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Dean shifts, angling his body away to let the woman pass, not really paying attention to the omega’s smell of incense. Melanie Golden’s eyes slide from her guest’s disappearing back to Sam and Dean, slightly upset - obviously - but not too surprised by their presence.
“A friend. She just heard about my grandmother... which is, I guess, why you guys are here, so come on in.” She waves them in, already turning, and the two follow her into her house, letting her lead them into a living room. Dean mentally notes the sparse area.
“Sorry. I just got back.” She turns to face them. Dean raises an eyebrow, quirking his head.
“You were out of town?” Was she moving back in - or just visiting because of her grandmother’s death, perhaps?
“Yeah, I work the circuit – hotels, conventions, you know.” Ah. That probably explains it.
Still, Dean can’t help it. “Oh. Wait. No offense, but... you don't seem all that psychic.” He finishes, unhelpfully.
“Why do you say that?” Melanie asks. Dean tries to elaborate, really trying to not get off on the wrong foot here. Sam, obviously, keeps his mouth shut, letting Dean dig the hole by himself on this one. Not that Dean should be expecting any different.
“Well, I mean, just, you know, where's all the...” fake psychic crap, “-crystals and pyramids?”
“I'm off the clock. Also not psychic.” At both of their skeptical looks, she raises her own eyebrows. "What? It's an honest living.”
Dean tries not to scoff, passing it off as a chuckle instead. “Interesting definition of ‘honest’.”
“Well, I honestly read people.” Melanie explains, casting a Look at Dean. “It's just less whoo-whoo, more body language. Like you two – long-time partners, but, um... a lot of tension. You're pissed.” As she gestured to Sam, Dean stiffens, nonetheless turning to look at his brother. He knew that, but having the omega confirm it for him... “And you're stressed. And... in mourning?” Dean freezes, desperately praying for the woman to change the subject. Beside him, Sam tosses him a curious look, underlined with anger, but still. Curious. Confused.
It’s the first time he’s even looked anywhere near Dean’s direction, and of course, it’s this psychic-not-a-psychic chick that gets Sam to do that in the wort way possible.
“It's not brain surgery.” Melanie continues on, somehow oblivious of the newfound tension that arises, for all her previous claims and -successful - attempt and proving to be a mere kinesics person or whatever. At least he’s wearing blockers. Though fat load that would do when he was with said body language reader and the only person who knew Dean’s tells better than anyone else.
‘Only person alive,’ His traitorous mind whispers.
Ignoring how his knees are threatening to buckle under him, Dean grits his teeth, tuning back into the conversation.
“-go full smoke-machine, but she still actually believed in all that stuff, so...”
“You don't?”
“You do?” Melanie retorts.
“I've got an open mind. You'd be surprised.” As Melanie hums, the flat smile doesn’t fade, not until Sam finally speaks up, moving the conversation along.
oOo
As if the museum guide’s retelling of the Fox sisters’ story hitting too close to home isn’t enough, of course, it’s right after Sam leaves that the beta latches on tight to Dean’s arm. He looks down in surprise, gearing up for an attack, but still off guard when all the man does is look slightly apologetic as he leans forward to whisper.
“I’m sorry, I don't normally do this during business hours, but do you know an Eleanor...”
Dean doesn’t even get his mouth open in order to ask ‘a who?’ before he goes on.
“—Or an Ellen?” Oh he knew an Ellen alright. But what Dean really wants to know is how this man knows her - he’s a second away from either getting his flask of holy water or gun out, whichever comes first, he’s not picky. Only the thought of this being Lily Dale and people here being friggin’ psychics and body language reader keeps Dean silent in place.
It has nothing to do with the fact that he’s too shocked to be able to muster up a response of any sorts.
“She seems quite concerned about you. She wants to tell you – pardon me – if you don't tell someone how bad it really is, she'll kick your ass from beyond.” If possible, the beta looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here when he delivers his next line, probably finally catching in to how he ought to be a lot more careful telling Dean this. “You have to trust someone again eventually. It’s the only thing that will help you move on.”
He doesn’t let go of Dean’s arm as much as Dean wrenches himself away, a cold mask sliding on to his face. But possibly just a second too late, not hiding the absolute fear and misery fast enough before he could see it.
“Anyway,” the guide clears his throat, taking a step back, trying to for all intents and purposes look like the past few seconds didn’t happen. Might have worked, if his eyes weren’t slipping to Dean’s collar, conveniently high enough to hide right where it should be... “Don’t forget to visit the gift shop.”
oOo
Sam, being Sam, doesn’t address it until they’re ‘okay,’ and in the car, where Dean can’t escape.
“Melanie said you were mourning.”
Dean swallows, clenching his hand on the wheel. He resolutely doesn’t look at Sam when he replies, trying to keep his voice even. “Did she? I don’t remember.”
He feels rather than sees Sam throwing him a dry, exasperated look. “Right. Well, she did. So?”
Now, Dean doesn’t stop himself from throwing a glance at Sam, but only for a brief second, before his eyes are back on the road. “So, what?”
