Sam knew that Dean needed his privacy, so he gave him that. All that he needed.
Sure, he wasn't letting the guy drink alone when he could help it, and he was checking in on the guy in the middle of every night, but overall, privacy was his goal.
Health and privacy.
Okay, so privacy took a backseat to health, but considering how down his brother seemed- how down he'd admitted to being, just that morning, Sam wasn't taking any chances.
Letting Dean play around in his very own private armory for example? It was just about time for dinner anyway. He'd taken the breakfast chef at his word earlier and eaten lunch by himself.
Considering the veritable mountain of eggs and ham Sam'd watched him put away that morning, it didn't take a huge stretch of the imagination to believe he might still be full. But if he said the same thing again, Sam was calling bull shit and dragging him up there himself.
It wasn't in Dean's wheelhouse to be skipping meals and crying at the table. Or, it hadn't been anyway.
He was keeping his fingers crossed that this was the time in life when Dean finally got in touch with his emotions, and not... something else.
Yeah, armory. Right. It was one more turn and a door that wouldn't let you pass unless you could prove you were a member of the American Men Of Letters, and a weird hallway whose wallpaper always made it feel like you were walking backwards, then-
As Sam took the last slight corner and the well lit center of the ancient weapons depository came into view, his body stopped dead in its tracks and his jaw went slack.
Castiel The Angel- The Dead Angel was standing in the middle of his brother's favorite pet project, surrounded on all sides by knifes and lances and cudgels, kissing said brother.
For once, Sam was thankful for Dean's less than perfect hearing, as he backed that last corner and left the two of them as much privacy as they could possibly hope to have with all that deadly silver and steel wreathing them. Half the stuff looked like it'd slain continents worth of monsters and, Sam would bet good money, consequently was cursed as shit.
They probably had a good half dozen ghosts staring at them at any given second! And them way too lip locked and preoccupied to notice, let alone defend themselves, if something decided to go vengeful on them.
...Maybe he ought to have another look, just to make sure the hunter and the angel were okay.
Sam turned around, stalked back down the half a backwards hallway he'd made it, and rounded the last corner once more. This time, with the practiced silence a hunter learns very early in a career.
Hopefully learns. Otherwise, it's promised to be a pretty short career.
He was met by the sight of an empty room. Aside from all the cursed, definitely staring at him, wow some of those were over two millennia old, weapons. Of course.
"Cas? Castiel?" He asked, walking into the room with one hand on the iron wrought stiletto he'd slipped behind his belt before coming down there. Just in case one of those ghosts hated hunters with hair that came below their ears.
You never knew.
What Sam couldn't understand, as he padded a little farther into the painful end waiting to happen, was why on earth Dean liked spending time in a place that was obviously a mausoleum for arms that were never meant to see use again. That pink sword over there? Looked like it was made back when Julius Caesar was in power? Yeah, Sam could read the warning from over by the entrance arch. Written as it was, in creepy, permanently fresh blood and plain, Vulgar Latin, he knew his ridiculous brother couldn't have missed it.
How that relic of a part of the past best left forgotten had a fresh edge on it, he'd never fathom.
Sometimes, he was sure Dean had some sort of death wish.
Sometimes... Just as often, he prayed he was wrong.
But, he shook his head, squared his shoulders, checked the ceiling and that one dark corner of the perfectly round, perfectly lit room, and sighed.
They weren't in here.
"Cas? Dean?"
"Uh, uh, uh~" Came a singsong voice that couldn't have originated from more than a hand's span behind his neck. But when he span around, iron dagger in hand, there was nothing. Save a few dust motes.
"Peeping Tom~"
And like the tailor of old, catching a glimpse of Lady Godiva on her legendary, magnanimous ride, Sam was struck blind.
Unlike that poor reprobate, his vision returned in a flash and Sam couldn't quit the room soon enough.
Someone in there, who just so happened to sound like a certain back from the dead angel, did not approve of his most recent life choice. That was for sure.
Now, to find Dean and never breathe a word of what he'd just experienced. Nor what he'd seen: Perhaps, hopefully, the beginning of something... enduring.
He didn't slow his pace except to get past the pain in the a- security door, until he hit the commons. When he turned toward his brother's corridor though, he remembered something that for some reason, was far more pressing and started off for the kitchen instead.
Scratching his head and wondering how this important thing had slipped his mind until then.
Sam sighed and broke into a low impact jog, the entire last ten or so minutes pushed to the very back of his mind. For the present.
"Woah," Dean exclaimed, losing his balance and tripping both travelers completely off their feet. Cas falling first and making sure their landing place was a soft one.
