It's funny how the unsaid can be heard so easily sometimes, especially when all you need to do is just look. How just the mere glimpse of a frozen second in time can mean a million different things, or can leave you thinking of all the different possibilities. It really is, quite funny in fact, how not saying anything at all can truly voice more than the longest speech.

Pictures.

A frozen second in time. With each pixel lies an untold story, a word, a feeling.

Dean rubs his thumbs on the corners of the shiny paper, biting his lip as he stares at what the camera had caught.

Sam snatches it from him. "How much longer are you gonna stare at this thing?" He whines. Dean leans over across the diner table and carefully pulls it from his brothers fingers, careful not to crinkle the frail paper.

"I'm not staring at it, dammit." Dean groans, folding it back up and putting it in his jacket pocket.

"Then what exactly are you doing with it?"

Dean sighs. As much as he loves his brother, Sam has the uncanny ability to be a little shit at the worst times. Okay, sure, Dean was staring at it...but how can he not? He had paid twenty bucks for the damn photo op that Castiel just had to have from their adventure on Splash Mountain, so dammit, he's allowed to stare at it all he wants.

But it also might be the fact that Dean just can't stop looking at it. Ugly bruises fading on his face aside, the way his arm is wrapped around the back of Castiel's neck, the other on his jaw line, thumb swaying against the bone, is hard not to look at. Or it might be the way Castiel has his hands coiled in Dean's shirt on his sides, pulling him closer. Or maybe the way Castiel is looking at him, with trust, with admiration, with hunger. Or maybe, just fucking maybe, the way he's looking at Castiel; as if he was the only other human in the world, as if he was staring into a mirror and looking at his own reflection. As if, he was hearing the unsaid.

"I've never seen you like this, Dean."

Dean props his head up, "What do you mean?"

"You're happy." Sam scoffs and shakes his head, "I mean, really happy."

Dean makes a face, because it most certainly sounded like Sam was trying to make a point. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Sam shrugs, "I'm just saying. I mean, since Lisa and what she did with Benny and—"

"Get to the point, Sam." Dean cuts him off. And suddenly, he doesn't feel so in-the-mood for pie anymore, and he pushes the apple crusted treat away from him and leans against the diner cushioned seat.

"I don't really have a point. I'm just saying—you and Cas, are-are," Sam pauses and pushes his plate away too, and Dean see's his eyes trail away and ponder, "good together."

Good together?

But they're not even together. Technically speaking if they were in high-school, he and Cas would considerably have a "thing", which Dean now decides is the proper word for this situation. "We have a thing, 'kay?"

Sam furrows his brows at him and just gives him the "I-am-totally-judging-you" face. "What are you? Like twelve? You're a mature adult, Dean. If you like the guy, then you like the guy. If he likes you, then he likes you."

Dean stares at his brother like he has three heads. Was he forgetting about the most important thing here? Can his brother actually be so stupid?

"Sam, I'm getting married."

Dean swallows when he see's Sam shake his head with a huff. His brother stands, long and broad shoulders clenching angrily as he stomps his feet out the door, shoving the glass diner door open.

Dean watches him go out into the morning air, and he digs for cash in his pocket and throws it on the table. "What did I say?" He whispers to himself, following his obviously strained brother outside.

He finds Sam by his car, pacing back and forth as he grinds his teeth.

Dean watches him with confusion. "Did I hit the panic button or something?"

"Why are you with Lisa? After what she did to you? After she cheated? After she lied? After everything she did?! Why are you still with her?!"

Not every question requires an answer, and Dean knows that this one surely doesn't. Because there is no answer. There is no explanation, no reason, no purpose. Dean is with Lisa because he just is. Dean swallows, trying to avoid the massive lump that's blocking his airways, but the more he tries to avoid it, the more it seems to be making it harder to breathe.

Dean shakes his head and shrugs, "Because I am. I don't know what—"

"No! You're with her because you think you don't deserve any better!"

God dammit, Sammy.

Dean parts his mouth to say something, but he doesn't respond. There's no use in arguing, because Sam was right, like always. He doesn't think he deserves anyone better, especially Castiel. He knows he'll hurt Castiel, intentional or not, he just knows it. Dean's always been the one to be hurt, and the thought of him causing it is an entirely different feeling; something that makes Dean feel sick to his stomach.

