Partners

For the first time in he didn't know how long, Dean was content. He was stationed behind the wheel of his baby, Sam was sitting quietly in the passenger seat, and they had a lead, finally, that could help them defeat Lucifer. All was right in the world.

. . .

Okay, maybe that was one whopper of an overstatement, but Dean still couldn't keep from smiling, in spite of the Apocalypse and everything. He just felt . . . lucky, and all it had taken was a few tearful words from a pudgy geek.

"A brother who would die for you . . ." Dean glanced over at Sam, who looked a little triumphant, himself, his hair brushed out of his eyes and his face less furrowed than usual.

Sam noticed Dean's stare--his unexpected grin, even more--and raised his eyebrows questioningly. "What?"

Dean turned back to the road and shrugged. "I was just thinking . . . maybe that convention wasn't so bad," he half-decided forgivingly.

Sam's brows crept even higher on his Neanderthal-ish forehead. "Never thought I'd hear you say that. What happened?"

"Whadda ya mean, 'What happened?' A guy can't just have a change of heart?"

"A normal guy, maybe. But you? Definitely not."

"Ha ha," Dean deadpanned but didn't say anything else.

"So . . . ?" Sam pressed after a beat.

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother's fricking persistence. "I dunno, Sam. Some of the people there were just . . . okay. Okay?"

"Like that girl from Hooters?" Sam suggested knowingly.

"No . . . Well, yeah. Hottest ghost I ever saw," Dean reminisced, eyes glazing over.

Sam muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "downstairs brain" before cracking a grin and asking, "What about 'Bobby?'" with appropriately-placed air-quotes.

"Uh, generally, I like 'em a little less old and . . . fatherly," Dean answered, casting Sam a quizzical look that indicated he hadn't caught on.

"I mean the fake one," Sam amended, giddy from the apparent hilarity of his own joke.

"Who?"

"The bearded lady with the baseball cap," Sam clarified, smirking.

"Oh, wow; you really know how to kill my buzz," Dean declared, suddenly focused on all the stuff that ticked him off about his and Sam's so-called "fans."

Sam looked pretty damn pleased with himself, getting back at Dean for not being a paradigm of open communication. "Hey, those guys that helped us were all right," he stated as an afterthought.

"Saved our asses, at least." Dean made sure to cloak his appreciation.

"Did . . ." Sam hesitated.

"What." It was more of a command than a question.

"Did they seem a little . . . gay to you?"

Dean snorted. "Why? You wanna go back and get one of their numbers?"

Sam flushed, thinking he should have known better. Dean was just that immature.

"The short, chunky one, right? Had you goin' weak at the knees?"

"Forget I asked," Sam muttered sulkily.

Dean let Sam stew a moment or two before giving him some credit. "Lucky for you, homo, your gaydar's working." Well, not that much credit. "Barnes and Demian are good, old-fashioned 'partners.'"

"Those're their real names?" Sam asked in surprise.

"I know. Really gay."

Sam shook his head laughingly, and then Dean's statement sank in. "They told you they were--you know?"

Dean instantly wished he could backpedal, but-- "Yep."

"Why?"

"Beats me." Dean was inexplicably embarrassed that he had practically talked feelings with the homosexual pair.

A contemplative moment passed before Sam matter-of-factly offered, "They probably thought we were a couple."

"Well, that's comforting," Dean snarked.

"They are fans, and since they're gay, I bet they're . . . What was that term?"

"Uh, slash fans?" Dean supplied, reluctant and wincing.

"Yeah." Sam took a quick moment to chuckle over the fact that Dean remembered the phrase, earning a well-founded glare. "So, if they think the fictional characters are together, then they probably figured--"

"No," Dean interrupted, nose wrinkled in distaste. "Homoerotic subtext, my ass. We're straight! Straight as arrows." He scowled at Sam, who was way too calm about the concept. "It should bother you that those people think there's something going on here."

"It does . . ." Sam had that stupid, thoughtful look on his face. "But it's not like they're pulling it out of thin air. It kinda makes sense, if you think about it."

"What?! How? How does it make sense?" Dean demanded frantically.

"Come on, Dean. We spend all our time together. We never have lasting relationships with girls--and if we try, they end in death or the End of the World. We can't live without each other, and we can barely live with each other. It's classic."

