Driver's Seat

Glinting prisms shatter across the room; the sun has drooped low enough that the clear, crystal spheres adorning the mantle can reach out and catch its rays. The colors dance about the space, as if to highlight the absolute stillness of the three men. A stream of red catches Sam's cheek, licking his skin with fire. Dean watches as Castiel backs away from Sam's persecution; feeling guilty that he is frozen here instead of confronting his own brother about this; but what the fuck is he going to say? The thought of speaking to something he barely understands is making his insides crawl in circles. There is no way he could tell Sam about the last couple of days- and if Castiel confirms his brother's suspicions, Dean may just break something. He wants to be anywhere else, anywhere but dealing with this—with Sam. He starts to wonder, if he moves fast enough, maybe he can rush past both of them and out the door. He can go sit in his baby—baby always makes everything right.

"Jesus, fucking Christ! You two are, aren't you?" Sam says to the attentive silence. Dean loses his lungs as he watches Sam; turning in place, pressing shaking fingers to his head, playing with his hairline. He looks at the mantle, pieces of white sun burning his profile, before turning round again to scan the rest of the room. Never really focusing on anything in particular

The tall man slowly draws his gaze back to Castiel. ". . . Seriously?"

Dean's eyes snap again to his dark-haired friend, who is currently inspecting his own shoes, chin dug tightly into his chest.

"I, I am not sure what to say, Sam. This is all very awkward for me." Cas mumbles to the floor; the whites of the his eyes growing and shrinking as he shifts them from side to side.

"Awkward for you?" Sam grunts, turning back to face Castiel, his words trailing with a spurt of manic laughter. "How the hell do you think I feel about all this, Cas? Last time I saw Dean, he was leading an expedition up Lexi's skirt! Now, you're saying . . . you and him . . . are . . ."

His brother grows silent, for the first time since Castiel arrived, and Dean wonders if he has ever seen the words shocked from Sam's mouth before—it's kind of nice, really. He should have hooked up with a man forever ago if this was the effect.

"Sam, we were just as surprised as you are," Cas sighs, nodding back at Dean "and Dean reacted very similarly last week, when this all began."

Despite Cas's soothing tone, the final words sound like sirens blaring into the room, bursting Dean's fragile ears; by the growing disgust on Sam's face—he knows his brother feels the same.

"Last week?" Sam fumes, "What the hell? Just how long have you guys been . . . been pining for each other?"

"We haven't been pining, Sam. Things just happened." Cas whispers, his voice edging on snarky—and Dean wants so badly to just tell those desperate, blue eyes to stop trying to fix things.

"Just happened?" Sam hisses, "Okay, explain to me how two perfectly, straight dudes just happen to end up, like this?' his boney finger stabs in each of their directions once more.

Castiel cocks his head to the side, the way he always does when he's confused and feels the need to explain. Dean nearly swallows his tongue.

"Well, if you really want me to dissect the details for you, Sam . . . I suppose it truly started being a mutual affair, the day before yesterday, when I kissed Dean at his home. . ."

Dean feels the muscles in his face slack; turning his head slowly, afraid to see the expression that would be wrecking Sammy's face. His brother is staring wide eyed at Castiel, head slowly hitching to the left, his jaw—just as lazy as Dean's.

"At first Dean looked terrified and held back . . . honestly, I was rather scared, myself; but the attraction between us proved undeniable." the scruffy man confirms, shrugging his shoulders, directing his looks to the vacant air between them, "So, he did eventually reciprocate. Then we moved to the couch and—"

Sam's giant body bursts forward, snapping his mouth shut, the tendons in cheeks flaring. Dean watches as his brother takes rapid, cavernous steps towards Castiel; palms out, finally pressing his fingers into his friend's chest, as if to force the words back into Cas's lungs.

"Stop!" Sam barks.

