Work Text:
His project to digitize the Bunker's archives is going fantastically well. With a glance at the clock, though, Sam realizes with chagrin he's been at it for six hours straight. Once he's pulled his head out of the books, he belatedly starts to feel the aches -- a stiffness in his back and neck, a numbness in his ass, and a gnawing hunger in his belly.
Marking his place in Haggerty's A Treatise on the Third Eye with a small strip of clean, acid-free paper before setting it aside, he considers his options for dinner. Not a lot to choose from in the kitchen, he muses. I could heat up that leftover Chinese, or... wait... Didn't we order that on Sunday? And it's... He has to check his phone to determine that it's now Saturday. That mapo tofu in the fridge is no longer safe to consume no matter how much he's willing to nuke it. Shit, that stuff was good, wish I'd remembered to eat it...
Spoiled tofu is only a symptom; he's kind of lost track of everything except the archives these past few weeks. Life has (he assumes) kept ticking along in the Bunker while he's busied himself in the shelves, indexing centuries of supernatural knowledge into a searchable database that can be accessed by any Hunter in the world. It's valuable work, maybe even his life's work, but it's possible he has been hyperfocusing to an unhealthy degree.
Didn't Dean say something about going for food a little while ago? He kind of remembers grunting an acknowledgement after Dean had poked his head in to say that he and Cas were heading out. I'll catch up with them.
Dean still hasn't replied to his text after a few minutes, so Sam tracks the GPS in his brother's phone to a restaurant on the outskirts of Lebanon that he's never even noticed before. It's... Well... He can only call it a cute little bistro. Not exactly Dean's style; there's nary a neon beer sign in any of the lace-curtained windows. Maybe Dean had a coupon, he thinks as he passes through the arched doorway and enters the dimly-lit space.
"Table for one?" the cute brunette at the maitre d' station chirps.
"No thanks, I'm looking for my--" Sam begins, then cuts off when he spies Dean and Cas at a two-top in the far corner of the dining area. "Oh, there they are. Excuse me."
He makes his way over to them, snagging a loose chair as he crosses the room. When he pulls it up to the table and sits down, Dean flashes him an irritated glare.
"What's up?" he barks. "We got a case?"
Wow, what crawled up his ass? Sam wonders. Probably got cranky waiting for his entree to arrive. "Nah, just realized I never ate lunch today, so I thought I'd join you guys for some grub. What's the deal with this place? Not our usual kind of dive..."
As Sam speaks, Dean's expression darkens.
"You thought you'd join--??" he starts, his tone angry. Cas lays a placating hand on Dean's shoulder and speaks in his stead.
"This isn't our usual sort of restaurant, you're right," the angel says. "We chose a special place tonight, because we're celebrating."
"Hmm?" Sam asks absently, attention split between listening to Cas and browsing the menu that he'd grabbed from a neighboring table. The ratatouille looks good. "Celebrating? Celebrating what?"
"It's our anniversary, Sam. Well, sort of." He tilts his head and casts a soft smile at Dean, who returns it. As usual, their eyes catch and hold, and hold, and hoooold...
Oh God, they're doing their UST thing again, Sam grumbles to himself before his brain catches up and he registers what Cas said. Wait, anniversary?
"Wait, anniversary? Anniversary of what?"
Dean tears his gaze away from the angel long enough to smirk across the candlelit table at his brother. "Sammy, if you spent a little less time digging through dusty scrolls in the storage rooms and looked around you once in a while, you would have noticed that Cas and I have been together for a month. A month today, actually. So we're out for a nice meal at a nice place and we don't want you here. Bye." He reaches for his boyfriend's(!!!) hand on the table and twines their fingers together. After a moment, he looks back at Sam. "Bye," he prompts.
"Shit, yes, sorry, I'll, uh... I'll leave you guys to it." Can't believe they got their heads out of their asses and I didn't even notice! I have definitely been working too hard... "Congratulations, happy monthiversary, I'm really happy for both of you. I'll head back to the Bunker. Enjoy your evening." He scurries out of the dining area and bumps into the hostess, who smiles at him.
"Leaving so soon?" she asks. "We have separate seating in our bar area, you know." It's clear she witnessed enough of that little scene to glean Sam's third wheel status. There's an intriguing twinkle in her dark eyes.
Maybe I don't have to head back to the Bunker quite yet... "Actually, would it be possible to get an order of the ratatouille and a seat at the bar?"
"Absolutely, sir. I'll bring that right out to you. I'm about to go on my dinner break, if you'd like some company...?"
"Why not?" he grins. I deserve a night out.