"Whatchya go and do that for?" Groaned a Dean squishing Cas's vessel into the fluffy comforter of a comfortable mattress.
"Privacy. Your little brother's inquiring mind was getting the better of him."
Eyes firmly shut, Dean remained exactly where he was and argued, "Why couldn't you poof him somewhere else?"
Cas put a hand on the side of the dark blond head resting on his chest and performed a quick, noninvasive examination of the inside.
Seemed Sam was correct in his educated guess concerning his brother's waning sense of hearing: The fine, sound wave decoding hairs of Dean's ears had seen better days, what with all the close quarters shootouts and small explosions he put them through as part of his job. Which had no doubt started as soon as he was old enough to aim a gun.
He'd have to bring it up some time. If Dean didn't on his own.
Though, if Dean wished it, Cas could teach the entire bunker American Sign Language with less than a snap. Considering Dean's obvious aversion to anything supernatural interfering with his life, it just might turn out the more likely option.
Hm. Knowing Sam as he did, the inquiring hunter was likely already studying the visual language. Or perhaps, had studied it during his years at Stanford.
In the meantime, Cas felt a sympathetic pang in his own vessel's temple and knew he'd found what was ailing the hunter still resting flat atop him.
"Headache?"
"Migraine more like," groused his makeshift angelweight.
"And nausea? And constipation? And you're starving?! Dean, why haven't you been taking care of yourself?" He cut off the weak attempt at a protest and teleported himself out from under the obviously less okay than he'd thought hunter. Heading for the door, he felt a hand bunch itself in the hem of his trench coat and had to pause.
"Sam is usually more responsible than- You're even dehydrated? I'm having strong words with that 'brother' of yours."
"Sam's been great." The words stopping Cas from miracle-ing his coat from Dean's grasp. Clear, even mumbled as they were into a comforter. "Kid's been counting drinks; spying on me."
"Dean, Samuel Winchester is no longer a 'kid'. He is a thirty-five year old-"
"Yeah, yeah. He's still my annoying kid brother; I can call him what I want."
"Even 'Samantha'?"
Cas felt the chuckle through his coat and decided he could put the fear of Chuck- er, God in Sam later. Besides, the 'kid' was afeared enough as it was. Heh heh. What with the little message he'd candy-grammed the snoop.
"Only when he's not around to hear it."
"Ah, secret nickname. Well, if Sam has indeed acted as his brother's keeper, then why do I find you in this condition?" He asked, taking a careful seat next to the lump slumped on the bed.
"You think I could've almost made angel-kabobs if you'd found me in this 'condition'?"
After a pause, Cas was forced to admit that, "No. That doesn't make sense. You were in prime form in the armory. The only thing to change was..."
"Poof."
"'Poof,'" Cas agreed, unsure what to make of it all. "Do you mean that-"
"I told you I hate it when you do that," Dean reminded, one hand moving semi-blindly to give the lump sitting next to him a pat on the knee.
Acting on impulse, Cas snatched the hand, as one might a moth from the air, and held it captive. Wanting the contact not to end.
"Are you sure? In the past I've teleported you and your brother and you've both continued with whatever mission you'd required transportation for."
"Yeah I'm sure," Dean sighed, giving his head the barest movement so as to reveal one eye to the dim room and it's sole other occupant. "This happened every time. Only difference, was Sam 'n' me being on a mission. Like you said."
"That is very strange." Cas said, leaning some to make seeing his face more comfortable. "For angels to perform small miracles, all it takes is faith and trust." He glanced at Dean, who he could always feel had both qualities to spare. "Oh. And something I forgot: Grace."
"Grace? Last time I checked, I wasn't the greatest dancer around."
"Your dancing is fine, Dean; I'm the one with two left feet. No, I was referring to divine grace which, for Enochian kind, is so intrinsic a part of our functionality that we often forget it replenishes us and nourishes us constantly. Hence the instant transportation not draining our vessels." He scootched farther onto the bed, nearest the aching head as he could without jostling it.
"If you permit me, I would gladly replenish you now."
"Yeah?" Said a face now turned fully to one side, likely for easier access to fresh air, and being covered by a shielding hand. Even though there were no lights on in the bedroom.
"In this moment, nothing would bring me greater pleasure."
"Might wanna watch it with the superlatives there," Dean informed with a low chuckle which left Cas rather confused. "But, what the hell? This was all you after all."
"And Sam," Cas reminded, not wanting blame to miss any of its marks.
"Sure, let's keep telling ourselves that."
Cas ignored the aside and made to enact the replenishing, pausing when he felt the burn blistered palm underneath his shifting hands.
"Your burns?"
"Eh, why not? That's on you too... Sort of," Dean added far more quietly.
