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One.
Getting Sam to the hospital is the priority. It is, 110%. But Sam would flip his shit if he found out Dean left the King of Hell sitting unattended in that blown out church where any one of his aides (or enemies) could come along. So he takes the requisite 90 seconds to hoist up the emotional, weirdly humanlike Crowley, haul him out of the church, and shove him in the trunk. He's still a demon, it should hold him tight just fine.
And he's always been a snivelling weasel so Dean doesn't really think much of it when he sneers, "what, back already? Not attending to your new bride?" when he first grabs him up from his binds in the church, and then decides it's best to gag him when he's deposited in the trunk and still jeering, "a widower at your young age, Dean?"
So that's - that, really. He speeds off like a bat out of hell, enough time wasted on Crowley already, and doesn't think much of it.
-
It's weeks later, Dean's lying left and right to Sam about there being an angel in him, Cas is human and ex-communicated from the bunker. But they still have Crowley, cuffed in their dungeon and withholding information, of course. Dick.
It's Dean's turn to check on him, see if he's got more demon names for them.
"What, no Missus today?"
It doesn't take much for it to turn into a headache.
"Nah, Sammy's had his fill of useless demons for one day."
"Such a good husband you are, taking care of the household chores."
He rolls his eyes, tired and sore from their latest hunt and annoyed besides. "You ever gonna get tired of the married jokes or...?"
"Sorry, not much to make new material with while I'm stuck in your dungeon!" The last is yelled out in typical Crowley overdramatic fashion. Dean gives him a flat look, shakes his head, turns to leave. "Besides," Crowley's voice is all level and cool again, "it's not as though it isn't true. Newest material I have to work with, anyway."
He pauses, rolls that back in his head, scrunches his face trying to place Crowley's weirdly knowing tone, not just suggestive but insinuating. Does he really think...?
"What, just 'cause we're shacked up in the bunker together you think we're actually 'shacked up' together now?" He half turns to Crowley so the demon can get the full measure of his skepticism, dripping from his voice and expression, "or did those blood injections just knock one too many screws loose this time?"
Crowley's indelibly pleased grin tells him he just stepped in it. Not sure yet what 'it' is, but yeah he looks way too pleased with himself and Dean's already regretting asking.
"My my Dean, don't tell me you don't know?"
"You know we're not actually fucking, dude."
It's not like Crowley's never made jabs about it before. "My my, the things I've heard..." and "Trouble in paradise, boys?" come to mind. It's not like he's the only one either. But Crowley's gotta know it's not actually like that if he really had 'heard' anything from those months he bugged their car.
And okay sure, there's been some - some spells, curses, what-have-you - some hazards of the job. Some bumped elbows. Definitely a lot of jokes, reckless flirtation. Maybe some uh 'porous boundaries' to use a word Sam mentioned once (only for Dean to turn up the volume on the TV and tell him they are not talking about it, jesus Sam). But they aren't actually -
"Maybe not," Crowley accedes with a head tilt, but still clearly serious as he continues, "but you are married."
Dean rolls his eyes, flippant comment about being one short of a dozen on his way out.
Two.
It’s less than 36 hours later and,
“So what exactly did you mean, we’re married?”
Crowley looks way too fucking smug. “Ah ah.”
“Yeah yeah, I’ll get you a proper ballpoint pen and not a fucking crayon, whatever.”
“A TV would be - ”
“Don’t push it. Now tell me, what did you mean?”
Crowley sits back, chews on it but Dean waits him out because Crowley is Crowley and that means he’s going to spill because that’s what he does. It’s a refreshing script, honestly.
On cue, his expression clears, comes to a decision, and he looks up at Dean from his dungeon manacled chair clearly aiming at superiority.
“I mean that when I do this,” his eyes flick to their freaky red color and Dean curls his lip before they flick back, “you and Moose have a golden string binding you about the wrist.”
That makes as little sense to Dean as anything. “We have a what?”
“A golden string. It’s a symbol for marriage - life-long bonds made through committed vows, ordained by God and all of that.”
“And demons can see ‘em?”
“I presume angels as well and all sorts of icky creatures, but yes.”
“And me ‘n Sam...?”
“I’m aware you’ve always been a bit slow, Dean, but - ”
“Yeah yeah, shuddup. I got it. That’s not marriage, you freak, that’s just me ‘n Sammy being brothers.”
“It might be, except it wasn’t there before.”
His eyes narrow. “Before what?”
And Crowley’s grin almost splits his face when he says, “before that Church.”
Three.
Dean’s not freaking out. He’s really fully not freaking out. Not him, no sir.
There’s no way Crowley’s right, obviously. He and Sam didn’t exactly say ‘I do’ or anything, and it’s not like there was any priest or altar or any of that shit. He’s pretty sure, like 99%, or at least like 80%, that you can’t accidentally get married.
He’d ask Cas about the whole golden string thing, but Cas is currently not really allowed around Sam because of the whole Zeke situation, and Cas can’t keep his mouth shut at the best of times when Dean asks awkward questions. But hey - there’s the whole Zeke situation!
He waits for Zeke to appear, doesn’t want to freak Sam out by asking him weird questions if Zeke doesn’t show up, but next time he pops up blue-glow eyes for a chat, Dean holds him on the line.
“So - hey wait don’t go, I’ve got uh - an angel question for you.”
“An angel question.” Zeke’s whole everything is so weird, even for an angel. All formal. Maybe that’s just what it’s like for the angels who hurtled down to earth during the Fall though, the ones who hadn’t had any time to adjust to earth life yet.
