Chapter Text
Sam is sure that whatever Dean lacks in height, he makes up for in the size of the stupidity that he stores somewhere deep within his brain.
“That’s my shoe, dumbass,” he says, swiping it from Dean before he can try putting it on. Sam snickers, moving to the bed to finish pulling his socks on and getting dressed while Dean grumbles and looks for his missing shoe.
“You know, maybe if you didn’t just fling them off last night during your little tantrum, you wouldn’t be having this problem.”
It’s odd, actually, because Dean is typically the neat freak between the two of them. But last night he’d been moody, and since he hadn’t had his coffee yet, it had carried on through to today, so it seems.
“What’s up with you, anyway?” Sam adds, frowning over at him. Dean’s got his shoe now, and is roughly pulling the laces taught. Then he moves over to his duffle, zipping it up jerkily to fit all the contents inside.
“Nothing,” he says, “just forget it. Be at the car in five, we’re heading out.”
Dean moves for the door but Sam stands and stops him. “Woah, hang on. We just finished a case, Dean, what’s the rush?”
“Just,” he finally meets Sam’s eyes, “just wanna get back home, that’s all. Have myself a home cooked meal, the Bunker’s shower pressure…”
Sam lets his arm go, still unconvinced. “What about Cas?” he tries.
Dean tenses, looks away. “What about him?”
“He went to go return those books we borrowed, remember? He won’t be back for another twenty minutes.”
Dean moves again for the door, fitting the knob against his palm.
“Yeah, well, he’s an angel,” he says over his shoulder, swinging the door open, “He’ll catch up.”
“Don’t be a dick. Seriously, dude. What is up with you lately?”
There’s a cool rush of air as the door stays open, and then Dean seems to remember himself and he shuts it, turning around.
“What’s up with me?” he asks, dropping his duffle, “I should be asking you that.”
“Wait, what?”
Dean’s face turns into that hard mask he puts on when he’s about to breach a heavy topic. So Sam straightens, shifting his weight, and awaits the talk of torture, or death, or whatever depressing topic Dean comes up with. He’ll deal with it, even if it means being here in this ratty motel room for another thirty minutes.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you and—” Dean darts his eyes away, “you and Cas. Whatever’s going on there, it needs to stop.”
For a moment amidst the initial confusion at the turn in their conversation, Sam feels his stomach sink. He curses himself and outwardly sighs, shoulders drooping a little as he slowly sits back down.
“Look, I don’t care if you—if he—if either of you are…if you’re into that sort of thing. Really, I don’t. Charlie, you know, she was one of my best friends—”
Sam blinks, realization sinking in. “Oh. Wait. Hang on a second—”
“—like a sister, really, and I support it. I do. But come on, man. Cas? He’s my—that’s—” Dean twists his face in discomfort, “that’s just…screwy, okay?”
“Dean, no, that’s not—”
“If it was anyone else, man, it’d be fine. It’d be fine, I swear, but—”
Sam stands again, desperate for Dean to hear him. “Dean. What are you talking about?”
Dean stares at him a second and then huffs, turning away to rub a hand over his face. “Don’t make me say it, man. You and Cas! All the—the flirting a-and the nudging and the whistling, it’s just. Too much.”
A silence stretches on for a few seconds before Sam can’t hold it in any longer and breaks out in a fit of laughter. Dean swivels back to him, stunned, and that makes Sam laugh even harder, leaning over and pressing a hand across his stomach as if it’ll stop it from hurting. He thinks he even hears Dean ask “What?” a few times, desperate to know the answer.
Eventually the high starts coming down, Sam sucking in a few short breaths to get air into his lungs again, and then he pats one heavy hand on Dean’s shoulder.
“Jesus, Dean! I was freaked at first because I was sure I’d accidentally let Cas’ secret slip with too much of the teasing, but no—turns out,” he starts chuckling again, “you’re just more of an idiot than I thought.”
Dean shrugs Sam’s hand off of his shoulder and shakes his head, mouth curved up in a confused smile of his own. “Wait, what? What secret?”
Sam rolls his eyes, “Well I’m not going to tell you, but I’m sure Cas would if you asked. But I can tell you for sure that—me and him? Nothing going on there, man. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“W-worry?” Dean asks, eyes wide. “Why would I worry?”
Sam’s grin slowly fades into a faint smile of disbelief. “You’re—you’re joking.”
Dean shakes his head, looking lost. Sam can practically see the gears turning in his head.
“Dean,” he says, incredulous. “Dean, you were—you were jealous.”
Now it’s Dean’s turn to laugh, a little under his breath. “What are you talking about?”
Sam starts gesturing with his hands, trying to get Dean to understand him, “You—just now. When you thought Cas and I were a-a thing, or whatever…you didn’t approve of…us…because you were... jealous.”
“No,” Dean says slowly, “I just don’t like the idea of my best friend and my brother…y-y’know,” he waves his hand vaguely, “that.”
Sam crosses his arms, starting to pace the room a little. “Uh-huh. Well, personally,” he shoots Dean a meaningful look, “I’d be thrilled if my best friend and brother finally got their shit together and lived happily ever after. Delighted, even.”
Dean waves a hand, “Wait, I thought you said you and Cas…weren’t…” he shakes his head a little. Sam stays quiet, this time, waiting for it to hit Dean square across the face.
When it does, Dean’s scrunched features smooth out into a countenance of carefully crafted neutrality. Sam nearly rolls his eyes.
“You think…me and Cas. You think we’re…”
Sam raises his eyebrows.
“Hah. No, man. No, Cas doesn’t—I don’t uh. Swing that way.”
“Oh,” Sam shrugs, feigning innocence, “you should probably tell him that, then.”
He stops his slow pacing in front of his own duffle, sticking in a loose plaid and zipping it shut in a few short tugs of the zipper. He shoulders it, smiles at where Dean stands, frozen, and brushes past him to the door.
Sam’s got one foot out when Dean pipes up again.
“Tell him?” he asks, and Sam allows himself to grin now that Dean can no longer see his face. He continues his stride, and the door firmly clicks shut behind him.