Dean wishes he could hurt Lisa like she hurt him, but he knows if was given the opportunity, he wouldn't. He's been told that when someone treats him like shit, there's something wrong with them, not him. But no matter how many times he's reminded of that, it's not convincing.

He doesn't deserve Cas, and that's final.

"I'm here for a week, Sam. That's it. Done. Then I'm leaving." Dean says sternly, his teeth clenching between his jaws, "And what? You think I should just leave everything behind and go with Cas?"

"If that's what you want."

It's what I want.

The feeling of consideration that grows in Dean's stomach is almost sickening. He can't believe himself. He actually wants it, but there's a roadblock in the way. There's unanswered questions, doubts, uncertainty. What would happen to Lisa and Ben? What if Cas doesn't want him like that? He'd be giving up everything, for a single chance.

"Don't settle for a relationship that won't let you be yourself, Dean." Sam says, a slight sincerity in the grave tone of his voice. Dean looks to his brother, his golden whiskey hair swaying in the chill of the wind. "I know that look. That's your 'I hate when you're right' look."

Dean stifles a laugh, "I hate when you're right about me hating you about being right." He says, and he see's Sam smirk.

Sam takes a deep breath, "Alright enough bitching. C'mon." Sam says with his eyebrows raised, "We have a family dinner to get to."

Dean's spine stiffens. "Wait what?"

"Oh, c'mon, don't tell me you forgot." Sam laughs, his keys jingling when he takes them out of his pocket. Sam's eyes squint and he crinkles his nose, his face serious but apologetic, and Dean knows exactly what that means.

"Dad's gonna be there, isn't he?" Dean swallows.

Sam doesn't say anything.

"Shit."

"Maybe he'll be in a better mood this time."

Yeah, sure.

Dean tsks at his brother and glares at him, his eyes searching for emotion; though, there isn't any. Sam's eyes remain tight and focused on the road, and Dean knows that it's just his brother's way of avoiding the truth.

Dean contemplates responding, or making a wise-ass remark, but he knows that Sam already knows. The last time John Winchester was in a good mood...well, Dean can't remember the last time John Winchester was in a good mood.

Was it when Sam got accepted into Stanford Law School?

No.

Or when Sam announced his engagement?

No.

How about when Dean announced his engagement?

HELL NO.

John was down-right furious when Dean announced his engagement with Lisa. Not just because he hates her, but because it was Dean. It was Dean that was the one going on with his life; Dean who was the one who gets to have a family; Dean...not John.

Dean's surprised Sam had the balls to invite their Dad to the wedding, even more so that he invited him to a family dinner. Dean rolls his eyes and leans his head against the window.

Oh boy, nothin' like a good ol' family dinner to brighten up the day.

Dean shuts his eyes. He knows that as long as he keeps his mouth shut, it won't be half as bad as it usually is. That is of course, if he can keep his mouth shut. There's no telling what will happen at his Dad's; but Dean's got a feeling in the pit of his stomach that isn't good.

The rest of the ride is quiet between them, even more so when Sam turns the music down after Dean's turned it up. Dean fiddles with the stations.

"Dude," Sam swats Dean hand away from the knob and turns back to his girly shit, "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake-hole."

Dean scoffs, "Woah, hey! You can't use my own words against me!"

"When we're not in your car, I choose."

Dean lets out a heavy breath and purses his lips to the side. He just wants to sit down on black leather couches, curl up in a ball and watch Star Trek. With a friend. With his blue-eyed friend. With his blue-eyed, gorgeous, irresistibly dangerous crush.

Dean feels a tap on his knee.

"Alright, Dean. Ready?"

Dean looks up to see his Dads place, blue chipped paint, plants and vines attacking the sides of the house like it hasn't been cared for in years. Dean turns to Sam and swallows, "Not really, no."

Sam's eyes trail down as he pulls the key out of the ignition, a long breath when he pushes out of the car and shuts the door, leaving Dean alone in the passenger seat.

Dean nods, "Two hours. That's it. Just two hours." He says to himself, reluctantly getting up and shutting the car door, running to catch up to his brother at the front door. Sam has already knocked.

Dean taps his foot on the ground, his body hitching when the door swings open.

He sighs in relief at the old scruffy bearded man at the door. "Bobby," Dean smiles subtly as Bobby takes Dean's shoulder with a firm hand.

"Dean, Sam. Was startin' 'ta get a little worried you wouldn't show up." Bobby adjusts the ratty cap on his head, "Glad you boys could make it."

