BA Canon: No
Timeline: 2015 (10 years after they reunite for the first time)
(Part 1 of 2)
Sam ignored the rhythmic thudding that came from outside his small bedroom, trying to concentrate on the smartphone he had propped up along the wall. Dean had been getting ready for whatever he had planned for ages, and must have walked past the entrance nigh on ten times so far.
Sam swiped down on the screen, loading up the book he was reading at the moment. Words covered the page, carefully scaled down so he wasn’t trying to read from words that were the size of his hand or bigger. Technology had made his life easier than ever, even at his size.
“Sam, get a move on, we’re gonna be late!” came a grumble from outside his small nook.
Sam rolled his eyes. “You won’t even tell me where we’re going!” he shot back in reply, but he did stand and grab his well-worn satchel. It had been through hell the last ten years he’d lived with Dean, but it was still in one piece, the loving workmanship from Walt showing through in the durability of the leather and the stitching.
A shadow fell over the entrance as Dean peered in. “What’s the fun in giving away the secret?” he asked with a grin. He put a hand down on the edge of the shelf, already ahead of Sam there. “You’ll just have to wait and see!”
Sam had to hide a smirk at his giant brother’s enthusiasm. Dean almost never got worked up about anything these days, so it was a welcome change. Considering what they’d gone through the last few years, Sam couldn’t say he was surprised that his brother had started to slip a little into the clouded darkness in his mind, but Sam was determined to keep him away from the edge of despair.
Even if it meant going along with Dean’s insane plans. Whatever the hell he was up to.
He came up to the edge of the shelf, stepping onto the back of Dean’s hand and walking over the raised knuckles. A tendon flexed under his boot, and Sam had to shift his weight to avoid getting thrown off balance, something he had practice at after spending ten years with a brother almost twenty times his size. He quickly hauled himself up Dean’s flannel shirt, smirking at the fact that some things, at least, never changed.
Once Sam was settled on his shoulder, Dean swept the keys off the top of the nightstand, heading out into the night.