Monsters

Uncomfortable doesn't even begin to summarize how he feels right now. The chair he's in seems too small, the room seems too small—the air is being sucked out, making the view of Castiel, hunched over across from him that much clearer. Why the hell is he here? Why did he have to come to check on the guy; the guy who is apparently banging his brother? Sam never really cared who people thought were attractive, or who anyone went home with; it certainly wasn't his business. Just because he didn't want some dude hitting on him, didn't mean that person wasn't allowed those thoughts and couldn't think them about other people. This isn't just a random guy though, this is Dean; his big brother—who is probably the reason Sam is as paranoid about male attention as he is. For as long as he can remember, Dean would be chasing something in a skirt and pummeling guys who looked at him wrong. That was Dean, or how Sam knew him to be, nothing else. Sam can't imagine it differently, even though it's being played out right in front of him- he can't see it. It isn't even necessarily about whom Dean is chasing or who he hates now or doesn't; it's more that Dean is going back on a lifetime of claims and opinions. It's like he suddenly peeling off a mask, revealing a completely different man with completely different blood. It just isn't who he knows.

Sam sees his brother appear at the end of the hallway, wearing the same clothes he had on the night before at dinner; they look like they've been washed, judging by how damp they seemed—leading Sam's mind to why they needed to be washed. He shared a room with Dean for most of his life; the guy didn't care about re-wearing dirty jeans and wrinkly, stained shirts. Why does he care now? A shudder runs down Sam's spine; his mind, shaking violently to loosen the compiling reasons for cleanliness.

"Are you alright, Sam?" Cas asks, breaking the silence for the first time since Dean left the room.

Sam shifts uncomfortably in his shrinking chair, feeling like it may just crumble beneath his weight, "Yeah." Sam finally grunts. He really hates how intuitive Castiel can be sometimes. There is no hiding from those humungous eyeballs.

Cas nods softly, and returns his gaze to his own clasped hands; not yet noticing Dean coming back into the room. Dean moves to the side of the couch, causing Cas to jump a little, then instantly relax when he sees who it is. Castiel seems to light up—every worried muscle lowers, he sits straighter. His eyes smile. Sam is surprised by the change in the timid, little man. He is more surprised that he finds the reaction, slightly endearing. Dean scoots past Cas, sitting just to the left of his friend on the couch; far enough away that their knees don't touch, but close enough that it's obvious he wants to be close to the guy.

"So, Sammy . . ." Dean breaks in, while clearing his throat; eyes bouncing off every surface they find, before finally falling on Sam, "I am going to sound like a dick here, but do you think you can make yourself scarce for a bit? I think I need to talk to Cas about some things before I talk to you."

Sam stares at his brother. If he hadn't just experienced the few hours, this would seem normal. Him, Dean and Cas, all just sitting around, hanging out. If this were a day or two ago, Sam would have loved to hear Dean say he needed to talk to Castiel alone. That would mean Dean would be talking to someone, making amends and fixing things; but the last twenty minutes did happen. Even though Dean looks like himself, and sounds like himself, and is ordering Sam around like he always has, it feels foreign.

Sam doesn't reply for a moment, wondering if he wants to leave, to get out of this awkward stink; or if he wants to stay, stew in it, and discover what brought all of this about, "If I leave, you probably won't let me back in, will you? I know you, Dean. You will shut me out." he sighs, unable to kill his own curiosity.

"I won't let him do that, Sam." Castiel butts in before Dean can utter a word.

The look on Dean's face probably resembles the look on his own—Castiel sounds like a wife, calming her angry husband while disciplining their child. Both of the Winchester brothers feel it and Sam thinks it doesn't sit well with either of them. The uneasy look cloaking his brother, however, is a little comforting. At least Dean is still acting the same—for the most part.

His big brother clears his throat, nearly rolling his eyes in the process, "Uh, yeah . . . I will keep you in the loop. I just need a little time."

Doubt burns Sam's insides, he can tell when his brother is lying, "Sorry, but I am not leaving this house. I have known you all my life, Dean and I don't think Cas here can sway you to go back on that many of your personality traits. If you don't want to talk about something, you are a master at avoiding it. I can go into the kitchen if you guys want to talk- alone."

Dean glares at Sam, giving him the "I will kick your ass for this, later" look that the little, giant brother knows all too well. He's not used to it in this context though; it usually came if he accidentally cock-blocked Dean with some chick at a bar, or ratted him out for something that Sam didn't know was a secret in the first place. But this look somehow comforted him too—another reminder that his big brother is still under the confusion, somewhere.

"Seriously, Sam?" Dean spits, but Cas cuts off the impending feud with an outstretched hand, hovering just above Dean's knee, looking for all the world like it wants to rest upon it.

"Dean, if he wants to stay, he can. This is all going to be said anyway . . . we may as well get it over with now." Cas notices Dean's eye roll this time around; he looks slightly offended but thankfully, does not acknowledge it. "Food and drinks are in the kitchen, Sam. Please, make yourself comfortable while Dean and I talk."

Sam scoffs- Castiel really does sound like a wife.