Cas did not address that point, counting his luck that he was permitted as much as he was, and simply put two fingers to the accessible portion of a pained forehead and prayed for health returned.
"Wow. Talk about instant relief," Dean said, making to sit sooner than Cas had been expecting. "And the burning sensation is gone. Too bad you can't bottle that."
"Miracles don't keep well in hermetic containers."
"Oh. Well, thanks for," he held up both hands for inspection. Now blessedly free of angry blisters and overly pink splotches. "Being here."
"There is nowhere I'd rather be," Cas informed, feeling his body list closer to the other now perched along the edge of the bed. Not sure whether it was gravity or just his own craving for intimacy getting the better of him.
"Again with the absolutes," Dean said with a fond shake of his head.
Cas caught his attention with a hand on his near shoulder, making eye contact before informing, "Nothing would give me greater pleasure." Again Cas felt his heart skip at the blush his sincerity caused.
"So, we're together now? Exclusive?"
"If you're available. My schedule just cleared up, so..." At the chuckle, Cas moved his hand to Dean's far shoulder and pulled until their heads touched.
"Good enough for me. We can start right now."
"Right now?" Cas sat straighter and made a quick survey of the darkened room. "Do you have the... necessities?"
With a pair of bugging eyes, Dean wiped the surprise off his own face and cleared his throat. "What kind of cad do you take me for? I meant dinner, Feathers."
"Is that my nickname now that we're 'official'?"
"No, that was a-"
"An insult?"
"A term of endearment. We'll work on nicknames later."
"...Cas is a nickname, right Dean? You were the first soul to ever call me that," Cas reasoned.
"Well, nickname's settled, I'm starving; let's eat!" Said Dean, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of some much needed food.
Cas led the way to the door, glad to see Dean finally, undeniably enjoying himself once again. Pleased as pie to feel the happiness rolling off him as he grabbed his jacket and keys, and followed him toward the bunker door. Ready for a little drive.
About halfway through his urgent study of Rugaru, Their Hunting Patterns, And The Preferred Methods For Disposing Of Their Carcasses, Sam's head snapped up as a vision attacked every one of his senses.
"Cas- Cas is back! Dean, Cas is-" he pelted from the kitchen, paying no mind when the sturdy tome was knocked face down onto the floor by an errant arm. The page he'd been reading now dog-eared for the remainder of its days. Likely never to be picked up where it'd been left off.
"Dean! Dean, Cas..." He trailed off as he hit the commons and realized exactly what else he'd seen. Down in the armory. The haunted armory that for some unthinkable reason had a grudge against him, but never so much as weirded Dean out. And Dean was usually the first to get vibes about the questionable safety of abandoned houses and the like.
In this instance though, the older brother he'd earned the height designated right to call his 'smaller' brother -which he'd only ever done when wanting to not hear his voice for several hours- when asked about it had just smiled an enigmatic smile. Mumbling something to the sound of, "It reminds me of..."
Sam hadn't pressed. Considering Dean spoke when he wanted to and glared when he didn't. Sam preferred silence to near hostility any day.
Speaking of silence: that was all that met his frantic... he wouldn't call it screaming, per se. The sound putting his teeth on edge worse than Dean's unfortunate taste in music. Which he'd mostly grown rather fond of, if he was feeling honest. And generous.
He found himself at the head of the long table nearest the main door, staring at something he was only now beginning to see.
A note written in what had to be the most beautiful penmanship he'd ever laid eyes on. The hand of someone who'd been there at the creation of written language. The hand of an angel.
An angel he'd seen standing blissfully, squarely on first base with an older brother he felt he understood better now than he had for the majority of their lives.
If Dad had found out while the two of them lived under his auspices, that his oldest son wasn't quite as straight as he was, he'd either have shrugged and asked someone to pass him another beer, or tried to beat it out of him there and then. Right in front of his kid brother.
Dean would have known better than to chance such an unsure thing. After all, a fifteen year old sometimes high school student versus a trained marine?
Knowing Dean, if it had gone that way, he wouldn't have put up so much as an argument. Would've just stood there and taken it. Like a good soldier. Though, after asking that Sammy be excused to go stare at birds outside. Which was weird, because Sam'd never said anything about birdwatching. Didn't even really like birds.
Okay, now Sam had questions. Such as, "Why didn't you tell me, the pacifist of the family?" and, "Congratulations. You deserve this. One hundred percent." Which wasn't technically a question and definitely wasn't going to be spoken as one- but this was a time for celebration and there was no way he was grilling his brother for details of his love life just because he'd seen him smooching someone he'd basically confessed to loving only that morning. Over breakfast.
He'd save the questions for after the victory pie.
