Dean awoke in a tumble of constraining bed linens. He slowly opened his bloodshot, hazel eyes. He felt the physical pain of an intense, whisky induced hang-over. Without moving, he could see his brother Sam sitting at the desk of their seedy motel room. Steel gray morning light was slanting into the room through a gap in the room's blinds, it appeared Sam was looking through the gap into the parking lot.
"Keeping watch," thought Dean.
Dean wondered, as his head throbbed painfully, how long Sam had been quietly sitting there. "Minutes, hours, days," he pondered. He knew Sam would sit there for as long as it took for Dean to wake up. Sam would not disturb him; he was too considerate nor would he let anything happen to him. Dean thought how had the shoe been on the other foot and Sam was the one sleeping off a hang-over, things would go very differently. Dean would roust him for his bed and bully him to get cleaned up and dressed, no matter how Sam felt or protested, all under the pretense that what he was doing was for Sam's own good. Dean realized that was exactly how his father had treated him and even though he hated it; he seemed determined to treat his brother the same way.
Dean thought to himself, "That needs to change." He thought about the previous nights events. The sexual contact he had with his brother came into his mind and his stomach lurch so suddenly that it felt like an electric shock.
"Oh!" he bellowed involuntarily.
Sam started. He turned to his brother and asked, "You ok?"
Dean yelled, "No!" and instantly regretted it. He put his hand over his eyes as his pounding headache intensified with movement and sound.
"There's water and aspirin by the bed," Sam said.
Dean looked over to the night-side table. On it sat a clear, plastic, motel cup filled with water and a bottle of aspirin which obviously had been prepared for him by Sam. Dean didn't hesitate. He opened the bottle and poured four or so tablets of aspirin directly into his mouth and washed them down with the contents of the cup. Eyes closed, he held the cup out. Sam understood. He got up from his chair and took the cup from Dean, refilled it from the bathroom sink and handed it back to him. Dean drank it straight down too but now he was starting to feel queasy.
"What time is it?" Dean inquired weakly.
"It's after eleven," Sam answered.
While that would be considered late in the day for most people to be getting up, the Winchesters were night owls. They spent most of their time in darkness, also sleep was not a friend of theirs. Their father rarely slept more than a few hours a day which was a trait he had passed on to Dean but Sam on the other hand, if allowed, he could sleep for days. It was a sign of his depression. Sam had been using sleep as an avoidance tool since he was very young.
Dean tried to sit up but was impeded by the tangle of bed linens. He grew frustrated quickly and began to thrash and mock punch the sheets and blankets which made Sam laugh.
"Oh, there's nothing funny going on here Sam." Dean barked as he freed himself from the bedding.
Sam murmured, "Sorry."
Dean sat up and noticed he wasn't wearing his boxers and pulled the sheet over his exposed gentiles.
Sam picked up his boxers from the floor and held them out. Dean snatched them away and used them to replace the sheet.
Dean had had all the intention of getting up and using the bathroom but upon sitting up he became intensely dizzy and flushed.
Sam again inquired, "Are you alright because you look terrible."
"No Sam, I am not alright. I have the world's worst hang-over, and I have you." he said looking straight at Sam while drawing out the last sentence as an accusation.
"What's that supposed to mean," Sam inquired looking injured.
Dean regretted saying that as soon as he looked at Sam and thought, "There it is! There's the face."
Dean had been looking at Sam's sad visage his whole life. Sam was a sad child, a sad teenager and now a sad adult, and Dean resented him for it. Mostly because he felt it was his fault. He had tried always to interject some happiness into their lives, but he was usually thwarted by circumstance or their father.
So, here it was again, Sam's sad face. Dean hated that look so much. It pulled at his heartstrings. He loved his brother intensely. When Sam had run away to attend college Dean was crushed. He looked out at the world and felt so genuinely alone, he thought he would die of despair. He needed Sam more than Sam would ever know.
"I don't want to talk about it," Dean said trying to avoid saying what he was thinking.
"No Dean, tell me what's on your mind, "demanded Sam.
Dean, while putting on his boxers and standing up, began a mumbling ramble, "Tell you what's on my mind. You know want to know what I'm thinking. I don't know what I'm thinking. You're making me crazy is what I'm thinking."
"What?" asked Sam.
"You're making me crazy Sam," Dean hissed toward his brother.
"I know; I'm sorry," said Sam sadly.
"You know! I don't think you do," Dean barked adding, "I don't think what happened last night was all about "loneliness". He had made quotation mark gestures with his hands as he said the word loneliness for added emphasis. Sam didn't reply. When he was about to there came a rap at the door.
Sam moved to the door cautiously and peered through the peephole. Seeing the motel's lady desk clerk, he turned to Dean and cocked his head in the direction of the bathroom. Dean understood that to mean whomever it was on the other side of the door was not a threat but also not someone who should see Dean in his boxers.