"Fine." Sam pushes himself out of the seat, feeling his hips scrape against the clenching arms. He huffs into the kitchen, not bothering to look at the two men along the way. Sam feels like he is being sent to his room without dessert—he hates that all he can do is stomp his feet and whine, it only makes everything worse. The cool granite counter top feels icy beneath his palms. Sam rests against the edge for a while, not sure how to busy himself while Dean and Castiel figure out whatever it is they need to settle.

"Why the hell did you say he could stay?"

Dean's low voice rushes along the hard wood, deep and fluid—soft but clear. Dean never was able to master the art of whispering.

"It wouldn't be fair to send him away, Dean."

Castiel's voice is shaky, but suffers from the same audible base that Dean's does.

"I don't even feel right seeing Sam within the same year as last night, and now you want him in the same house while we discuss it?" Dean's voice carries out in a growl.

Sam shakes his head, not hazarding a guess at what happened the night before.

"It needs to be discussed and Sam is here, like it or not. This is not going to go away by avoiding it."

"Yeah, whatever. I'm so glad I have a say in all this."

"Don't act like a child, Dean. Sam has a point; you push people away in these situations. He is your brother, and my friend, and he just found out something very—strange."

"Didn't we all? Why does he get all the concern when we're the ones still trying to process this crap?"

"We had a say in starting this crap, Dean. Sam didn't."

"Why should he?"

Dean's voice spikes, and Sam straightens himself against the counter, feeling suddenly, very awkward for wanting to stay throughout this discussion; he only hopes that Dean and Cas remain unaware of the fact that he can hear them. If they knew, there is no way Dean would ever feel comfortable talking about anything; although, Sam really isn't sure if he wants to hear it anymore.

"Dean, he's your family and in many ways, I feel like he's mine as well. Whatever we are doing here, we need to include Sam in the details . . . some of the details, eventually."

A long pause fills the house and Sam quiets his breathing, which seems to be bursting out of his chest like a tornado through a motor home.

"What are we doing here, Cas?"

The gentleness in Dean's voice nearly guts him, lurching him over and hitching his breath. He hasn't heard that tone from his brother, in years—not since he was little, terrified of the thing in their closet. Dean sat next to his frightened little brother, seeming at the time, like the biggest man alive. He put his arm around Sam's shoulders and told him soft stories of all the people in the world who beat their monsters. He told Sam that one day, all those monsters would be scared of him, because Sam would be bigger than them. Sam could take on anything that came his way with just a wink and a smile.

"I really don't know, Dean. I . . . I am enjoying it, though."

Another perfect silence calms the air.

"Me too."

A devious lump crawls into Sam's throat. Guilt lays siege on his spine—his neck, making him break forward. Why the hell is he being such a dick? The fact is, the smile Dean had on his face when he opened the door earlier was the most genuine smile that Sam has seen his brother wear in years. Even with Lisa, there was a hesitation, like Dean was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Not today though, no . . . Dean looked truly happy. Perfectly content, and Sam is throwing a fit about it because, why? Because he isn't used to his brother being happy? That's so strange to him now that he would rather Dean be miserable so he doesn't have to cope with change? Who the fuck cares if Dean is happy with a man or a woman? And it's not just any man anyway, it's Castiel. Probably one of the kindest people he has ever had the privilege of knowing. If Dean is actually for once, this perfectly content, Sam is sure as hell not going to ruin it for him.

The tall, heavy man pushes himself off the granite, letting the sharp edge cut into his palm with the force. Turning around, he thinks for a moment about what he is going to say when he goes back into the room. Should he even say anything? Words don't really seem to have a place here. Not anymore. He gusts through the kitchen, and out to the mouth, leading into the living room, hoping that the right thing will pop into his head on its own. The sight of Castiel, peering up from a lowered brow at his smiling older brother, floods his eyes.

"Are we going to see where this goes, Dean?"

Dean's scruffy chin drops to his chest, leaving his kind, green eyes to shut tight to the man in front of him; but his smile grows ever bigger as he playfully shakes his head. With a soft chuckle, Sam watches his brother peers back at his closest friend, barley slitting his vision, as if squinting at reality so he wouldn't take in all the good things at once; all the good in Castiel. As if he could draw it all out with just his gaze. A giant grin cuts into Cas's cheeks and Dean finally lets his eyes burst wide, almost involuntarily, like his body couldn't stand it anymore and needed to see everything at once. Sam watches as the blue eyed man reaches out his hand, laying it softly on top of Dean's, chasing each one of his brother's monsters away with only just a smile.

"I'm game if you are."

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*Author's Note: Thank you so much to all of you who stuck with this story until the end. I hope that you enjoyed this beast! Starting out, I thought it would only be about twelve chapters long! I hope that it didn't drag itself out too much! I am planning on adding an epilogue in a few days. I know many of you might be disappointed that the intimacy only got to a certain level . . . it will be intensified in the epilogue, so don't worry! I am very sad to see this work come to an end. I think I am a much bigger Destiel fan now than I even was before- which seems impossible, but it's true. Again, thank you for reading, and thank you so much for the support. It means more to me than you guys will ever know!

Sincerely,

Senora J.