Brief authors note: There is no Cas in this chapter, just mentions of him. But he'll be back next time! It's still PG-13 for now, I guess they want to take it slow haha. Also there is an original character I made up for the purpose of this story.

If there was anything Dean loved without a doubt in his mind, it was the impala. He grew up in it. Falling asleep in the back seat, warm dark smell of leather and gun oil filling the interior, the sound of classic rock softly coming from the front, the tires gliding over well traveled roads, the rhythmic sound was the only lullaby he knew. He'd learned to drive when he was fourteen. That was the first thing he fell in love with, driving. Being in control. That was Dean, always in control. Even when he "let go," and went on drinking binges, he was always in control. He knew what he was doing, what he could take. Even if he pushed himself over his limit, it was by his hand, no one else's. Driving cleared his head. He could think. He was in control of a black beast that had been rebuilt piece by piece, salvaged countless times from twisted scraps that barely resembled it's former shape. It had many lives, it's speedometer had reached it's limit long ago. The impala was the only place Dean truly felt safe. Maybe that's why he chose this moment to talk to his brother that had been weighing on his mind.

"Have you ever… You know, had feelings for uh.. For a guy?" it was the first word spoken since they'd left the motel. They'd been driving for hours, the car was somewhere in Idaho now. They hadn't found a case yet, they were just going where the wind blew. Sam wasn't sure he had heard his brother right.

"Excuse me?"

Dean grumbled something under his breath, he was obviously aggravated. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his brow furrowed from deep thought and confusion. There were few times Sam had seen his older brother like this, it made him nervous.

"Romantic feelings for a dude, have you ever had them?" Dean gritted his teeth.

"Dean you're like a one on the Kinsey scale, are you really asking this question?"

"What the fuck is a Kinsey scale? Don't make me pull over to hit you."

"This scientist, Alfred Kinsey made a sexuality scale in 1950's. It rates from one, being completely heterosexual, six being completely homosexual, and the other numbers somewhere in between, like three is half and half. Bisexual, no real dominating preference."

"Oh," the oldest Winchester was silent for a moment, "where do you fall on this scale?"

Sam thought for a moment, Dean would know if he was lying, it was a downside to lying professionally with your brother, he begins to know you too well.

"I'd say about a two. I've seen guy's I thought were attractive sexually. While I was at Stanford, I started to have feelings for and we uh, messed around I guess. But I prefer women."

The car was silent. The tape had ended and neither of them rewound it. They both just stared at the road.

"So let's say, hypothetically of course, if a guy was with a lot of women, but he met another guy and started to have feelings for him, like real love ballad feelings…but it was just this one guy, he still preferred the ladies. Where would he be? Hypothetically, of course," Dean rambled when he was nervous. Sam chuckled a little, his brother blushed nervously and his brow furrowed even deeper, "It's a serious question Sammy."

"Well, this 'hypothetical guy,' he'd be about a two in my opinion. Maybe a three, if he wanted a real romantic, sexual relationship with the other man. It's really not an exact science, Dean. There's nothing wrong with being gay, or bisexual. Everyone is a little gay, man," Sam reached a hand out to Dean's shoulder. He shook it off.

"Hey, no chick-flick moments, okay?"

"Do you remember, Hunter?"

"Hunter 'The Hunter'?"

"Yeah, helped dad out on a few cases when you were about thirteen. He was gay."

"The Hunter was gay?" For the first time Dean looked at Sam.

"Yeah, he retired to settle down with his partner a few years ago. Partner as in lover, not partner as in hunting partner. Although…"

"Oh…So, people in the hunters don't look down on?" There was still a nervous edge in his voice.

"Some of them do, but that's to be expected. But no one ever said it to his face, everyone respected him. Dean, it's okay."

"You promise?" He glanced at his brother again. This was rare, Sam comforting Dean. This was serious, but Sam just smiled.

"I promise. Now do you want to tell me who you have a crush on?"

"Aww, man! Look at us, we're gossiping like girls. That's it, we're going to do something manly. I don't want to talk about it anymore. Where are we?" He snatched the map away from his brother, expertly steering on the empty road with his knees while he examined the worn paper's marks and lines, "There's a town about thirty miles ahead of us. We are going to eat steaks, play pool, and go shooting."

Sam laughed, Dean smiled. It would be okay.

They'd hustled $700 between them the tables, Dean got the number of a pretty bartender he never intended to call, their stomachs were full, and they were a little drunk. The brothers laughed their way into the motel room, collapsing on their respective beds.

"Oh, Sammy! It has been a night," Dean laughed, he attempted to pull off his boots but quickly gave up.

"I can't believe you beat that guy! He must have been three times your size!"

"You don't gotta be big to play pool."

They laughed a while longer; eventually they shed their heavy boots and coats, and clothes smelling of beer and cigarettes. Sam flicked out the light and they crawled into their separate beds.

"G'night, Sammy."

"Night, Dean."

Silence enveloped the room. Sam relished in the feeling of the soft blankets and the sleepiness the alcohol had lain upon him. His brother's low voice split the silence like a knife opening a letter. It was delicate, and precise, but it could not be undone.

"It's Cas," he paused, he wasn't sure if Sam was asleep or not. "We've had two real dates. Real dates, Sammy. I haven't dated anyone since high school. I kissed him. And he kissed me back. He makes me feel good. Like I have a chance at something other than pain, and one night stands. He makes me happy, Sammy."

There was the unmistakable sniffle of someone trying to cry softly.

"I thought you said no chick-flick moments?"

A pillow flew across the dark room and hit Sam square in the face.

"Shut up, Sammy."

"Really, Dean. I'm happy for you," they both smiled in the dark, Sam was proud of his brother, Dean was relieved. "But hey, if you're with Cas…Can I have that bartenders number?"