Chapter 7: Won't Be Turned Around

I sat down abruptly on the hood of the nearest car. "Wait . . . what? You don't even like guys that way!"

"And I still don't—you could parade a buncha male supermodels in front of me stark naked, and it wouldn't do squat for me." Dean gave a brief snort of laughter. "But hey, there's already a Sam-exception for practically everything else in my damn life, so why not this too?"

"Okay, but . . . when did you—stop, don't answer anything." I held up a hand. "We obviously need to talk, but not in the middle of a bar parking lot. Let's head back to the motel."

"Sure, man, but what about your buddy in there? Are you gonna just ditch him without saying anything?" Dean asked, raising his brows.

I shrugged. "This wasn't a date or anything—we talked for half an hour tops. And it's not like he'll have any trouble finding someone else to spend the night with. This right here is far more important."

He nodded and led the way toward where the Impala was parked. I remained quiet on the drive back to our motel, figuring that my brother could use some time to gather his thoughts without any pestering from me. He in turn hummed along to his Ride the Lightning tape but didn't say anything and kept his focus on the road.

Once we were back in our room, I took a seat on the bed and waited for Dean. He grabbed two beers from the fridge, handed one to me after opening both, and sat down near the foot of the bed. He remained silent for a couple minutes, his expression less freaked out than before and more contemplative.

"Before you even ask, I dunno when all this changed for me, alright?" he finally said. "I meant what I said before, when you first told me your secret, that I didn't feel the same way. I mean, I've always cared 'bout you more than anything, probably more than most folks think is healthy, but I never thought of you like that. Like, it never occurred to me to consider you as anything other than the excessively tall, way too nerdy, definitely bratty little brother that I'd devoted most of my life to.

"After finding out that you're in love with me and have been for years, I did spend some time trying to figure out how and why that happened, and I guess in the process part of me realized that you'd be pretty much perfect for me. You already know everything about me—the good, the bad, and the ugly—and are willing to accept all my crap with nothing more than the occasional bitch-face. There's no one I trust more to not only have my back no matter what but also to let my guard down and be myself with. The fact that even I can tell you're smoking hot don't hurt either.

"I can't say for sure what happened without a whole lot more navel-gazing, but my guess is that thought stuck around in my subconscious, and that rattling around plus knowing how you felt about me, and how much closer we've gotten since then, musta slowly changed how I felt about you. Only I didn't realize what was going on back there until I saw you tonight with that Tad dude," he concluded with a shrug.

"His name is Todd, not Tad," I replied absently. "I suppose that makes sense, that this is something that grew on you over the past couple of months. What I don't get though is why you didn't just tell me earlier, instead of trying to hide it from me. I mean, you already know how I feel, and you told me back then that you aren't ashamed or disgusted, right?"

Dean nodded. "I did, and I still mean that. Considering all the gnarly crap we hafta do on a regular basis, some more-than-brotherly feelings is hardly a blip on the radar. And it ain't like I've ever really given a shit what other people think 'bout us, except for Bobby and maybe Ellen outta who we got left."

"Then what's the damn problem?" I demanded. "It turns out we both feel the same way about each other, so this should be a good thing!"

"'Cause it ain't so fucking simple for me! You're the baby brother that I practically raised, and I'm hardwired to take care of you, not . . . not take advantage of you! And yeah, I get it up here," he pointed to his head, "that you're not a kid anymore and can make your own decisions, and that you really do want this. But reprogramming my gut to not think this would be somehow hurting you ain't exactly easy.

"Even if I could just flip a switch to fix that, it don't change the fact that you deserve better than this, than me, Sammy," he added. "You're so smart, with your near-perfect test scores and Ivy League college, and so good with people, not to mention your computer skills and everything else you've picked up. Once we've ganked the Yellow-Eyed Demon, you can become whatever you want—lawyer, teacher, real FBI agent, you name it—and be damn successful at it. You oughta be with someone as good as you, someone like Jess, not a dumb loser who couldn't even finish high school, can't function 'round normal people, and is only good for killing monsters and dying young and messy. You're also a better person than me, one that sees the good in everyone and doesn't like the scuzzy shit we hafta do just to get by."

I took a deep breath, once again damning our father's shitty parenting for my brother's self-esteem issues. "Listen, I totally understand if you need some time to switch gears from thinking of me as 'kid brother' to 'boyfriend.' But the rest is complete bullshit—you're not stupid or a loser or any of that crap! You dropped out of school not because you weren't smart enough but because you had to take care of me and help Dad—and you got your GED all on your own, which isn't a walk in the park. You're just as good with the lore as I am and are just as often the one to figure out a case. Not to mention all the gadgets you've built or how you keep the Impala running like it's brand-new instead of forty years old—if given the chance, I'd bet you'd make an amazing engineer or inventor or something like that! Don't knock your people skills either—you might be a little rough around the edges sometimes, but you're still great with victims and witnesses, like Lucas Barr, Ronald Reznik, and so many others. And I'd argue that you're a better person than me or even Dad, since you're the only one among us who hunts for the right reasons—to help people, not out of revenge or obligation."

