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It all started six months after Dean and Cas finally got their acts together and started dating.
Sam was thrilled for them, of course, since they were his brother and his best friend, and he wanted them to be happy. Even if them being happy resulted in him having the occasional late-night research session in the Bunker’s library because their… amorous activities were getting too loud for him to stay in his room.
It was a little weird, at first. Not because they were both men (or at least man-shaped), or anything like that – it would be pretty hypocritical of Sam to judge them for that. No, it was strange, because up until then, neither of them seemed to be particularly touchy-feely.
And yet, touchy-feely they were. Pretty much constantly at that. Dean would hold Cas’ hand or drape an arm over his shoulders on the couch at every available opportunity. They hugged more, and Dean didn’t try to pull away as quickly as possible anymore. He kissed Cas frequently; on the lips, yes, but just as often on his cheek or his forehead or the tip of his nose. Also he definitely grabbed his ass on occasion, but Sam pretended he didn’t see that.
Cas was still a little stilted with physical interactions, but he seemed to be picking things up from Dean pretty quickly. He also held Dean’s hand, but whenever he could, he’d grasp one of his hands between both of his, almost like he was cradling it. Sometimes his hand would rest on the back of Dean’s neck, a gesture that neither Dean nor Sam knew quite what he meant by. Now that he knew that hugs were fair game, he wrapped his arms around Dean all the time. And unless Sam was mistaken, there were a few times he saw Dean stumbled sideways towards Cas, as if being pushed closer by something large and feathered.
Honestly, it was kind of nice that they were so comfortable with each other. It wasn’t often in a hunter’s life that one could find someone to share the entirety of themselves with.
Then it started getting weird.
Sam honestly hadn’t noticed at first. Well, no, actually he did; he just assumed it was benign. Stuff like Dean’s hand lingering on his shoulder for a moment longer than it had before when he clapped it. It was different, sure, but Sam didn’t think much of it. Or one time when they had piled onto the couch for movie night and Dean teetered on the edge of wake and sleep and started playing with Sam’s hair. He kind of just assumed he was so tired that he was completely out of it.
Cas hugged him much more frequently, and even occasionally held his hand. Again, Sam didn’t think there was anything strange about it, or at least not stranger than anything else in their lives. It was easy to rationalize – Cas wasn’t used to human social norms, his new relationship with Dean had allowed them to have some more physical touch than Dean had allowed between them before, he just applied those physical touches to the only other person around him.
Easy.
He had a harder time rationalizing Dean draping his arm across his shoulders, both during movie nights and during long car rides. And maybe Cas wasn’t totally familiar with the myriad of physical gestures that people used in their relationships, but he had to had known that the average adult American man didn’t typically express affection with their strictly platonic friends with kisses on the cheek.
That had started about two weeks ago. Since then, the situation had only escalated. Dean had started hugging Sam just about every day, and not the short and perfunctory hugs they usually shared. These were the long, drawn-out, oh-god-please-don’t-die sort of hugs they only had about once a year. Cas had followed Dean’s example in draping his arm over Sam’s shoulder, but he added his own twist to it by slowly dragging his fingertips up and down Sam’s arm, sometimes pausing to draw little nonsense patterns into his skin.
Sam was starting to get twitchy. Every time one of them came into whatever room he was in, he’d freeze up or forget whatever he was doing. Instead, he’d watch them like a hawk, if only as a way to keep them from doing anything else… weird. If they started moving closer to him, he made up some kind of excuse and fled the room as fast as he could.
Yesterday, Dean had actually kissed him on the cheek. Cas had – hopefully accidentally – played footsie with him at breakfast. Dean slapped his ass when he passed him in the hallway later. And when Sam had stayed up late reading and gone back to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, Cas was there, pressed up against him side-by-side, his arm slung around his hip as he dug in the cabinet for a mug.
Sam was pretty sure he was losing his mind. Forget the Cage, forget being soulless, forget the Trials, this was what would break him.
