Tell Me a Secret
K Hanna Korossy

"Tell me a secret," Dean said, stunning Sam to a halt.

"What?" he asked dumbly. They were just heading into the office building where they were pretty sure a pooka awaited. They needed to be focused and on the top of their game, which was hard enough for Sam with all the mistrust and anger piled between him and his brother. Gadreel was long gone, but Sam feared the damage he'd left behind—Dean's betrayal—would be permanent. It wasn't the time or place for a bad joke.

"A secret," Dean repeated, as if that explained everything. Off Sam's expression, he shook his head. "We're going after a pooka, right? Fairy shapeshifter, likes to pretend it's someone it's not to mess with people?"

More than mess with people: four office workers had already been seriously injured by the Celtic troublemaker's pranks. Pookas could be beneficent, but this one was decidedly the malicious sort.

"So it might pretend to be you or me," Dean continued. "Tell me something fake-me wouldn't know."

The light bulb went on, glaringly. Sam frowned. "Dude, seriously?"

Dean's gaze was steady, sober. Maybe even a little pleading. No humor in sight.

Sam sighed. He didn't want to give one more piece of himself to his brother, not when even just looking at Dean boiled his blood. But Dean, his hunting partner, had a point. It was a good idea that would've helped on other hunts.

Then again, those other times, they were usually in tune enough to spot a double from a mile away.

Sam took a breath, searching for a secret he was willing to part with. The obvious one made him hesitate, but why not? Wasn't like Dean could use it against him at this point. He took another breath, and found his eyes shying away from Dean as he admitted, "You were right. I didn't want to die from the Trials."

There was a long moment of silence.

Sam raised his gaze defiantly, and found Dean was looking back at him with opaque thoughtfulness. No triumph, at least, not over what could have been construed as an excuse for what Dean had conspired to with Gadreel.

Dean finally nodded. Opened his mouth and shared his own deep, dark secret. "Uh. There is one kind of pie I don't like. Mincemeat. Ew." He shuddered. "Don't tell anyone."

Sam stared at him in disbelief.

Dean swung out an elbow to nudge him. "You ready?" Without waiting for an answer, he headed in.

Sam followed him automatically, mind definitely not on the hunt now.

Pie? Was he for real? Sam bared himself with his confession, and Dean's was about dessert?

He split away from his brother as soon as they got inside the building, hearing but not responding to Dean's holler after him to take the even-numbered floors and stay in touch. Whatever.

Pie. Sam cursed quietly to himself. Figured.

The first room he came across immediately stowed his anger; there were too many places for a dangerous creature to hide for Sam to allow himself distraction. He slipped into hunting mode like the second skin it was and started to clear room after room, checking in via phone with terse acknowledgements after each floor.

Three floors in, there was the distant crack of several gunshots. Sam was already running when his phone pinged.

Doornail, was all it said.

Sam caught his breath, hurrying still but no longer throwing himself down the flight of stairs to rejoin his brother.

Dean was in the breakroom by an open cabinet. He was staring at the ground with a grimace, but as Sam cleared the doorway, he saw…nothing.

"Jumped out at me," Dean growled. "Stupid son of a bitch probably thought I was just another office stooge."

"I…where?"

Dean peered sideways at him, still catching his breath. "You don't see it? The nasty blue blood all over the place?"

Sam searched the floor, kinda glad he couldn't see it now. Dean tended to overkill since he got the Mark, and the scene was probably gruesome. "Uh…no."

"Huh. Guess it was following fairy rules."

Dean was probably right. He'd been touched by the Fae on a case while Sam had been soulless, and since then he regularly saw things Sam didn't. They hadn't thought it would matter on this hunt, however, as the pooka had been visible enough to the people it had attacked, and certainly when it was pretending to be someone else. Sam had figured the same would be true for him.

The ease of the kill, an invisible carcass: it felt oddly anti-climactic after their prep. After the secret. "Okay, well…" Sam turned away, tucking his gun with its cold-iron rounds back into his pocket. "Guess you're on clean-up duty then."
"Awesome," Dean sighed behind him.

Sam paused at the door, wondering if there would be more. Like how fortunate it was that the pooka had gone after the one of them that could see it. Or how it hadn't even tried to fool them.

How a secret hadn't been necessary at all.

But Dean was silent behind him, so Sam let go of the door jamb and stepped through. He'd fetch the tarp, at least, for his hunting partner.

"Sam."

Dean's subdued voice more than his call stopped Sam again, his back still to Dean.

"I…I took the Mark on because of Abaddon, yeah, but…it was also because, you know, 'felt like I had nothing left to lose."

Sam winced, unseen. Dean played fair when it counted. But this confession…it roused guilt Sam didn't want to feel. He had a right to his anger.

Dean's voice lifted. "But I do hate mincemeat pie. I mean, dude, there isn't even meat in it."

Sam's mouth twitched involuntarily. He sighed, turned around. "I'll be back with the tarp. And some towels."

Dean looked at him hard a moment, then nodded.

Sam chewed on his lip all the way out, anger softening despite himself. Thinking how Dean didn't have to have told him. How he rarely admitted this kind of weakness.

How his admission hadn't really been a secret at all.

The End