"Maybe, but—"

"There's no 'maybe' or 'but' about this, Dean! I wouldn't be the man I am today if it wasn't for you," I argued. "You're the one who taught me practically everything I know, from reading to riding a bike to shooting a gun. You're the one who gave me the opportunities to learn the rest, from convincing Dad to let me finish out the term at the same school to scrounging to get me my first laptop to supporting me my first couple years at Stanford. The reason I'm better socialized is because you protected me from the worst of this life and did your best to let me be a regular kid, and I'm a decent person because I learned from your example. So stop calling yourself a dumb grunt or whatever, because you're knocking the man who made me who I am!

"And while we're at it, there is no 'better person' out there for me, okay? The reasons why I'm perfect for you apply in reverse—there's no one, certainly no civilian and not even another hunter—who understands me so well and whom I'd rely on so completely to always be there for me. You're not just the most gorgeous guy I know—you're the best person period, and no one else, not even Jess, is going to compare to you," I told him firmly.

Dean looked down, his freckled cheeks flushed. "Way to butter me up, dude! I hear what you're saying, and I'm trying to take it in and—and believe it. Not that I'm doubting you—I know you mean it! I'm just so used to believing that I'm like ninety percent crap, so it's gonna take a while to convince myself that I'm good enough for you. So . . . can we take a raincheck on moving forward right now? I need at least a coupla days to wrap my head 'round all this."

I put a hand over his and squeezed it gently. "Absolutely! I want you to be completely onboard with whatever happens—and besides, a few more days isn't much after waiting for nearly half my life! So how about this—let's table this discussion until after we deal with the upcoming case. If you're ready by then, we'll figure out together what we want to do, and if not, we'll postpone for a little longer. Does that work?"

He looked up with a relieved smile. "Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks for putting up with my shit, Sammy."

"Dee, you're my brother first and foremost, and I'd do just about anything for you." I paused for a moment and then asked hesitantly, "I don't want to push you or anything, but . . . is it okay if I kiss you?"

Dean didn't say anything and instead leaned forward to press his lips against mine, his long lashes sweeping down to veil his eyes. I brought up a hand to cradle the side of his face and returned the kiss eagerly, reveling in feeling his full lips move against mine—something that I'd dreamed about but never expected to actually experience. Still, I didn't want to overstep any boundaries, so I pulled back after about a minute.

"How was that?" I murmured.

The blush had deepened over his high cheekbones. "That was pretty awesome! It was different than what I'm used to—never kissed someone taller than me before—but I liked it. We outta hit the sack now though, 'cause the sooner we get started tomorrow, the sooner we can finish this case."

It ended up taking a few days to wrap up the haunting at the Hell Hazers II production set. We'd already been in Los Angeles for a couple weeks at this point, having agreed that we needed a break after the tragedy with Madison and therefore spending our time seeing the sights, going to movies, museums, and other attractions, and relaxing at the pool or in our room, when we caught wind of the unusual death at the studio. Despite being rather impatient to get this case out of the way, I couldn't help but be amused at how much Dean enjoyed his role as an undercover production assistant and fanboyed over the lead actress—and was quite gratified when he turned down her offer of "private time" in her trailer.

As agreed, we'd avoided any talk of personal feelings during the case and had kept our interactions to the same brotherly level as before. I'd hoped my brother had spent some time on reflection, but he gave no indication as to what his thoughts were or if he'd come to any decision, not even after we'd said our goodbyes to the cast and drew and left the studio. The moment we walked into our motel room however, I received a pretty definitive answer when he put one hand on my chest, used the other to pull my head down, and proceeded to melt my brain with a tongue-laden kiss.

When he finally let me up for air, he smirked at my dazed expression. "Was that good for you, dude?"

I needed a moment to re-engage my thought processes before demanding, "Are you sure this is what you want, Dean? You know how much this means to me, so if we do this, we both need to be all in—no second thoughts, no getting cold feet tomorrow or a week from now or whatever."

"I'm serious about this, Sammy," he assured me. "I'll admit, I haven't completely worked out all my issues, but I decided, fuck that shit! Like you said earlier, we both want this, and I ain't gonna let a few small doubts hold me back from what's probably the best thing that'll ever happen to a schmuck like me. After all, neither of us has survived this long by not taking a risk now and then. So this is it for me too."

"You don't know how happy this makes me! What happens next though?" I asked.

"Right now, we both need to crash after being up all night fending off those spooks. I dunno 'bout you, but the only thing I'm in the mood for is being unconscious for the next few hours," he declared. "After that, we've got tickets tonight to see the premiere of Fracture at the Cinerama Dome on Sunset Boulevard, with dinner before at the ArcLight Café next door."

I looked at him in surprise. "Is this a—a date?"

"Hey, we only get a first time once, so we oughta do it right," he pointed out. "We can't afford to go to a really swanky restaurant or anything, but Tara was nice enough to score me the tickets on short notice."

"This is perfect, Dee—I don't need anything fancy. It's more than enough that you want to go the extra mile like this and do something special," I told him.

"Well, okay then," he said, looking a bit self-conscious, before ducking into the bathroom.