Now, he brought a stack of books from the shelves over to the tables in the library. Some of it was to help Jody and Donna with research for the hunt they were on, but most of them were for his ongoing project of digitizing the Men of Letters’ collection. He huffed as he set them down, partially bent over.
Because his life was a bizarre fever dream, Cas slipped right up beside him as he had last night; this time, however, his hand skipped past his hip and landed directly on his ass. Not squeezing or slapping or anything, just sitting there.
Sam still violently jerked away as if he had been slapped. He whirled around, his hands grabbing the edge of the table, and fixed Cas with a frenzied glare.
“Are you alright, Sam?” Cas asked, utterly nonchalant and as calm as you please. He squinted his eyes and tilted his head. “You seem annoyed.”
“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean called from the far side of the tables, his shit-eating grin clear in his voice. “What’s gotten into you?”
Sam choked. He jerked his head around to glare at his brother. His eye twitched.
“What – you – are you – fu –” he sputtered. “What’s gotten into me?!” He elected to ignore how shrill his voice got in favour of getting to the bottom of what the hell was going on. “What’s gotten into you two? All – all of this… touching and grabbing and totally weird – is this some messed up joke? Are you just trying to screw with me?”
“Well, maybe not screw with you,” Dean said. “Screw you, maybe.”
…
What.
“What.” Sam was pretty sure he’d missed about thirty steps in this conversation. Sure, they’d made the occasional sexual joke at the other’s expense over the years – who didn’t? – but Dean didn’t look like he was joking. The stupid grin had fallen from his face, replaced with a much too honest and open expression.
Sam spun back around to look at Cas again. The same expression, but even more genuine and imploring. He swivelled his head back and forth between the two of them a few times while his brain desperately tried to keep up. It was pretty difficult, considering it had melted out of his ears and was now a puddle on the floor.
His eyes landed back on Dean. “You… both of you… with me?”
“Thought you were supposed to be the smart one, Sammy.” Despite the flippant words, Dean’s tone was nothing but warm and kind. The look on his face was just as warm.
Loving, even.
The full force of that look was too much for Sam to take in that moment. He looked back over at Cas.
“But… why me?”
Cas’ brow furrowed and his head tilted even more. “Why not you? You are intelligent, and clever, and wise. You are one of the kindest souls I’ve ever met, and you’re generous nearly to a fault. You’re certainly handsome, though I would argue that physical appearance is far from the most important thing in a relationship. You are loyal and dependable and good.” Cas reached out and cupped Sam’s jaw with one hand. He cradled it, like it was something precious, like something that was worth treating gently.
“Why wouldn’t we love you?”
Sam saw it coming, but he still was barely prepared for the feeling of Cas’ lips against his. He gasped into the kiss, his eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of emotions threatening to burst out. Distantly, he heard footsteps, but all he could focus on was the angel before him, who had somehow decided that he was worth his love.
The two of them separated after a moment. It had been a fairly tame kiss, in the grand scheme of kisses, but Sam still panted afterwards. He half-turned his head to where he knew that Dean now stood, slightly behind and beside him.
“He’s right, Sammy. We realized pretty quickly that, uh, something was missing from our relationship. We just couldn’t figure out right away what it was.” Dean shrugged, and a small, soft smile graced his face. “You’re our missing link.”
This time, Sam started the kiss. He grasped Dean’s face in both of his hands and captured his mouth. It was a little more fervent than the kiss he shared with Cas, but both of them were content to simply press themselves together and share breath, but not push farther than that for the moment.
Sam felt Cas’ hand slip around his waist again while he kissed his brother. He felt and heard Dean sigh; he could only assume that Cas had touched him in some way as well. He had completed the circuit between the three of them, electricity jumping from body to body, from heart to heart, from soul to grace to soul again.
Their kiss finally broke, though neither strayed far. Sam rested his forehead against Dean’s, and then a moment later against his temple as Dean turned his head to kiss Cas. Sam watched them in an entirely new light, as an active participant and an equal, rather than as merely a contented bystander.
He reached out and touched.