeling social, especially towards the rowdy neighbor boys. Maybe it's because he didn't have a chance to shower or groom himself after being rudely awoken. Or maybe it was because he didn't want them inside his house. No one could blame him for that.

He left the door and went back into his kitchen, making sure everything was put away and the counters were ready for the next load. He felt kind of useless when Jess did all the work like that. It left him with nothing to do but watch and feel guilt. And this time was no exception. He leaned against the counter and waited for her to come back inside with the rest of the bags.

He glanced down and remembered the movie she brought. He picked it up, curious as to what she was trying to get him to watch. Watchmen. He turned the case over and read the blurb. "In an alternate 1985 where former superheroes exist, the murder of a colleague sends active vigilante Rorschach into his own sprawling investigation, uncovering something that could completely change the course of history as we know it."

A murder mystery with superheroes. That was something he could enjoy. After all, Batman was the world's greatest detective, and Batman was his idol. Jess clearly knew him well, and it showed. It must have been what drew them together in the first place.

There were footsteps climbing onto the porch, and then Jess' giggle. She let herself back in, closed the door behind her, and hurried over to the counter, plopping down the next load.

She sighed. "Sorry 'bout that. They offered to help, but judging from the look you have me, I figured it probably wasn't the best idea."

He gave an apologetic smile and shrugged. "I'd feel weird having strangers in my house."

She rolled her eyes. "They aren't strangers, though, Cas. They're your new neighbors." She took a few items out of the bags, placing them in their designated spots. "You should go out there and meet them. They're really nice."

All expression drained from his face. "No... No. I'm good." His brain scurried for an excuse. "As long as they stay quiet, we'll be the perfect neighbors."

"Oh, come on, Cas." She walked around the counter and approached him, "They really wanted to meet you."

A rush of adrenaline pumped into his system, begging his legs to carry him away, but he couldn't just run. It would be too hard to explain to Jess. He had to get her to drop the subject, though. "No, Jess."

"Just a quick hello." She grabbed him by the hand, tugging softly. "Tell them your name and then you're golden."

She began dragging him towards the door. He immediately began to feel uneasy. She pulled harder, and he began resisting, the adrenaline rushing through his system, prepping his body to run. He hoped she would take the hint that he wasn't joking around.

He could feel his throat begin to tighten making it impossible to swallow, and even harder to breathe. "Jess, don't," he pleaded.

"You'll be fine. I gotcha," she replied, oblivious to his current state.

She got him to the door and grabbed the handle, slowly pulling it open, and that pushed Cas over the edge. He yanked his hand out of her grasp as hard as he could and shoved the door closed.

She stared at him, eyes wide.

He couldn't look her in the eyes. Instead, he focused on the floor, his breathing shallow, his throat still tight. "No, Jess. I. Can't!"

She furrowed her brow, her anger increasing, obviously still oblivious to his reactions. "It wouldn't kill you to be nice!"

"You don't get it, Jess! I can't do it!" He felt his throat tightening more, air becoming harder and harder to take in. He was beginning to feel dizzy.

She raised her voice louder, reaching a yell. "I'm just trying to get you to socialize!"

"It's none of your damned business, Jess!" he yelled back.

Her face immediately softened to that of pity, her voice fell to just above a whisper. "God, what is wrong with you?"

She didn't understand. He couldn't explain it to her, not right now. "I... I can't do this..." he whispered to no one in particular.

"You don't need to be such an asshole."

He needed to get away. He quickly headed for his bedroom, her last words to him just a blur. He slammed his door shut behind him. He needed air, he couldn't breathe. His heart was beating in this throat... He needed to calm down... He paced his floor, trying his hardest to take in long, deep, calming breaths. It wasn't helping. The room was spinning. He was going to puke. He needed to lay down.

He climbed into his bed and rolled onto his back. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping the room would stop. It didn't help. He opened his eyes and started to count the cracks in his ceiling while humming. It usually helped him sleep at night, so it might possibly help calm him down.

Moments slipped by, and, deeply focused on the ceiling cracks, Cas' breathing slowly evened out. He heard the front door slam, but he didn't really care what was happening, consequences be damned. He just knew he was safe inside his bedroom sanctuary. He didn't want to think anymore. He wanted to sleep and forget that any of the day's events ever happened. He probably made a fool of himself in front of the new neighbors and he probably ruined his friendship with Jess, perhaps his only remaining friend in the world... But he could deal with all that later. The problems were gone for the time being, and he was at peace wrapped in his blanket.