Sam throws his hands up in the air. “So you’re still mourning Cas’s death!” He exclaims, and yep. He just went there. “Dean, I get that you’re upset, Hell, I am too, he was my friend too, but man, if it’s this serious that even Melanie could read it off just your body language, then don’t you think, oh, you know, we should talk about it?”
Dean inhales slowly. Holds. Lets it go. “Nothing to talk about.”
Sam lets out a small groan, the car starting to reek of alpha displeasure and irritation. “Nothing to talk about - Dean, ever consider that this is why you aren’t sleeping well or constantly drinking?”
If he could, Dean would be closing his eyes, mentally praying for patience. Except he’s driving, and the one person he would ever pray to is dead, and the other MIA, so Dean forces himself to try and continue with some good ol’ fashioned breathing exercises to get him through this conversation. Which he was still hell bent on shutting down as soon as possible.
Not that even that would deter Sam.
“I thought we established that was over my guilt of lying to you?”
“And also keeping something hidden from me?”
Dean raises an eyebrow, tilting his head at Sam. “Like killing Amy?”
“Like Cas’s death.”
They drive a quarter mile in silence, Dean staring straight ahead, before he roughly pulls over to the shoulder, Sam instinctively stretching his limbs, trying to maintain balance as Dean roughly applies the breaks. He’s still looking shaken when Dean gets out, slamming the car door behind him, and takes a few steps, hands clenching into fists at his sides.
A moment later, Sam gets out, his door shutting a lot more gently as he joins Dean. “Dean-“
“He mated me.” And that stops Sam right in his tracks.
“Wait-wh-w-but- there’s no—“
Dean turns around, shoving his hands in his pockets as he faces Sam, a fake smile pasted on his face. “He didn’t bite me there, obviously.” He pulls a hand out long enough to make a vague gesture towards his neck, before roughly shoving it back in again. He watches Sam with a detached sense of amusement as Sam’s brain tries to put two and two together, eventually making him slide his eyes down to Dean’s thighs in comprehension.
“O-oh.” But then he looks up, rage building up in his eyes as he stalks forward, grabbing onto Dean before he can react. “Did he rape you?”
Now it’s Deans turn to be befuddled, before he’s pulling himself out of Sam’s grip, simultaneously pushing his brother away, letting the shock and anger he’s feeling right now to be blatantly displayed on his face, so much so that it starts seeping through the blockers he has yet to reapply for today. “No. No!”
He stands a couple feet away from Sam, chest heaving, before he starts explaining. “It was-it was when we were going to summon Raphael - before... Lucifer, you were - we weren’t together at the time - and Cas was trying to find God.” Dean says, a small huff of laughter escaping him. He looks away, letting himself drown in the memories.
“Let me tell you something. There are two things I know for certain. One, Bert and Ernie are gay. Two, you are not gonna die a virgin. Not on my watch.”
“Apparently, Cas never had a roll in the heavenly stack of hay. So I wanted to use that to cheer him up, get our minds off the fact that we could possibly die the next day.”
“If she asks for a credit card, no. Now just stick to the basics, okay? Do not order off the menu. Go get her, tiger.”
“Man, Cas was so out of his zone, you could see the terror in his eyes.” Dean says, a nostalgic smile on his face, nonetheless, underlined with pain by who they‘re talking about anyway.
“The hell did you do?”
“Dude, he frigging made the girl take off because he read her mind and went a little too Dr. Phil on her!”
Dean chuckles again, looking down. “Basically, it was a bust. We had to leave, so we got in the car, started driving... but then we... you know.”
He waves to his thigh, aware of Sam’s eyes being trained on the motion.
“You’ve...” Sam slowly pushes the words out, as if he’s still processing. He most likely is. “Been mated... for this long? And you didn’t tell me?”
Dean finally meets his brother’s eyes, only to throw him a dry glare. “It’s not like we had the right time. I was dodging and running to Michael, you ran off to Lucifer, and then there was the whole soulless thing—“
“And you couldn’t have told me somewhere in between all of that? No, really, Dean,” Sam goes on, not giving Dean the time to protest. Well, he could, but then they’d be talking at the same time, and frankly, that would just be a mess. “I know we were busy, but don’t pull the ‘there wasn’t the right time or place’ card on me. Hell, you could have said it at the reservoir!”
And of frigging course, Dean can’t breathe then.
“A few simple words Dean! Like - oh yeah, and that dumb son of a bitch was my mate!”
Mate.
His mate.
His alpha is dead.
The strings that had barely been keeping Dean up the past few weeks abruptly cut, and Dean crumples, his legs buckling under him.
“Hey, hey, hey, Dean, Dean!” Sam rushes forward, barely catching Dean in time before he becomes one with the ground. Gathering Dean in his arms, he tries to give a little shake, but the fear radiating from the alpha only gets worse when Dean raises baleful eyes at Sam.
“He’s dead.” Dean croaks. “Cas is dead.”
He slumps forward, leaning into Sam’s chest. Sam holds him there as the omega starts to cry.