Reading the stunningly put together note for the sixth time, Sam felt his higher brain functions clunk back out of park and let him actually take in the words his eyes kept skimming over.
"Dean and I have taken 'Baby' and are driving to a local food serving establishment for sustenance. Dean calls it dinner and not a date. We don't date. We're not twelve. Just put the pen down and-
Sorry, Sam. Maybe next time you can have the honorable designation of 'third wheel' and accompany- Never mind. Dean said, 'No way in Hell. He can find his own damn date.' Which I find confusing, as I'd just been informed that your brother and I were not, in fact, 'dating'.
Ah. He's started the engine. If we're back before you read this, he'll probably burn it. So if you like this note, I suggest putting it somewhere Dean will never see it again.
Sincerely yours, Castiel - Angel Of The Lord - Perhaps Date Of Your Older Brother"
Wow. How'd he read that five times without anything sticking? How long had he been standing right there? Why had he been so invested in that stupid book-
Holding that thought, Sam hotfooted it to the kitchen, stooped to scoop up the old book he'd been mysteriously into a brief time ago, and slipped the... 'unique' message inside. Between a color illustration of a dissected specimen, and one depicting the table of contents of said specimen's stomach.
Which just so happened to be ninety-nine percent human flesh. Real shocker there.
Careful to put the book back exactly the way Dean had had it for the past few years, Sam found he couldn't wipe a sudden grin off his face. Knowing he better have that under control by the time the two 'not twelve' year olds got back, he went to the den and sat in a seat that didn't have a blatant reupholstery job and basked in the knowledge that, no matter what, Cas was gonna treat his brother right.
"Yo, Sam! Food's up!" Absolute music to his ears, Sam jumped off the seat he'd nearly dozed off in and made for the bunker front door.
"We got rabbit food," the strangely excited voice of his brother proclaimed right before a strangely matching face came into view. Halfway down the stairwell and carrying a large couple of bagged takeaway containers Sam was pretty sure looked soggy. An Angel right on his heels.
"Uh, great, Dean. Thanks."
"'Welcome." Said with an air of distraction the flavor of which Sam hadn't seen on his bunkermate in... a long, long time.
"Just wondering why it looks like it's been sitting in this bag long enough to almost melt through it. You two get held up in traffic?" He asked, knowing full well that 'traffic' was something that happened elsewhere.
"It's called 'a long car ride', Sam, and-" was all Dean got out before his not date offered his own explanation.
"It's called 'second base', and it is the most pleasurable experience I have ever-"
"Okay, I think Sam needs to eat his 'food' and get off to bed."
"I'm four years younger than you, Dean. I haven't needed to 'get off to bed' since Christmas of nineteen ninety.
"It was mutually agreed upon that third base can wait until-"
"Okay, everyone is going to bed. No dinner for Sam, and no poofing for the guy with invisible wings. Got it?" Dean demanded, removing the bag of probably still good food from Sam's hungry grasp.
"Hey-" Sam found himself cut off when a sound the likes of which the bunker and all its inhabitants past and present had never heard before rattled the stray, half finished mugs of coffee scattered around the commons.
Both hands covering his own ears, Sam was surprised to see a glint of what appeared to be recognition in the eyes of his most certainly hearing impaired brother.
"Apologies. That hasn't happened since-"
"Was that Enochian?! Seriously, Cas?"
"Yeah, what gives?" Chimed in a Dean who looked both as if he was remembering something that'd happened a long time ago, and like that food was about to slip right out of his-
"I'll take that. Sam?" Cas asked, turning to the hungry hunter to make sure the food was handed over a second time. "Your dinner."
"Uh, thanks again, Cas," Sam said with a little nod. "But what the hell was the screeching about?"
"Apologies. I shall attempt to keep my Heavenly tongue under control." Cas said, addressing the room at large. "To answer your question, Sam," Sam watched as the angel he'd known for the better part of a decade put on an expression he'd definitely never seen on that face. "The human equivalent sound is, mmmmhh," Cas said. Syllable holding and eyes closing just long enough that their would be no possible chance for misinterpretation.
Sam felt his face flush as he placed the now obvious noise. It was a good old fashioned moan and definitely not the kind of thing he'd ever thought he'd hear from an Angel Of The Lord.
"Excuse me, Samuel. Second base is calling," Cas informed, before turning around and stalking right up to a Dean Sam hadn't seen with such blown pupils in a long... No, scratch that. He'd never seen that look on his older brother's face up until that moment.
Frankly, he wished he still hadn't.
Sam, nearly dropping the definitely soggy dinner himself, watched as an unabashed angel planted a deep kiss right onto his brother's pie hole and bodily brought himself flush against him. Dean looking every bit as into the whole thing as his not date.
