It's third year, and the sorting hat is taking an unnervingly long time deliberating atop Sam's head. The poor kid looks terrified--face pinched white and fingers knuckled on the stool. Dean is actually highly concerned that his teasingly telling Sam all these years that he was a squib is actually true. He really, really wishes they were allowed to visit other tables on the first night, because all he wants to do is discuss this with Cas, but he's sitting on the side of the Gryffindor table farthest from the Hufflepuffs, eyes trained maddeningly toward the front of the hall instead of on the covert signals Dean's trying to send him. "RAVENCLAW!" Dean's exhale of relief is for two reasons: Sammy isn't a squib after all, and now he isn't the only black sheep in the family. Grandpa will complain about this, of course, say that the blood of that muggle Winchester is what ended the pristine line of Campbell Gryffindors--but Dean doesn't have to worry about that until Christmas dinner. He manages to corral Cas when the students are dismissed, dragging him over to Sam's flushed, relieved face. "It tried to put me in Slytherin," he says breathlessly, quivering in disbelief, "I had to beg." "Slytherin isn't so bad," Cas claims, annoyingly fair, as always, "My friend Meg's in Slytherin." Dean thinks that, knowing Meg, it doesn't really say much for the house, but he keeps that to himself. "You know what Ravenclaw means, Sam?" His brother's eyes narrow in suspicion. Cas, suspecting where this is going, makes a disgusted noise. "Now you get to do my homework."