Work Text:
Was I with you there for the goose?
William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
They're in Chester, Vermont, and Sam is outside taking in the crisp clean air when he spots the goose. Well, he spots Dean first - racing up the lane like a demented snowplow, his arms a-whirling, while the goose flap-flap-flaps in attendance. When Dean all but collapses in Sam's arms, the goose honks contentedly.
"Freakin' bird hissed at me," Dean says, breathless, clutching Sam's neck. "Size of a Buick, too. Where's the shotgun?"
Sam doesn't answer at once, because it's been aeons since Dean last hugged him - before Sam's shoulders decided it was time to snub Dean's - and when he does, the goose is gone.
"Christmas was last month, Dean." (One month exactly, his gift to Dean ungiven then, still off tonight - Sammy's heart's own wild chase.)
"Whatever." Dean laughs, his chutzpah intact; throws an arm round him. "Cm'on, let's go hit the Famous Grouse instead - now I'm legit."
Dean is in Stanford, California, subbing for Dad on account of Dad's currently gimp leg, when Sam trips into his vision field.
"Whoa," Sam is saying, his tan golden in the May sun, walking backward as he waves his arms before him, "whoa."
The goose clicks its beak, sparking a flurry of voices. "Hello, Nils Winchester!" "She likes you!" "Just throw her your sandwich, man - oh wait, it's pâté."
"I'll decoy her," a girl's voice offers, bright and softhearted. When Dean darts a glance past the tree behind which he is hunkering, he gets a flash of blonde. The voice gets close, only the redwood's vast circumference between them. "Perhaps she likes birthday cake! Here, goosey, goosey, gander - leave poor Sam alone! Lake Lagunita's over there!"
More laughter - more crunching of the lane's gravel under a heavier, booted foot - then the goose, hard upon Sam's steps, high-pitched and urgent. Dean holds his breath. But just as Sam heads up to the tree, there's a windy noise, and...
"Oh," says the girl, only half-laughing now. "Sorry - I didn't think she would force you to -"
"No act of force," Sam answers gently, and something in Dean's chest is pulling a McGyver sans glue or sellotape at his brother's voice. "Just...'
"Just?"
"Nothing," Sam says, and Dean knows only too well the sound that follows - the muffled exactness of a kiss. "Just, I guess a goose can change her mind."
"Canada," Jack says excitedly. It took Sam's algorithm skills to figure out the human-to-nephilim ratio for his second birthday party, which officially doubles as his twenty-first.
Dean grimaces. "You sure, kid? Because Vancouver ain't all it's cracked up to be. Trust me - we've been there."
"Oh," Jacks says in round-eyed reverence. "Is that where you saw it? Was its cry very loud?"
"... The Alpaca?"
"No, the Sucimukhi - the matchmaking goose! Castiel told me all about it. How the first of its kind let God copy her wings when he was creating angels, and as a reward he made her a spirit of love. There are only a hundred left now, because natural soulmates are so very rare across the world. But if you're one of them, the goose will come on your -"
"Coming of age," Sam says quietly, his gaze on the bottle of Famous Grouse - and Dean's hand, grasping its side.
"Yes! So, I was thinking, if I'm very polite and make it halfway to her -'
"Jack," Dean says, his voice a match between gravel and joy. When Jack looks, Dean's eyes have found Sam's too-bright gaze; are having and holding it. "Little Gosling. We'll go anywhere you like, but right now, go get Baby started. Your dad and I will be right behind you."