The house wasn't anything fancy - a typical white, two-story townhouse - but it did have a massive garage, which Dean found perfect for his job. Sure, the pink trim on the garage was a little tacky, but it was nothing he couldn't fix. And the fact that the house was only a few blocks away from Sam's college? He was sold.

It wasn't the Winchester boys' first time moving, but that didn't mean he hated it any less. Pack the box, move the box, unpack the box, throw the box away... Lather, rinse, repeat. Hell, they didn't even own that much, yet it still took forever. But he would grin and bear it, because it was all for Sammy.

When Sam had run up to Dean, excitedly waving his college acceptance letter in his face, Dean wasn't shocked or surprised in the least bit - he was proud. His baby brother had gotten a hell of a lot further than he ever had, so he was going to make sure Sam would get the most out of this opportunity. He would do everything in his power to make sure Sammy succeeded, even if that meant packing up and moving halfway across the United States.

One of the first things Dean noticed when driving to the house for the first time was the bar just down the street. It would give him the perfect chance to socialize with the locals, scope out some potential ass, and, of course, get wasted. College towns weren't all bad.

The sound of metal crashing to the ground with a loud thud immediately caught his attention. He spun towards the source. Sam was bending over to pick up a cardboard box. "Dude!"

Sam looked up at him, eyes wide. "I'm sorry. I didn't think it would be that heavy."

He indicated the equipment now strewn about the floor of the moving truck, "That's my gear, dude. That stuff's not cheap!"

Sam rolled his eyes in response. "Well, if it was so precious to you, Dean, maybe it would have helped to put duct tape on the bottom of the box, too."

He scoffed. "I wouldn't need to if you would just be more careful."

Sam slowly stood back up, stretching his frame to his full height, crossing his arms, looking down at Dean. "I don't see you moving anything."

He shook his head, smiling at Sam, "Of course not - it's obvious you need a supervisor. Man, didn't Bobby teach you anything?"

"Yeah," Sam said with a grin, "He taught me how to pack correctly. Unlike some people."

He playfully punched Sam on the shoulder. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that?"

Sam grinned in return. "Who puts 60 pounds of expensive equipment in a cardboard box anyway?"

He sighed, rolling his eyes and silently cursing to himself. He grabbed Sam by the shoulders and pointed him towards the remaining heap. "Why don't you try that box over there? I think it's full of pillows. Think you can manage that one, Samantha?"

Sam turned towards him, "Again... Why would you pack a box full of pillows?"

He knew where this was heading - he'd only been in charge of Sam his entire life. He knew he had to strike back, and quick. He crossed the truck in search of a very specific box. "Oh man, Sammy..." He spotted the box and a smile quickly formed. "This box with your computer shit looks really really heavy..." He bent over and feigned trying to pick it up, complete with pathetic grunts. "Man, I hope I don't drop it."

Sam quickly appeared at his side, pushing him away. "Fine! You win. I get it."

Sam grumbled as he walked out of the truck towards the house, box of pillows in tow. Dean smiled, mentally marking this as another victory. He walked to the edge of the truck and stretched out his frame, feeling the muscles in his back unbind a little. Sitting in a moving truck for hours on end doesn't do much to help his back.

He took a deep breath, noticing the distinct difference in air quality compared to Bobby's place. The air here was thicker and it had an inherent industrial smell to it. He didn't mind, he always liked the smell of gasoline mixed with exhaust.

Some movement across the driveway caught his eye. A face appeared in the tiny window of the house next door. Someone was watching him. The face vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. Dean couldn't help but feel a little creeped out. It was entirely possible that he was seeing things, but he was certain he saw a face.

When Sam finally came back from dropping off the box of pillows, he couldn't help but ask, "Hey, Sammy? Do you feel like we're being watched?"

Sam raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "Are you trying to get out of moving these boxes?" He grunted as he hoisted another box into his arms.

Sam knew him surprisingly well, he was impressed. "No... I'm just freaking out," which was true. The feeling of being watched like a piece of prey didn't sit well with him.

The response wasn't as sympathetic as he had hoped. Sam just forced out a laugh and rolled his eyes. "Well, you can freak out and move boxes at the same time." Sam repositioned the box in his arms. "You know, I think you've managed to get out of lifting even a single box."

"Helpful. I can feel the love. Your concern amazes me," he replied dryly.