Sam opened the door slightly and placed himself in the narrow gap he created.
The middle-aged women who had checked them previously said angrily, "It's after eleven. You guys either need to go or pay for another night. I need to get this room ready for another guest."
Sam replied gently, "I know. I'm sorry. We're running at bit behind. We overslept."
"Could we have until eleven-thirty?" he pleaded, adding, "I promise we'll be out by then."
She looked at Sam. He was so handsome and seemed like a nice boy.
"Ok," she said, adding, "eleven-thirty, no later."
Sam smiled and, in lieu of saying thank you, reached out and grasped her by the wrist and gave it a squeeze. She smiled back feeling as if she had done her good deed for the day. Years later, her daughter would tell the story of how in her mother's last moments of life she suddenly smiled. Her mother had smiled because it was at the moment of death, she realized, she had been touched by an angel.
Sam closed the door and yelled in the general direction of the bathroom, "We have twenty minutes to vacate."
No reply from Dean. He had to have heard, so Sam didn't push it. He began preparing to leave and started transporting their belongings to the Impala but left Dean's duffle bag for last as he still needed to get dressed. With everything else loaded, Sam sat again in the chair by the desk and kept watch.
Dean had showered, brushed both his teeth and hair, shaved and was now ready to confront his brother. He grabbed his shaving kit and burst from the bathroom demanding to know, "Are you gay?"
"What!" Sam replied while getting to his feet.
Dean crossed the room and started rummaging through his duffle bag.
"Dean you know I'm not," Sam stated emphatically.
"I don't know anything anymore," Dean fumed while selecting clothes for the day which he lobbed onto his bed.
"Well, I wouldn't exactly call what's been happening between us normal. Would you?" Dean asked.
"Ok Dean, be carful with that word," Sam said.
"What word," Dean questioned while he began to dress.
"Normal, it implies that people who are different are abnormal. It's insulting." Sam explained.
Dean thought on that for a moment and agreed. It did seem wrong to call people "abnormal" for something like being gay especially given the types they were used to dealing with.
Dean was not inclined to believe Sam so he pressed him by asking, "Is there anything you want to tell me?"
"Well, I guess," Sam faultered. He was unsure how to go on.
Dean gathered his boots and sat on the bed. He put on a pair of camping socks he had selected while waiting for his brother to continue. As he started pulling his boots on, he pressed Sam again by shouting, "Well!"
Sam was standing with his hands on his hips when he furrowed his brow and put one hand out toward his brother and said, "I'm not gay but I am kind of," Sam searched for the right word and said, "fluid".
"Fluid?" Dean questioned. He had never heard this term applied to a person.
Sam said awkwardly, "Yeah, not gay but you know, not exactly straight" he paused, "I am more fluid. While I was at college,"
"College!" Dean interrupted, "is that when all this started?" Dean now had another reason to resent Sam's college excursion.
"Well, yeah, I had some experiences there, but I had others before that. There really isn't a beginning but at college I got more of a sense of who I am and more comfortable with it." Sam explained.
Dean had finished putting on his boots and sat in silence trying to process what Sam had just told him. He remembered something. They had been living in a small, seedy town for a few months when Dean returned home one afternoon and found one of Sam's current teenage friends in the living room looking flustered.
"What's going on Penn?" Dean had inquired.
"Nothing! just waiting for Sam to come out of the bathroom," he had answered somewhat fearfully.
Dean now wondered if he might have interrupted something. Coming back to reality and still angry Dean asked, "So that's your explanation for what happened last night? You're lonely and you're fluid."
"Yeah, a short-hand version of it anyway," Sam answered then he added, "Here's a question for you Dean."
"What's that?" Dean asked curtly.
Sam asked him,"Why did you let it happen?"
That question caught Dean up short. He had no idea. He was as stunned with himself as he was with his brother's proclamation of being fluid. Not being able to answer, Dean picked up his duffle bag, marched to the door but Sam got there first. He held a hand out to Dean and said, "I want to know Dean."
"Well, I don't know Sam, and I don't want to think about it, ok, so just get out of the way," Dean retorted angrily.
Sam refused to give way. He held his ground. Dean took a step back and squared off with him. He considered his options. He could force his way out but of course that would be a fight and god knows Sam could put up a ferocious battle or he could tell him the only reason he could come up with for why he let those sexual encounters happen.
He chose the latter and yelled, "What happened last night happened because you wanted it to happen, and I let it happen because I love you."
Sam relaxed and dropped his hand. "I love you too," he said as he opened the door.
Dean went to the door, gave the parking lot a quick scan and made for the Impala with his smiling brother close at his heel.
