Castiel was singing. He was standing near the small karaoke machine that Ellen had put in the darkest corner (she hated it but some customers had asked for it), the mike in his hand, not even a bit embarrassed about it. He had a few shots of tequila under his belt, which might explain why he had decided that singing might be a good idea. To Sam, it really wasn't.
It wasn't that Cas was singing off-key, it was more that he didn't know any song, so he just read the words on the small screen, using melodies a five-years-old would look down at. The mix with the actual music from the karaoke machine was migraine-inducing.
The fact that it was 'Born to be alive' had Sam laughing his ass off the chair. Could you say Castiel was born? And with such repetitive lyrics, how could Castiel make so many mistakes? He must be a very, very light-weight, now that he was human. After all, half-an-hour ago, he was babbling about bees' routes to the two totally uninterested brothers. He was still wearing his raincoat even though sweat was dripping his forehead, careful not to stain it. There were ways in which he was really adorable, not that Dean would ever admit that, with his macho façade.
The song was almost done and Sam was in hysterics. He tearfully turned toward his brother, so that they could both make fun of the ex-angel. He froze.
Dean was also watching in Castiel's direction but he wasn't laughing, not even smiling. He looked... entranced. His face was all soft, as if he was daydreaming. Sam opened his mouth, closed it and looked back at Cas, who had his eyes closed and was now jumping up and down, his hair all tousled, his trench-coat flapping along comically.
Yet, Dean's expression didn't change. Sam would have pegged it on strong alcohol consumption if not for the fact that it wasn't possible. Dean had been sick for the past week and, after some coaxing from both Sam and Cas, had begrudgingly accepted to see a doctor. He had been told, in no uncertain terms, not to mix the prescription with alcohol (Sam had spent the evening reading the effects off the Internet aloud until Dean had yelled for him to stop). Knowing him, Sam still watched him like a hawk (Even though he still drank heavily himself. Brotherly concern only went that far). So Dean had been nursing a can of soda for the whole evening. It was now laying on the counter. Dean had his chin in one hand and the other was tapping the rhythm along.
The thing was, Dean was a purist when it came to music. Anything other than 70s rock stunk, in his opinion and no-one was allowed to listen to any of it around him. Sam who had wider taste was getting fed up with it, trying his mightiest to annoy Dean whenever he could with shallow pop songs. Dean shivered and grumbled and, as far as Sam knew, disco was quite down on his list of un-listenable. So, where was the disgust, the frowning, the heavy sarcasm? Which entity had taken hold of Sam's brother and turned him into this softy zombie?
All this thinking exhausted Sam's plastered brain and he might have fallen asleep. It was never a good idea to do so, as the counter was all sticky at the end of the night but anyhow, he only vaguely woke up when he realized he was walking, his arms around Dean and Cas' shoulders, both men whining about how heavy and tall he was (Sam caught a few choice curses along with a "It's... it's okay, Deannnn, you can do it, you're strong and...strong".) He managed to coax his legs into walking to the bunker and once in, was thrown unto the first couch they could find.
He really woke up much later, with a very urgent need to rush to the bathroom. His bladder was making itself known, so Sam stood up, winced at the horrible pain inside his skull and walked slowly but surely to the back of the bunker.
He passed Dean's bedroom on the way and heard voices. Sam panicked. Had Dean invited a girl in here? This was something they had both agreed never to do, at least for one-nigh-stands. Friends were different, of course, but the giggling was weird. What was weirder is that there were no female tones. In fact it sounded like Dean was talking to himself, using his flirty voice. Maybe he was on the phone, thought Sam, just before he started running.
Once relieved, he went in search of his room, navigating the corridors on unsteady feet. This time, Dean's door was open and Sam couldn't help see what was happening inside.
He wished he hadn't.
Castiel was sitting on the bed, topless and Dean was thoroughly kissing his way downstairs. Both men were panting softly. The look of ecstasy on Castiel's face made Sam blush. He hurried away.
Around 10 am, he was shaken awake by a petulant Dean:
"Come on, Sammy, time to get up! We need this pretty mind of yours to help us with our new case."
Sam grumbled, trying to stay in bed but Dean yanked the covers away.
" Breakfast is waiting, Sammy. Seriously, does you head hurt that much?" he asked with a smirk before leaving. Bitch.
As he put a shirt on, Sam vaguely remembered the previous night. Cas' atrocious singing, Dean's troubling behavior. It must have been enough for Sam's mind to concoct a strange dream where his straight brother was about to have sex with a very male, albeit cute Cas. Sam decided he should drink less and opened his door.
He entered the kitchen, like a coffee-searching missile, missing the way the two other men's hands were entangled, or the kiss Dean pressed on Cas' temple. Once the caffeine started its blessed headache-fighting mission, though, Sam was fully able and see the new order of things.
Castiel was seated on Dean's laps. There was a single plate in front of them, filled with bacon, and two cups of coffee next to it. Castiel was looking at Dean with the same expression Sam had seen on his brother the night before. So he hadn't dreamt it, after all. His eyes met Dean's, who turned from happy to fierce and proud, daring him to comment. Sam didn't. He smiled and finished his coffee.