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Dean complained, indeed, looking a tinge green.

"We are both straight though, if that helps," Sam pointed out, obviously enjoying Dean's discomfort.

"Ya know what? It doesn't. That's the only thing that 'makes sense' about any of it. I don't care if people think I'm gay, but there's no way in Hell it'd be for you."

Sam nodded in understanding. "I know. In real life, we're brothers, but in Supernatural--"

"No, screw Supernatural! Us being brothers is only part of it."

Sam frowned, caught off-guard by that bit. "Uh, you lost me."

Dean scoffed, giving Sam a condescending look. "Come on, Sammy." His tone was mocking now. "If I was gay, don't you think I could do better than you?"

Sam blinked once. Twice. Thr-- "Wait, you don't think I'm good enough for you?"

Right on the money. "What, you think you are?"

"Yes! After all the shit I've put up with, of course I do! I mean, I've done more for you than anybody else! I've saved you; I've let you boss me around; I follow you everywhere like your dog or something, and I never get any thanks! Hell, I know you . . ."

Dean tuned out most of the actual words of Sam's bitching, which would have been really annoying if it wasn't so hilariously pointless; he knew he could never find a better companion than Sam--not that he would admit it.

". . . I still stick by you, even when you're a pain in the . . ."

Instead, he watched Sam's face twist in what he could only imagine was the result of PMS.

". . . and you should appreciate how good you've got . . ."

And much to Sam's irritation, Dean's pitiable attempt at stifling his laughter failed. "Dean."

Dean barely managed to inhale and taunt, "Well, when you put it like that, how can I resist?" before keeling onto the wheel and guffawing heavily.

Sam pouted and crossed his arms over his chest, dignity wounded. "Maybe you should focus on the road before you get us killed," he huffed.

"Aw, c'mon; it's not like you didn't deserve it, you incest-y freak," Dean joked as soon as he'd caught his breath, but he did pull himself into a proper driving position, though still snickering at random.

If there was one thing Sam had learned from his big brother, it was that payback was a bitch. "Seriously though," he grumbled after a few minutes of brooding, "you so couldn't do better than me."

Dean raised an eyebrow, long since having calmed down. "Yes, I could. I'm hot; I could get any guy I want."

Unfortunately, he didn't recognize the sudden twinkling in Sam's eyes. "Any guy, huh?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean responded like it was obvious.

"Any guy?" Sam repeated dubiously.

"That's what I just said."

"You're sure? Any guy?"

"Yes!" Dean snapped. "Jeez, you're like a goddamn broken record."

Sam masked his grin with a look of challenge. "Wanna bet on it?"

Dean's eyes widened, and he took them from the road worriedly. "Uh, no."

"No?"

"No!" Dean barked, gluing his gaze back to the completely un-distracting non-traffic in front of him. "I'm not gay, so I don't wanna try to hook up with some . . . dude."

"What if I told you, you really couldn't win this bet?" Sam baited.

"What if I told you to go screw yourself?" Dean growled.

"You're just scared."

Dean ground his teeth and held back his reply.

"Don't you at least wanna know who it is?" Sam asked after a moment of silence.

"No--"

"Castiel," Sam informed, unbidden.

It was Dean's turn to blush in embarrassment. "Aw, you're . . . you're sick," he protested unhappily.

"But I still win--"

"We didn't even bet!"

"You could never, in a million years, no matter how hot you think you are, get into an angel's pants."

"Anna," Dean countered.

"Fallen," Sam rejoined.

"Well, fuck you!" Dean exclaimed helplessly. He glared daggers into the windshield before him, angrily mumbling under his breath.

"Hmm?" Sam questioned playfully.

"I could totally get into Cas' pants," Dean reiterated in defiance.

Sam coughed back a laugh. "Okay, you probably could . . . But now who's the homo?"

Dean gaped at his sneaky-ass brother, utterly humiliated. "I--you--how . . . I hate you."

"You say that, but . . ."

"Honestly, completely, definitely hate you . . ."

Sam chuckled and clapped Dean on the shoulder affectionately. "Right back atcha . . . partner."

Dean almost swerved off the road.