The Super Bowl wasn't very entertaining, but that's to be expected from someone who doesn't like sports. Castiel spent more time watching Dean than he did actually watching the game. Of the many things Dean muttered under his breath, Castiel's personal favorites are, "How the fuck did he make it to the Super Bowl without ever learning to throw a fucking ball," "I could run faster than him, and I broke my damn leg," and the 37 times he said, "Dammit, Ketch!" And yes, it really was 37. Castiel counted.

The game went into overtime, and Castiel can safely say that he's never been as stressed as Dean looked as the scheduled game was coming to a close and the Patriots were still behind by quite a bit. They barely caught up in time, and he was sure Dean was going to go down to the field and yell at his teammates himself during overtime, with as many passive aggressive things he muttered under his breath.

The applause at the end of the game was nice. It meant no one could hear Dean's loud, "Fuck everything!" when the Patriots lost. He's sure Patrick's kids wouldn't appreciate it if they did.

Fortunately, the loss doesn't seem to put him in a very bad mood, as Castiel discovers on the car ride back to the hotel, with Dean acting like his normal self again.

"We've still got a week 'til the Grammys," Dean says. "The drive to California will take three days, tops. Can we stay in Texas for a few days? I haven't been here in, god, 14 years. I want to see what's changed."

Castiel hesitates, then says a reluctant, "I guess," just because Dean seems so excited about it.

"Unless you don't want to?" Dean says uncertainly.

"No, no, it's fine," Castiel says. "I guess there's not really anywhere else I'd rather be."

"I'm not buying it," Dean says. "Why don't you want to hang out in Texas?"

"It's not that I don't want to," Castiel says, even though it really is that he doesn't want to. "It's just, isn't Texas a little too homophobic for a famous gay couple to just hang around?"

"What? No!" Dean says. "I mean, yeah, people can be pretty homophobic, but it's usually just passive homophobia, not, like..."

"Car-wrecking homophobia?" Castiel substitutes.

"Exactly," Dean says. "And, for the record, if I ever find out who fucked up my car, I will beat them to death with their own severed arm."

Castiel stares at him with wide eyes. "You're going to what?"

"You heard me," Dean says with a smug smile.

Castiel just gapes at him for the rest of the car ride, because how the hell do you respond to that? Especially because that's actually something Dean would do?

~~

Flash forward a day, and Dean and Castiel are just driving around the city. Every now and then, Dean will point something out, and the smile on his face is so cute that Castiel can't even bring himself to mention how boring this is.

"Ooh, that right there!" Dean points out the passenger side window. "That's where we used to live. Wait, hold up, I'm gonna go back and check it out."

He makes a U-turn and drives back the other way, then pulls into the apartment complex by the side of the road. He slowly drives around for a minute or so, eyes scanning the building, then quickly pulls into a parking space.

"That one," Dean says, pointing straight ahead of them. "Apartment 136."

It doesn't look very big from the outside, though it's hard to judge the depth of the building from here. It's not very fancy, just a brick building with numbers on the outside, places above the screen doors leading inside.

"It's hard to imagine you used to live in an apartment like that," Castiel remarks. "I just always kinda picture a house as big as Bobby's."

Dean chuckles. "Oh, god no. Bobby's junkyard's probably the size of the house I lived in until I was four, but most of my childhood was right there."

"But that seems so... sad," Castiel says, for lack of a better word.

"What? No way," Dean says. "This place was a blessing. It was probably way more expensive than it was worth, but at least we didn't have to worry about selling a place we were renting."

Castiel raises an eyebrow. "If you say so."

"No, trust me, it was great," Dean says. "But we should probably go before whoever lives there now notices the sketchy black car sitting outside, because I can only imagine how that would go."

Castiel chuckles. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

Dean pulls out of there and makes his way back to the main roads with no problem. "Wanna check out my elementary school?"

"Sure?" Castiel says uncertainly.

Dean must not notice how much Castiel doesn't care about this tour, because he grins. "Awesome. Let's go!"

~~

They don't go very close to the elementary school. It's a Monday, after all, and grown men approaching an elementary school without a child during school hours is generally frowned upon in most societies. Instead, they park outside of there, and Dean looks at it with a small smile on his lips.

"God, that was a fun school," he says. "So much drama."

"Drama like...?" Castiel prompts.

"Well, once, I think I was in third grade, and this kid stapled his friend's hand in the middle of class," Dean says.

"He what?" Castiel stares at him in disbelief. "Was the kid okay?"

"Well, he cried like a little bitch at first," Dean says. "But eventually, it became a running gag in the class. Even the teacher laughed at him a few times."

"You have a very weird idea of drama," Castiel observes.

"No, kids have a weird idea of drama," Dean says. "If you want adult drama, one of the first graders cut her hair with the little safety scissors, and there was this year-long debate about whether the teacher should be fired and whether they should let first graders use scissors."

"And what did they decide?" Castiel asks.

"They decided the kid should have known better, and nothing changed," Dean says. "Basically nothing ever changed at that place. That was the beauty of it." He pauses, then adds, "Well, there was the one teacher that got arrested for sleeping with one of his students, but that was in the high school, so it didn't really affect me."

Castiel gapes at him. "Your teacher slept with a student?"

"Not my teacher," Dean says. "My friend's sister's teacher. But the sister was friends with the girl he slept with, and apparently it was completely consensual, and she was actually pissed when she found out because they had to stop."

"If it was consensual, he wouldn't have gotten arrested, now, would he?" Castiel says.

"No, it was consensual," Dean says. "But she was 16 and he was 25, so it still was illegal — but only by a few months."

"What are the laws in Texas?" Castiel asks.

Dean figures out what he means easily, and just says, "You gotta be 17 — or the loophole with the 14-year-olds for high school relationships, but that's way too hard to explain."

"Then it was consensual," Castiel says. "If she wasn't 17, she couldn't consent."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Don't be that person, Cas."

"Don't be what person?" Castiel asks. "I'm literally stating facts. You can google it if you want. You can't consent until you're legal."

"But there's a difference between, like, rape, and just consensually underage," Dean says.

Castiel stares at him in disbelief. "Are you defending him?"

"Define 'defending.'"

Castiel scoffs. "Just take a minute to run this through your head, okay? He was 25. She was 16."

Dean nods slowly. "Yeah, I just said that."

"That would be like you sleeping with someone, that's, like, Jack Kline's age."

Dean's eyes widen when he says that. "Oh, shit, you're right. God, 16 sounds way older when you're right. I officially take back every single thing I've ever said in my life. Fuck that guy."