Dean walks in a gets a whiff of actual food instead of microwaved crap. "And I'm glad you guys didn't burn the house down."

"Oh you can thank Karen for that. Girl wanted to cook all by herself." Bobby takes Dean and Sam's jacket and hangs them on the coat-rack, a slight grin on his face, "Not that she would let John 'er I cook anyways."

Dean steps in a little farther, noticing the crooked pictures hanging from the walls, so dusty that the picture itself couldn't be seen. There's still a musty smell in the air, despite the freshly cooked food. Past the door is the living room, the television blasting a football game. The couch is unoccupied, tattered and dusted with tears in the old fabric. The glass coffee table in front of it is covered with empty beer bottles and one empty whiskey bottle.

"I heard that!" Karen yells from the kitchen, and soon she comes out, red oven mits wrapped tightly around what appeared to be green-bean casserole. She hovers for a few moments before setting the dish on the table. "Oh, hello boys," She gives them each a kiss on the cheek, "I swear you two get more handsome each time I see you."

"They get that from their father."

Shit.

That's when Dean's heart picks up. The sound of his voice hasn't changed; still deep and vigorous, so much emotion kept in. Dean hesitates before turning, coming face to face with a familiar yet unfamiliar face.

"Sam. Dean." John says, his eyes vaguely squinted against his wrinkled face. Dean looks him over, and he can tell by the salt and pepper scruff that he hasn't shaved in a while, nor gotten a decent haircut. He's wearing a forest green tee-shirt with a bluish gray over-shirt that both look like they haven't been washed in a while, as well as torn dark jeans that clearly need to go.

Dean stands still, as well as his brother, allowing their Dad to look them over.

"Good to see you two." John says finally after a while, eying Dean more than Sam.

Dean wishes he can say the same. But instead he just nods his head and lets his younger brother take over.

"It's good seeing you too, Dad." Sam sucks in a breath and exhibits a half-ass smile, his arm wrapping around the side of their Dad for a quick hug. John smiles, his dimples digging deep into his skin, and Dean can see where Sam gets it from. If only he could've been that lucky.

"Let's not waste any time, shall we?" John lets go of Sam, patting Dean on the shoulder before he motions towards the table, now covered in a buffet of food. John whips past Dean, and he smells like gasoline, cigarettes, and whiskey. Nothing new.

It's a little bizarre at first, how nice John is being. Sam notices it too, taking quick glances back and forth between Dean next to him, and his father at the head of the table. Dean clears his throat, plopping a spoonful of mashed potatoes on his plate.

"Karen this looks wonderful," John grins at her as he puts a steak onto his plate. Karen looks down and smiles at him. "So Sam," John begins, a forkful of green beans in his mouth, "Ruby?"

Sam nods. "She's great," He says, finishing his chewing and swallowing before he begins talking again, "We're both very excited for Wednesday. She was going to come tonight, but she's a little hyped up right now. Pre-wedding stuff."

"She's always hyped up," Dean smiles, and he hears Sam and Bobby grunt a laugh while Karen giggles. John didn't laugh. In fact, he did quite the opposite; scrutinizing him, his eyes dark and incensed. Dean stops smiling and reverts his attention back to his plate, which suddenly looks so completely unappetizing its almost disgusting.

"So Wednesday, huh?" John says again, "Why the postpone?"

Sam sighs. "Ruby had a mishap with her dress..." Sam trails off, wiping his grinning mouth with his fingers, "See, we got a dress in the mail, but-but it wasn't our dress."

Dean chokes a laugh, "What do you mean it wasn't your dress?"

Sam looks around the table at the intrigued eyes around him, and Dean bites his tongue because this has to be good.

"Well I don't think Ruby is the traffic-cone orange with giant-ass, frilly bows on the back of it type."

Karen huffs a laugh and Bobby just rolls his eyes. Dean scratches the back of his neck, "Hey, that dress would totally suit her." Dean jokes, elbowing Sam on the shoulder. Sam shakes his head and smiles at him.

"Seriously, Dean?"

Dean's eyes find his fathers.

Not good.

"Dad," Dean sucks in a shaken breath, "I was just kidding. Sam knows—"

"At least Sam likes the person he's marrying."

The table goes silent.

Dean feels his stomach twist into a tight knot. His lips roll into a line as his Dad leans forward and places his elbows against the wooden table, tilting his head.