He knew he was likely annoying his brother at this point. When Sam started getting theatrical with his sighs, it was a good indication that he was reaching his limit. "No one is watching you, Dean. Besides," he added with a slight smile, "you look like shit anyway."

Sam walked out of the truck quickly - only after grabbing his box of computer stuff. He probably knew that Dean was going to kick his ass for that line. "Gee, thanks, Sammy," he yelled after him.

Only moments passed before Sam stomped his way back to the base of the truck ramp, box still in hand. "And it's Sam. Not Sammy!" Dean smiled. Sam hated being called Sammy, and he knew it. But Sam would always be Sammy to him. Plus, it was an easy way to get under his skin really fast. What else were brothers for?

It wasn't until they were nearly finished unloading the truck that he spotted the movement again. The curtains in the window of the house next door fluttered, and there was most definitely a face this time. It wasn't a cat, or a breeze, or a ghost. It was a face, and someone was watching him.

"Sam!" He retreated back into the truck and grabbed Sam's shoulders, spinning his giant frame towards the neighboring house. "Look!" He pushed him towards the edge of the truck. "Do you see it!?" He pointed towards the offending window.

Sam looked down at his hand, following where it pointed. Sam glanced towards the house and then back at Dean, a look of confusion on his face. "See what?"

"The neighbor is watching us. Look!" He pointed to the window again, secretly hoping and praying that the face would somehow appear again.

Sam looked again, his expression never changing. "I don't see anything, Dean. You're imagining things again."

"No, dude. Shut up." He ran his hands through his hair, growing more and more frustrated by the whole ordeal. The face could appear at any other time, but not when he needed it to. "I'm being serious here, Sammy."

Sam went back into the truck, heading for the remaining stack of boxes. "Look, if it bothers you that much, why don't you go over there when we're done and introduce yourself? We're almost done anyway. Or should I say I'm almost done..."

Sam grabbed an armful of boxes and headed back towards the house. Dean sighed. He wasn't even sure why it bothered him so much. He exited the truck, the setting sun casting an orange glow, obscuring his vision of the window, no matter how hard he squinted.

An approaching car caught his attention. The noise was amplified by the otherwise silent neighborhood. He shaded his eyes with his hand, watching curiously. The car stopped in front of the neighbor's house.

A young woman climbed out of the car, walking around to the passenger side to fetch a bag. She popped the trunk with her keychain, and made her way back. The trunk was filled with paper bags; way more than she could carry in on her own in one trip, but she grabbed what she could and headed up to the porch of the house, knocking a few times before finally being let in.

He waited for her to make her return, which didn't take long. He interpreted it as an opportunity to introduce himself, so he walked to the end of the driveway, hoping to offer his assistance. He tried not to scare her, so he cleared his throat, indicating his presence. "Need some help with those, ma'am?"

Hunched over the trunk, the woman straightened up, turning to glare at him. "Who are you calling 'ma'am'?"

Any trace of a smile quickly fell from his face. "Sorry... I'm Dean. I'm one of your new neighbors. What would you prefer I call you?"

The woman suddenly smirked, "Some people call me..." she paused dramatically, " Jess."

He mirrored her smirk, relieved that she had a sense of humor. "Alright, Jess, did you need some help hauling in those bags?"

Jess' eyes shifted from him to the house and back, her smirk suddenly fading. "I would love the help, but..."

The front door of the house suddenly shut. He looked towards the door and then back to Jess... "But what? It's no big deal for me. Believe it or not, these muscles aren't just for show."

She looked away with a giggle. "I just - Thanks for your offer, but I got it."

He shrugged. "Alright. Suit yourself." She returned her focus to the bags in the trunk. "So, you live here, or what?"

"No, I don't. I just help out."

He walked to the side of the trunk so he could talk to her instead of her back. "Help out with what?"

She turned her head towards him. "Does it matter?"

"Well, you know, new neighbor and all that. I'm just curious."

She glanced up at the door, and then returned her focus to him. "I... I don't think he'd appreciate it if I told you."

He suddenly smiled, "Ah, so it's a he? Is this 'he' your boyfriend?"

She quickly looked away, squeezing her eyes tight. "No, no, no... He's not. Just a friend."

He smirked, "Riiiight. Gotcha. Wink wink, nudge nudge."

