A Moment with My Brother

Guilty Secrets

It's the look on Dean's face that makes it priceless.

He know's that he's busted and his guilty, green gaze and babbled denials are gonna count for nothing now that his dirty little secret is out.

And I don't need to tell ya that Sam's loving it.

Oh, we had both suspected for...well forever maybe, that he wasn't being entirely truthful but he was, overtly, pretty convincing, in his actions anyway but now I...we...see that it was all really all just a fragile and pernicious facade.

And we are going to take endless and deeply satisfying pleasure in tormenting him with it.

What is it?

What's Dean's guilty pleasure?

What has he been hiding so carefully from all of us for so long?

Well, let's rewind ten minutes and you can see first hand like we did. It'll be more fun that way.

So prepare yourself...it's shocking...those of a nervous disposition should grab onto whatever (who-ever) it takes to get them through this...

Got your blankie/teddy/fallen angel to cuddle?

Okay, here we go...

snSNsn

Ten Minutes Earlier.

He'd not expected us back.

That was clear, but then we had said we might be all day and we would have been if'n 'Thingumabobbies and Doodahs', our first port of call and now favorite 'hex bag and general protection spell content' stockists hadn't happened to have both pelargonium capitatum absolute and cured alligator juniper chips in stock/ no problem/ buy 'em there and then.

That they did was weird/cool/fortuitous but also meant that instead of Sam and I being out all day, we walked back into the bunker, laden with our bags full of goodies, some hours ahead of schedule.

It was lunch time and Dean was in the kitchen. We could hear him pottering (god, that man could potter for England...Hey, pause just a mo...Funny saying that isn't it? Do the English potter a lot then? And what the fuck is pottering anyway? Who knows but I guess they must. That and queue...and play cricket...and drink tea...Sorry, I digress, concentrate, Charlie!).

Anyways Dean was pottering about in the kitchen and we heard him...(he's a noisy potterer), but he didn't hear us.

Why, you ask?

Well, see now there were a number of us all living in our sweetly strange but somehow thriving little ex angel/ broken down hunter/ nerdy MoonDoor royalty commune...all of whom have differing and oft clashing musical taste, Dean had finally given in and had taken to using the I-Pod Sam bought for him so we, the more discerning listeners, don't have to be deafened each day with his classic (yeah...classic, my ass!) rock.

This of course meant though that, cause he has it at 'destroy your ear-drum in sixty seconds' level most of the time, he's easier to sneak up on.

And no, that doesn't seem to worry him. Which is bizarre as you and I know cause Dean's spent his entire life being a 'best boy scout be prepared for anything' Winchester and now he's un-fazed by being deaf to imminent attack.

But see, he only ever wears his phones in the bunker...'the locked-down, protected to the absolute and infinite degree from anything and everything known to man and then some', bunker.

So he's cool with it...cause the chances of anything nasty sneaking up on him is just about zero...or so he thought. (Insert fiendish cackling here.)

And thus, he walks in from the kitchen, carrying his glass and a bottle of dressing to find Sam and I staring at the plate that held his dirty, shameful, guilty little secret, where it sits on the library table innocently waiting to be consumed.

snSNsn

"Is that...is that what I think it is?"

Sam's face is an absorbing mixture of shock, amazement and...'I am gonna trade on this for a long, long time' and Dean nearly clears an olympic hurdle he jumps so high at our unexpected presence.

"Crap!"

He shouts real loud, (still got his phones in!), sloshing his beer as he hurriedly deposits his burdens on the table and makes to distract us.

"What...when...th...thought you were out all day?"

Dean mumbles as he pulls the buds from his ears and works on trying to minimize the distinctly pink glow that is creeping flirtatiously up his neck.

I hold the bags up for him to see, smiling seductively...with just a touch of playful evil as a sub-text.

"We found all we needed straight away. So...'Hunny...we're home!'"

He nods nervously, eyes shifting from the bags to me to Sam who tips his chin toward the plate on the table. The blush now reddens his cheeks and Sam goes in for the kill.

'So, that is what I think it is? Isn't it?"

Dean glances as indicated and then blinks slowly, too slowly and it's almost like he's trying the 'if I can't see ya, ya can't be there' gambit...but it don't pay dividends for him this time.

And Sam smiles, triumph beginning to enliven his face.

And I think...'Holy crap...we have him...the mighty Dean Winchester, my big bro, caught bang to rights in his wanton wickedness.

But Deano doesn't go gown that easily, No-siree-Bob he don't. He kicks in his noggin, re-boots his melon and pow! He's back in the game...

"I made lunch for ya..."

He feints unconvincingly, indicating the plate of...

Have ya guessed yet?

Bet ya have...