Castiel leans back a little with Sam's impulse, killing the thoughts before he could even finish his sentence. Dean's eyes focus on the contact—Sam's large hands, pressing flat into Castiel's collar bone, not even hard enough to cause the pale, blue threads of Cas's shirt to shift; but Dean's eyes see claws, slashing and gutting the gentle man, shredding him to pieces. Cas rocks back slightly on his heels; but Dean sees the oceans in the man's eyes, crash against the wall with gale force. Nothing that Castiel said, deserved Sam rushing him like this. Nothing.

Dean launches from his well-worn cushion, reaching his brother with just one, massive leap—his hands grasping onto Sam's before they even have a chance to fall from Castiel's chest.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Dean snarls, no longer feeling fear paralyzing his bones; shoving his brother's arms away as if they were toxic, "Back off, Sam!"

Sam's shocked face is palpable and Dean drinks in the contrast from the bitchy expression his brother has been sporting for the last two hours. Dean pushes himself between Sam and his friend, feeling as if he were unable to be anywhere else but here, guarding Castiel.

"If you want to push someone around, Sammy, then here I am! Have at it!" Dean growls; tensing every, naked muscle; feeling taller than the moose for the first time in years.

Sam backs away slowly; hands still up, looking pitiful and guarded.

"Jesus! Okay . . . sorry man." Sam huffs, shrinking a little—his face softening as a forgotten intimidation crawls back into his eyes. Dean almost feels like his old self; not the tough guy of recent years, but like the big brother he has always been.

"I didn't mean to—sorry, Cas" Sam offers meagerly; peering over Dean's shoulder at the hiding, blue eyes.

"It's quite alright, Sam." Cas murmurs, before leaning into Dean's back, placing an unstable touch on his side, "he barely pushed me, Dean."

Dean feels the hot breath from Castiel's words lick his shoulder blades, and for a moment, he relaxes—wanting to throw Sam out of the house, and get back to his perfect day. Dean would too, but, he knows Sam would never let that slide, not even if he is currently on the defensive.

Dean looks back over his shoulder, only able to see the blurry hues of the man's face behind him, "It doesn't matter, Cas—he can't do that" he offers gently, not sure if he is comforting Castiel about Sam, or about himself. Dean turns frontwards again and eyeballs his baby brother, giving him his best disapproving glare.

"I said I was sorry, Dean!" Sam whines, obviously not liking the sudden change in dynamic.

Dean shakes his head, hoping Sam is feeling as guilty as he should be, "Yeah, yeah." he spits, nodding his head up, straining to look down on the giant, "Sit down! If you wanna talk, we'll talk. You and me!" Dean grunts, pointing at the arm chair behind the moose.

Sam sits down; his brows, knitting concerned little lines that cover his face; puppy-dog eyes, peering up at Dean, desperate for approval. Dean smirks to himself. It feels good to be back in the driver's seat of the family. Satisfied with Sam, he finally turns to look on Castiel. His friend appears just as pathetic as the tall, shamefaced man in the chair—more so, since his eyes seem to have grown three times the size of any normal human being's. Dean can't help but smile a little, and Cas smiles back—a tiny thing that barely twitches on his lips; but it makes Dean feel like he may get a second chance at his perfect morning.

"You sit down too, Cas." Dean whispers and Cas nods sheepishly, before walking over and sitting on the dented cushion that Dean left him.

"Okay then. . . " Dean claps his hands together, turning to look at his audience, wondering what the hell he is going to say next. Is he really going to put this all on the table? He apparently, doesn't have much of a choice now. Dean doesn't know what there is to even say, though; he hasn't really had the chance to talk about it with Cas—what does he think about everything? Dean looks over to the dark, messy headed man, hoping for some insight, only to be distracted by Castiel's wandering gaze. Dean follows his friend's eyes, down the length of his own torso, stopping at the glaring white boxers covering his waist. Dean feels the crimson bite of embarrassment rush over him. He starts to lower his hands, feeling only more awkward at trying to cover himself this late in the game; he concedes to folding his arms across his bare chest, sensing for the first time just how exposed he is.

"Well, first, I am going to put some clothes on," Dean snorts desperately; tilting his head back in his best attempt to seem cool and in control "and then we are going to talk about this. We are going to talk the hell outta this!"