Just as another ceramic rattling 'moan' split the air, the two second-basemen disappeared, leaving Sam in the foyer wondering what in the world he was supposed to be feeling about all that.
Aside from worried over the few framed pictures he could hear rattling against the walls leading to Dean's personal quarters.
Maybe it was fate that had Dean obviously not minding the Enochian slips, but Sam wasn't so lucky.
Ooh. Scratch that. He'd only meant that his ears were ringing and that he needed to hightail it to the kitchen for food time anyway.
And whatever it was his bunkermates were getting up to, he hoped they were enjoying themselves. Though, judging by the way the ceiling boards were intermittently rattling tiny showers of dust over the island table, they were. Or, Cas was, anyway. But if he knew Cas, the angel couldn't possibly be enjoying himself unless Dean was happy as well. So...
Right. Cas had mentioned something about them mutually agreeing that 'third base' was waiting for them at the end of a rainbow, or something to that effect.
But, uh, if this wasn't third base, Sam wasn't looking forward to being home when someone hit a home run.
He cringed at his takeaway as a light dusting of fifties era ceiling crud came to rest on the next bite he'd been planning to take.
At least someone was having a good time.
Sam looked forward to seeing his brother the next morning, if for no other reasons than to shoot the shit and make sure he was in good condition after the foundation rattling few minutes he hadn't wanted to chance checking in on after.
"Where's Cas?" Sam asked as his brother emerged from his proverbial cave as a hibernating bear might: Only at the promise of a good meal.
"Ah, he said something 'bout visiting an old friend... Bologna," he said, snapping as the name of the cold cut came to mind.
"Uh, the Roman cult Goddess Bellona?" Sam asked, incredulous.
"Tch, I don't know all his friends. He can have a life."
"Yeah- Yeah, of course. Just," Sam blinked and shook his head. "She was kind of a big deal to a lot of people, way back."
"Yeah, well so was Freud," Dean said with an 'eh, eh?' eyebrow.
Sam couldn't resist the ridiculous jab against the discredited historical figure and ended up snorting in a rather undignified manner. Attempting to hide it behind a shy hand.
"Uh, kitchen?" He asked, largely in order to distract his brother but also because he was himself, once again starving. Especially after making breakfast.
"Don't have to tell me twice," Dean said, leading the way with both excitement and apprehension coloring his walk in equal measures.
To Sam's entertainment, the set of shoulders ahead of him relaxed when the island table came into view. Guess he hadn't made the vegetables too obvious after all.
The Winchesters retired to the den with full bellies bolstering jovial humors. Sam took the overstuffed armchair and Dean sat exactly where Sam had warned him years ago he was confident someone had died. Violently.
Sam cringed ever so slightly as he watched the older hunter sit back and relax into the seat. Then, doing his best to put all anxieties regarding the sofa far, far out of his mind, Sam addressed his brother with toned down eagerness on a matter he hoped wasn't off limits.
"So, is Cas your first...?"
"Real relationship in years? Go figure," Dean said with an amused snort.
"Right," Sam huffed a laugh at the reply. "Uh, is he also your first...?"
"First 'he'?" Dean let out a sigh, hitching eyebrows up and back down before continuing. "Nope. First serious he? You c'n bet yer sweet ass."
For a moment, Sam wasn't quite sure how to take that comment about his 'sweet ass', but as the split second past, he remembered who it was sitting across from him and the fact that his brother said that pretty frequently and to any number of people.
This new revelation might take a little more getting used to than Sam was proud to admit to himself. Especially considering he had less than no problems with any of it. Had in fact thought that Dean and Cas might've had a little something extra between them for the longest time.
What with Cas referencing their 'profound bond' as often as he did, but never with any kind of explanation as to what that could possibly mean.
Oh great. Sam was doing that thing again. The one where he didn't so much as indicate he'd heard a word Dean'd shared. He really needed to save the introspection for some other time.
So he cleared his throat and, with all aplomb intact, asked a question that'd been burning at the back of his mind ever since he'd caught the reunited 'not dates' sharing a tender moment in a room you couldn't tempt Sam near again. "How come... it's never come up before? Did Dad know?" Oops. Threw out two at once.
"Well, Sammy, mostly because, like you said: It never came up before." When Sam offered no challenge to that, the sudden defensive set to Dean's jaw slackened and he averted his eyes. Perhaps regretting the slight snap.
"I never brought it up for the same reason it never came up. Not relevant."
"That you're bi isn't relevant?" Now Sam was regretting his own slight snap, but, looking at his brother, he was relieved to see absolutely no offense taken. Actually more of an 'I deserved that' look. Which was just as bad, if you asked Sam, but he let it slip in favor of keeping the conversation going.