Ewh, No, yeuch. So not that, ya freak! Who'd eat that?

It's salad, okay? Crispy, crunchy, oh-so-good-for-ya-body-not-a-bit-of-dead-processed -cow-anywhere-on-the-plate', salad.

And it is evidently Dean's lunch.

Voluntarily...Dean's lunch.

No coercion to eat it, no 'too poorly to get something for himself and Sam made him eat it'. Nothing like that. It's just Dean...Dean Winchester...choosing to eat salad for his lunch.

And Sam's seen through his honestly pathetic deflection attempt.

"There's only one plate..."

He points at the shameful repast and motions with the same finger between himself and me.

"And there's two of us."

Dean squirms and doesn't answer.

I chip in, eyeing up the damming evidence...(Hoowee, This is just like 'Clue'! And the murderer is...duh-duh-duuuhh! Miss Bradbury, in the Batcave with the demon knife.)

"And you didn't expect us back so why would you put food out for us?"

"U...uh...I..."

Dean stutters and dithers and looks just plain damn guilty...

And it's adorable. Just too freaking adorable.

And Sam's smile is three foot wide, as is mine as we revel in his shamefaced disquiet.

"Okay...alright!"

His wide, hunter-buffed shoulders droop and Dean raises his hands in grudging defeat.

"It's MY lunch, okay?...it's lunch time...I'm hungry...so I'm eating my lunch. You got a problem with that?"

He tries for 'tough, don't mess with me, I ain't in the mood for discussion' but it's ruined by his furtive glances towards his buddy, 'Cesar' who just sits, minding his own leafy business on the table so Sam and I...my little-big-bro tag-teamer...administer the coup de grace.

"So...Dean..."

Sam strolls across the floor and using his added height so effectively to his/our advantage, rests his arm around Dean's slumping shoulders and cajoles him down into his seat...at the table...before his heaped serving of juicy, whole/health/rabbit food salad.

"So, when we aren't here..."

Dean wriggles, his eyes flitting nervously from the (I must say) delicious looking plateful to mine. His gaze says 'Help me out here, Charlie!' and part of me wants to cause he is disgustingly cute when he's all naughty trapped puppy but it's just really too...too...too fucking good an opportunity not to get maximum squirm out of. So I shake my head and grin as Sam continues.

"You eat..."

Sam lifts Dean's silverware and stabs a hearty forkful of leaves which he twirls merrily before his brother's busted face.

"Salad."

Dean sighs and opens his pouting lips to respond but Sam shushes him with an accusatory finger.

"Salad, Dean. You choose (he emphasizes choose and the defeated, elder hunter flinches involuntarily) to eat salad."

It's not a question cause the evidence ('Clue' again...And the murderer is...The Queen of MoonDoor, in the MoL Bunker with a plate of arugula) is there, for us all to see, cannot be denied and any fight that was remaining goes out of the guilty, bang to rights, Winchester.

"Yes..."

Dean mumbles miserably.

Sam glances at me, sheer wicked delight lighting up his face.

"What was that?"

He gloats and Dean looks up, 'please don't make me say it again' threatening to quiver his lips.

"I didn't hear you, Dean?"

Sam places the fork on the plate and Dean sighs again. Louder this time, and if he had a white flag and a pole I think he'd be running up his ensign.

"Yes...okay, Sam. I chose to eat salad. Alright, you happy now? I was gonna eat salad without you making me and even though there was meat in the fridge, and left over pizza and...god help me...pie...I was gonna eat...salad. There I said it. okay? You satisfied?"

He hangs his head in shame and Sam laughs out-loud in triumph.

I grab the dressing bottle Dean had dropped to the table when we surprised him with our presence some minutes earlier and pour a sexy little drizzle over the crunchy leaves as I take the fork from his plate and place it in our defeated sibling's sweaty paw.

"NomNomNom..."

I giggle as I encourage him to stab sulkily at his nice fresh greens.

"Betcha you really like your vege's too, huh? Not a carrot-hater at all really, are ya?"

He shakes his head contritely, the forkful of arugula hovering toward his pouting lips and Sam scoffs triumphantly.

'So no more complaining if I suggest we have something healthy for dinner once in a while?"

Dean turns his best wide-eyed, emerald-greens on his brother and shakes some more.

"And now we know your dirty little secret there's no bitching that it's rabbit food and you can't survive on it?"

Dean sighs.

"Cross my heart, Sammy."

He looks so innocent, so convincing and I look at Sam with my 'chalk-a-point-up-to-us' face on as we share a self-congratulatory smile...

Only to have it turn to laughter as Dean mutters.

"But if you even try calling me freakingThumper, I will end you both!"

Ends