"How is Lisa by the way?" Johns eyes squint, "Good?"

Dean nods, parting his lips to say something but the words won't slide off his tongue properly, "It's, uh, she-she's fine."

"Ben?"

"Fine."

"Benny?"

Silence again.

It's not so much as a silence; as it is more of a speechlessness.

"John," Bobby says harshly, but John shushes him.

"I want to know." John glares at Dean, and Dean can feel his eyes piercing right through him all the way down into his core.

"I wouldn't know." Dean responds, his back stiff and aching. He feels the need to respond to his Dad, like he doesn't have a choice. Of course, John had to bring this up. Of course he did. Dean almost wants to start laughing; how could he think he could have a family dinner without John bringing up this.

John tsks at him as he shakes his head. "Shame." He says, standing from the table with his plate.

Dean can feel the heat in his stomach, getting ready to explode right out of him. Sam clearly see's him ready to implode.

"Dean," Sam whispers under his breath, his hand slightly touching Dean's shoulder, trying to grab it to keep him steady...but it's too late.

Dean stands from the table, "It wasn't my fault!" He yells, his fist slamming on the wooden table so hard that Sam's drink spills onto his lap. Dean ignores it.

Karen gasps, "I'll go get napkins," She whispers, her face white as she scurries away into the other room.

John watches her leave, then returning his gaze to Dean, who is now ready to smash his father's face into a Goddamn concrete wall. John sets his plate down onto the table, next then taking a few steps toward Dean.

"Not your fault?" John repeats, his head shaking ever so slightly and his mouth curving at the side. "Not your fault that Lisa cheated on you?" John huffs a laugh, his teeth peaking through his lips. "It is your fault, Dean."

More heat is rising into Dean's stomach.

Keep it in, Dean. Keep it in.

Dean feels tired, exhausted, as if he had just run ten miles. His breath is coming out in quick and shallow rasps, and all he can see is a sheet of red in front of his eyes. "It's her fault! She-she—" Dean starts, but then is cut off by his father's militant laughter.

"No, Dean. It's yours. You didn't treat her well enough. That's why she did it." John spits, now only inches from him, hot and heavy breath against his face. Dean can feel a heavy weight begin to press into his chest. "You don't treat her right like Sam treats Ruby. You don't treat her right like Bobby treats Karen," John holds a pointed finger to his chest, and Dean feels as if it's stabbing through his skin, "You don't treat her right like...like I treated your mother."

"John!" Bobby yells, but John ignores it, his finger is still held sharp up to Dean's chest, his eyes glassy and threatening.

Dean shakes his head, and he can feel the anger in his core so powerful that he begins to sweat. It wasn't true. It couldn't be. It wasn't his fault. There's so much anger whirling around his head, a tornado destroying everything in it's path, and before he can stop himself–

"I treat him right!" Dean screams, his hand shoving John's finger away from his chest, and John flinches as Dean motions forward. Dean hears Sam suck in a quick breath.

Shit.

"What?" John's face morphs into disgust, "What?"

Dean remains still, fists clenched and sweaty. He could lie. He really could. But he doesn't.

"You heard me." Dean nods his head, his eyes struggling to blink, "Him."

Sam and Bobby both stand from the table, Sam placing his hand on John's shoulder but John shoves the hand off him.

"Excuse me?" John's jaw is dropped, his eyes wide and furrowed with horror, "You're-you're...gay?"

Dean swallows, "So?" He snaps, and it's like just saying the word "so" felt so good. Dean doesn't know why, but it does.

John makes a choking noise in the back of his throat. "You're a...fag! A fucking faggot!"

"Dad!" Sam shouts, and he pulls John's arm back until they're face to face, "What the fuck?"

John looks mortified, "My son...you're brother," John stutters and hesitates, looking pale and as if he might be sick,"... is a fucking faggot!"

"So?" Sam shoves him away and turns to Dean, "Dean, let's go."

Dean's legs have a little trouble working, but with Sam's hand wrapped around his back, they agree to move. Dean's mind is winded.

A faggot.

They're at the door when Dean hears the sudden clash of glass against the floor, followed by thumping footsteps against the floor.

"John, stoppit!" Bobby yells from the dining room.

"What would your mother say!?" John growls, and then there's silence, as Bobby unwillingly drags John into the other room.

Dean's legs don't work at all after that.