"Dad..." Looking like he was chewing the inside of his lip, Dean studied the area rug between their seats before taking a breath and going on. "Back before Mom died, the first time, Dad didn't approve of anything but the 'standard setup'."
"You would have been four, or younger. How could you possibly know that?" Sam asked, nothing but curiosity in his voice.
"You remember playgrounds, right?" Sam nodded, thinking that was a curveball of a subject change. "Hard to believe, I know, but your big bro used to hang in one before you came along. By the house. Mom or Dad or both'd walk me. Sit on a bench. Say weird things like ,'Wow, that's so cool' when I showed 'em a worm."
"That sounds... strikingly normal," Sam commented, not sure how he felt about Dean having gotten 'normal' for his formative years. Aware at the same time that he could never blame a toddler for the way their lives had turned out.
"Yeah. Guess it was." Dean said, looking almost as if he wanted to hide and never mention that part of the past again. Probably saw something on Sam's face his little bro hadn't meant to let show.
Damn.
"But, how does a local playground translate to a homophobic Dad?" Sam prompted, making an effort at smoothing out any stray thought that might be showing on his face.
Dean huffed, like he was both hesitant to continue and tired of having his story interrupted. "Girl from a couple streets down, Lucy I think, singled me out one day. Asked if I wanted to hold hands. 'Figured, 'Why the hell not?' So we flaunted that awhile."
"I still don't-" Sam started when the story paused, but shut his mouth right quick. Reminding himself what a normal conversation with Dean was like and that just leaving room for him to continue was generally the best course of action.
Turned out the right move once again.
"Her mom and our mom and dad thought it was cute; gigglin' and lookin' all happy. So naturally, anytime someone wanted to hold hands, I was first in line. Until..."
"Until?"
"Until one day it was a kid named Jason and I couldn't'a cared less that he had the same haircut and pronoun as me."
"Dad was there?"
"Yup."
"Did he... do something?"
Dean nodded, giving the middle distance a good stare before flicking his eyes back up and nodding a second time. "He walked up, took a knee so he didn't look giant, and gentler than you'd guess, pulled us apart. Sayin' something 'bout how, 'That's not how little boys play,' or... something." And he went back to staring into the middle distance.
If Sam had his way, he'd be asking how that experience had impacted a baby version of his brother. Whether feeling like he'd disappointed his dad, as he clearly had felt, had changed the way he saw playtime. Or even, if he'd ever showed another worm to their dad.
But Sam knew that what Dean needed, was someone to 'hm' that they understood, and let him choose what to say next. No questions asked.
"I just figured," Dean said, tearing his attention from the enticement of the nothingness between them, "if happy Dad didn't approve of sandbox hand holding; angry Dad wouldn't wanna hear about me making the occasional Fresh-man Prince blush."
"Wait, Henry? Henry from Bell Air- Well, Bell Air area?" Sam asked, both thankful for and slightly impressed by the helpful wordplay. "I thought you dated his sister."
"Heh, and he dated his sister's 'best friend'."
"And the four of you double dated to the winter formal..." Sam trailed off as the cogs in his head led him off road to places he'd never before thought to explore.
"Double beards, baby!" Dean exclaimed, nearly startling Sam when he clapped his hands together with a mirthful whoop.
Sam couldn't help but smile along. Glad Dean'd found something happy to share.
"But then, how'd you and Henry leave the dance with lipstick smudges that matched your 'dates'? And Henry's sister... Tessa, and..."
"Gloria?"
"Yeah, Tessa and Gloria looked perfect." Sam said, baffled and feeling like he needed to re-evaluate his own life right around then.
"Yeah, well, teenagers can be sneaky when they need to," Dean said, answering just about non of Sam's numerable questions.
"'Specially queer, scared shitless ones," he added, the fond expression not falling from his face. He looked Sam straight in the eye for a second before adding, "'Taught them a little self defense for good measure. On the walks home from the movies. Even had a would be mugger to demonstrate on one night." The guy recounting this tale of obviously life threatening adversity gave his few day stubble a rub, looking like he'd enjoy revisiting the hellhole of a middle slash high school they'd attended while their dad had 'business' in the City Of Angels.
"Wow. Now that I think about it, the four of you went on a lot of double dates."
"Had to get our kicks while the kickin' was good. Went into it knowing it was a short term engagement. Show was pullin' outta town soon as work dried up for dear old Dad and... Well, y'know." Sam watched as his brother shrugged and, probably unintentionally, displayed the first strictly melancholy emotion of his 'morning'.