She turned her attention back to the trunk, grabbing the remaining bags. "Well Dean, it's been an absolute pleasure speaking to you. I will treasure this moment forever, but I really need to drop these off." She elbowed the trunk closed and headed for the porch.

"Hey, I'm here if you ever need me. For anything." He winked.

She giggled. "Thanks for the offer." She opened the door and disappeared.

He turned back towards his house and noticed his brother's head peeking out from behind the moving truck. He knew that look on Sam's face. He braced himself as Sam rushed over.

Sam grabbed Dean's shoulders, shaking him slightly. "Dude! Who is she?"

"Who is who?"

"That girl you were just talking to, Dean."

He pushed Sam's hands off of him. "Oh, her?" He smirked. "She said some people call her Jess."

"What? That's all you got? You don't even know if that's her name..."

"She was busy helping the mysterious neighbor."

"And you didn't think to offer her help?"

"Of course I did. I'm a gentleman, after all. She politely declined."

Sam snorted. "Gentleman? You? Yeah, right."

"I can be a gentleman..."

"Yeah, if it helps you get into their pants... Still, you have to introduce me to her."

He shook his head. "No way, dude. She's busy and I'm not your wingman."

Sam gave him that look... Puppy dog eyes. "Please? For me?"

He never could resist his brother's kicked-puppy look. "Dammit. Fine, you big baby. I don't know why you can't talk to her yourself."

Sam had a dorky smile on his face and looked like he was about to say something, but the front door opened and then quickly slammed, and a sudden burst of shouting came from behind the door.

"What was that?"

"Sounds like a fight."

The shouting crescendoed and then immediately stopped. The brothers stood in awkward silence, keeping an eye on the door to the house. A door slammed somewhere inside the house, and a few moments later they saw the woman emerge from the house, looking slightly less than pleased.

Sam moved behind him. He wasn't really certain what to say at this point, so he stumbled over words. "Um... Hey again."

She glared at him. "You're still here? What do you want?"

"Yeah, still here... And, uh, well, this is my little brother Sam. He wanted to meet you."

Sam stepped out from behind him and waved awkwardly. "Hi... Uh, I'm Sam."

She stood there, momentarily stunned as she eyed him up and down. She looked over at Dean, "Little brother?"

"Yeah, he's kind of a freak. I'm pretty sure he's adopted."

Sam awkwardly shifted his weight between his feet, swaying side to side with a goofy grin on his face. "So... I hear they call you Jess."

Her glare softened. She wiped what looked like a tear from her cheek and released a laugh. "That would be correct." She bit her lip.

His mission accomplished, he cleared his throat. "Yeah, so if you need me, I'll be over in my garage. You two place nice."

He backed away slowly, slipping out of the cloud of sexual tension that surrounded the two and headed for his garage - his mechanical sanctuary. There were no chick flick moments allowed in there, so he was safe for now.

Since Sam was busy flirting, he would focus on unpacking some of his tools and setting up everything to his liking. He grabbed one of the larger boxes resting on one of his work benches when the bottom gave out, dropping a surprisingly heavy tool box on his foot. In the brief period of time that it was falling, he could picture Sam giving him that 'I was right' look and telling him he told him so.

"Son of a bitch!" He immediately grabbed his injured foot and hopped around awkwardly until he plopped himself on the floor of the garage. He grabbed the now empty cardboard box and threw it across the garage in frustration.

"Hey, Dean!" Sam came running up to him.

"What!?" He glared up at Sam, not too pleased with the pain in his foot.

Sam's smile faltered as he stood in the opening of the garage. "Wow, what crawled up your ass and died?"

He rolled his eyes, indicating his foot and the tool box. "Your pet hamster. What do you want?"

Sam's smile instantly returned. "I got her number."

"Ah, that's my Sammy. Way to go." Dean shot him a pained thumbs up.

The boy could hardly contain his excitement. "How long should I wait to call her?"

He looked up at him, amused. "I have no idea, dude. I'm not the person to ask about that stuff. My longest relationship was waiting for the microwave to finish cooking my Hot Pocket."

Sam blinked. "Nice..."

He rubbed his foot. "Did you find anything out about that little fight we heard?"

"No, I didn't want to pry." Sam narrowed his eyes and smirked. "Why do you care?"

"No reason. Just curious. Being a good neighbor and all that."

Sam shook his head and reached down to help his brother up. "You know, Dean... If you would have taped the bottom of that box, it wouldn't have given out like that."

"Dammit, Sam..."