"Yeah. Though, even back then, L.A. was one of the best cities in the country for open alternative lifestyle relationships."
"True 'nough. Knucklehead who tried to rob us didn't look twice at who was holding who's hand."
"Heh, right. Not a good neighborhood for anybody on foot."
"Definitely not. Hope those kids are still... y'know, kickin'."
"If you want to know for sure, it's a few keystrokes away?" Sam offered, moving a hand in the general direction of his personal laptop.
"Naw. I mean: maybe sometime. But we went our separate ways on good terms and with no sugar coatings. We knew it was goodbye and at least Tessa had no reason to say 'bye' to her 'BFF'."
"Sounds like those siblings were really good to each other. Good for each other," Sam observed, remembering how the close in age duo had always had each other's back.
"...We were too. Are." Dean said, voice firmer with each word.
"I know. That's how we made it," Sam heaved a sigh, "here. And now."
"...Wouldn'ta made it this far without you. The whole funeral and the full mourning... Thanks for being here," Dean said, picking at something on the knee of one pant leg.
"Of course- I mean," Sam caught himself at the last second. Almost committing the cardinal sin of responding to vulnerability with sincerity. "I didn't really have anywhere else to be."
"Ha, good one," Dean said, dour expression not deepening but breaking. To Sam's relief.
"Uh, thanks. And... you're welcome," he couldn't resist.
"I know."
"Good," Sam said, brooking no argument. To which Dean just chuckled. Inadvertently creating a chuckle-a-thon which went on far longer than self respecting hunters were strictly allowed to tough giggle in the presence of others. But if it was family? The occasional exception could be made.
"Oh, I'm so not missing 'full mourning'," Dean said, wiping a little moisture from one eye.
"Me neither. I'm glad Cas is back, man. I missed him."
"You and me both, brother. You and me both."
The two of them sat there, happy bellies digesting a delicious and healthy breakfast, in peace for at least a minute's time. Giving Sam the opening to work up a little courage to go with his next sentence.
"Hey, and this isn't meant to be accusatory or- or anything," he paused in case Dean had reservations he needed to voice.
Instead he got an, "Okay. Shoot," along with an 'I won't bite' look. So Sam took a breath and dove in.
"All our lives... Why didn't you tell me?"
Sam watched as a wry smile crinkled Dean's mouth. "Does the put down, 'That's gay,' ring any bells?"
Sam felt his cheeks going red as he fought to keep a deep mortification from buying up all the prime real estate on his face.
"We were kids- I was like, eleven maybe. Everyone was saying it and I didn't even know what it meant. I don't think most of those kids did..."
"Yeah, I figured. But try tellin' that to fifteen year old, not chancing Dad finding out me and see how that works."
"Good point."
"Right?"
"But why not after? Anytime after?"
"After? Our lives've been pretty... Neither of us've been 'out there' in a while. Honestly hasn't felt relevant in a long time."
"Until yesterday, at breakfast? That was- That was you telling me, wasn't it?" Sam asked with dawning realization.
"Huh. Hadn't thought of it that way. But, naw. I think that was you telling me. Gave me some perspective."
"Gave myself some perspective."
"Huh?"
"Nothing," Sam said, cool as a cucumber. Glad he'd mumbled the ill placed thought, not being at all interested in Dean knowing that his little brother had walked in on him kissing a fresh from the resurrection angel the day before.
Things were awkward enough without that hanging out in the open between the two of them.
Before Dean could push for a real answer, the bunker door opened and an unmistakable trench coat made its flourish of an arrival known.
"I'm home!"
"We can see you from here, Cas," Sam said, offering the one sitting across from him a look that read: Not having second thoughts, are you?
All in obvious, good natured jest and all to rile up a big brother who had somehow gotten through a morning with nary an ounce of sibling originated drama. Or, barely an ounce, anyway.
It won Sam a 'Really?' eyebrow, which wasn't a bad consolation prize in the grand scheme of things, and the two moved to meet Cas in the commons. Barely rising an inch each before hearing protest from halfway down the entrance stairs.
"Don't get up on account of little old me. I'll join you-" and before the figure from the foyer could register as having disappeared, he was already sitting with one arm draped over Dean's shoulders. Causing both brothers to jump and make aborted attempts at grabbing weapons. "Now. Hello, Dean. Sam."
"Cas?"
"Cas. How was... Rome?"
"Ah, so Dean mentioned my visit."
"Yeah, how's Ballina? Still kickin' ass and takin' names?"
"Bellona is well, but she no longer commands legions into wreaths of fire and brimstone. Now she finds satisfaction in the recognition, recognizing, and blessing of righteous warriors. You two," he said glancing between the brothers, "are known to her already. She likes you."
"Can't imagine why," Sam watched his brother scoff out the joke, looking more at ease under the protective arm of his angel than he ever had in the blissful arms of a restful sleep. Even in the backseat of his Baby.
"Because: you are both honorable warriors of the highest caliber who've-"
"Thanks, Cas," Sam soothed, "we got it. Dean was just-"
"Joking! Just joking," the one in question said around a goofy grin.
"Alright then. Well, it looks as though you have had an eventful morning. I- Oh, yes." Cas adjusted himself so he was facing Dean more so than Sam. "Bellona wanted me to tell you that she no longer requires blood sacrifices from her fealty, but that the sword is loathe to part with tradition. She thinks that not touching it again is the smartest course of action."
"Hey, I wasn't looking for a repeat. That last time hurt like a-"
"Wait, Dean. You touched that thing? But it's obviously the most cursed- What on earth possessed you to-"
"I did." Cas cut in, pulling two sets of eyes straight to his face. "Well, in a manner of speaking, anyway. He tried to kill me with it. With impeccable form," he added at the twin incredulous looks he found trained on him.
"You used that- that-"
"Sword? 'Cause that's sure all it looked like to me. Just a pretty sword hangin' on a plain old wall, in need of some attention."
"Did you ever stop to read the instructions hanging with it? Even glance at- Wait. You tried to kill Cas?"
"Now he hears it," Dean said, an eye roll expressing handily his thoughts on this line of questioning.
"Yes. He thought I was fake. A shapeshifter or a dream he could conduct a long, lucid conversation with."
"Dude!?" Dean demanded. Receiving nothing for his troubles.
"When did this happen?" Sam asked, worry for his brother showing through his worry for Cas.
"Directly before you came upon us engaged in our first of many-"
"Right before the kiss?"
"You saw that?!"
"Do not be shy, Dean. It was a pure thing and your brother minds only that you wish to keep it private. Sam approves." The two on the sofa looked to Sam for confirmation. One with a rather accusing glint in his eyes which promised that this better be good.
"I, uh- I was coming to check on you," Sam said, a desperation to be believed pushing his own eyes a little wider than was strictly comfortable. "It was dinner time and-"
"And you thought you'd catch a quick peep show while-"
"Dean, that is not fair to Sam. He truly was worried for you and he didn't stare any longer than you would have," Cas reasoned in the younger's defense.
"You were staring?!" Dean was stopped from leaping off the couch and presumably going for a headlock by the angelic arm around his shoulders. Coupled with the one that had just come up to wrap around his front to engulf him in a strange sort of off kilter hug.
"Has anyone ever mentioned that when you get authoritative, your eyes glint with a righteous determination?" Sam watched mesmerized as Cas leaned in until his lips were a breath from the side of Dean's head, looking like he was barely holding himself back from nibbling the guy's ear.
"It 'turns me on'," he growled. The tiniest Enochian accent only rattling one weird vase on the side table right next to him.
Aaand there was that look Sam'd never wanted to see again, plastered all over an older sibling who he couldn't deny deserved every ounce of joy he could squeeze out of this miracle.
As the two disappeared to parts unknown, their forgotten party member musing that he was gonna have to get used to that type of exit, Sam reminded himself to be thankful for Cas's thoughtful, non-expositionary nature and for the fact that their family was once again complete. Or as close to complete as they were used to it being.
Minus their recently returned and more recently re-departed maternal figure, but Sam wasn't counting her completely out just yet.
Sighing, glad at least that the ceiling wasn't raining asbestos into his hair, Sam pulled his laptop over onto his lap. Figuring at least one person around here ought to get some work done while the sun was out.
His stomach growling, Sam looked up from his screen for the first time in quite a while. Realizing he'd yet to find a single fishy story nor any kind of lead. Just in time for lunch too.
So he closed his crime busting pc and set it aside just as his older brother sauntered out of his hallway. Looking punch drunk and far happier than he had any right to-
Never mind, thought Sam as he watched another figure follow the first on a beeline for the most popular room in the bunker. This time of day anyway.
The kitchen.
Smiling to himself, resigned to preparing food in close quarters with a couple of twitterpated adults, Sam stood and joined the procession.
"Huh. Weird. Anyone else craving bologna?" At the question, Sam, Cas, and even the one who'd asked stopped just inside the entrance to the kitchen, glanced at the others, and bust out laughing.
Yep, Sam admitted, giving his hair a swipe back out of his face: everything was looking up for Team Free Will. Now if they could only make it through lunch without anyone disappearing...
Heehee, there's a chapter four coming your way soon! Until then: Hope ya'll enjoyed this addition and that everyone's having a great week!
~Anonymous