“Yeah, an angel question. Uh - so there’s this - when your eyes do their glowy thing - yeah ‘glowy thing’ don’t gimme that look - when you put on your angel-vision or whatever, do you uh, do you see things?”
“Angelic sight provides many insights.”
“Great, yeah, so - so is there such thing as a ‘golden string’?” It sounds... really dumb when he says it out loud, “like for - “
“The Golden String of Matrimony. You ask this for a reason?”
Shit shit shit shit - “I don’t - do I uhh, is there a golden string on - “
“You and your brother both. The Golden String anoints you.”
“Anoints as in - as in married?” It is a good thing, a very good thing, that Dean is not driving while having this conversation. If he were, he might be liable to drive off the road. Save himself from ever having to have this conversation with Sam. “As in me married to Sam?”
“Were you unaware of this?”
Fuck. He might have to have this conversation with Sam.
“Hell yes I was unaware! How - I mean, doesn’t heaven have some kind of - some rule against - he’s my brother.”
“Is love so limited?”
“How? Literally -- we were in a church, okay I get that. But it was a broken ass church with no priest - “
“A vow taken in God’s eye needs no such ordinances, Dean. A witness true of intent, one who might acknowledge the bond, would more than suffice.”
“A wit - are you telling me Crowley counts as a legitimate ‘witness’ to me marrying Sam?”
“If that is who you name as witness.”
“No - nuh uh. We didn’t - hell, there was no kiss! There was no kiss,” he hisses a second time, finger pointed accusingly at Zeke. The angel is way too placid about all this.
“A young tradition. Rites will change. A union needs simply a vow before my Father’s witness, spoken from the heart on holy ground or under authority of earthly auspice, and a binding shared."
“Is that supposed to mean rings? We didn’t exchange any rings.”
Zeke tilts his head. “The Golden String is there. What more is there to say?”
A lot, by Dean’s estimation, but Sam shakes his head like he’s clearing out cobwebs and the conversation is over.
Four.
He was going to bring it up. He really, really was. But there was a lot going on and Zeke turned out not to be Zeke and flagging the fact that Sam had accidentally married him when he didn’t even want to be his brother - well. Wasn’t worth mentioning.
Not like it changed anything anyway. So what if they spilled their guts in a defunct church in front of a demon and they were so sincere about their words that that was all it took to marry them? Really not a big deal.
Not like he felt compelled to bring it up to Garth or anything.
“So... wedded bliss, huh?”
“Yeah.” Garth’s expression is just way too dreamy for him. Dean coughs, looks out over the field, back at the big house for a glance.
“Got a good thing going here.”
“I know. And I’m grateful every day.”
“What was the uh, the ceremony like?”
Garth looks over at him with a big grin and Dean already regrets asking. “It was perfect. Small, just family. Minister - ”
“Church?”
“Yeah. And -”
“Rings?”
“Well look at you, Dean. I didn’t know you were so into weddings. ‘Course there was that one time your brother got married.” Dean almost chokes. “To that crazy lady, in Vegas. That was fun.”
That was not fun.
“Yeah no, I’m just uh - I did some reading - for a hunt - on old wedding rites.”
“Oh yeah, lots of old traditions. We weren’t too traditional - something old, new, borrowed - ”
“Yeah yeah.” He wonders if he should tell Garth that if a demon looked at him now, he’d have a golden string around his wrist. He decides better of it.
“Do you think you’ll ever get married, Dean?”
He hadn’t, no. Not in the cards for him, not really a point of interest. But then he’d gone and done it, wrapped a bandana around Sam’s bleeding hand in an accidental facsimile of a marriage and engagement tradition called handfasting that went back centuries in England and other parts of Europe, and apparently that was more than enough of a ‘symbolic binding’ in the eyes of God, or whoever or whatever was responsible for golden strings and ‘marriage’ bonds.
Married. To his brother.
He ignores the warm pit in his stomach. Sam’s barely talking to him, pissed beyond all reason (has every right to be but Dean’s not going there). Bringing it up now would be dumb. But maybe... well, they’re bound anyway. Might be worth seeing if Sam’s alright to ride together again, at least.
“Nah, married life ain’t for me,” he lies easy to Garth, heads toward the Impala. “Besides,” and this part is truer than he wants to examine, “I’ve got all I need.”
Five.
“What did Sam say? Does he want a divorce?” It slips out. He’s just been re-humanized and the whole – the whole marriage thing hadn’t really mattered too much to him as a demon. He’s still getting his bearings.
(Getting used to the fact that when he flipped his eyes black he could see the damn golden string on his own wrist, how much it pissed him off as a demon – how much of that came from his own frustration for how much the little human piece of him liked it, being tied so visibly and tangibly to Sam. It hadn’t helped at all when Sam showed up and the string between them became visibly connected. Distracting as all hell and too easy for Sam to get the drop on him when Dean was busy staring at their wrists.)
So – it slips out. Hadn’t meant to say it, but now it’s out there, joking or not. He waits for Cas to ask, to comment. But Cas just looks at him with an arched brow, reassures him that he and Sam are fine, will be fine. And it’s good, it’s great, and he thanks Cas for that and bites his tongue around asking if he noticed, if he’d seen the string, but then –
“Hey, maybe you should um… take some time before you get back to work. Allow yourself to heal.” Dean’s eyebrows start to climb. “It’s uh… I don’t know. The timing might be right. Heaven and Hell – they seem reasonably well in order. It’s quiet out there.”
“Cas are you – ” inquisitively suspicious, eyes halfway narrow, a half-step toward Cas, “…are you telling me to take Sam on a honeymoon?”
Cas shifts uncomfortably from foot-to-foot, makes an abortive gesture with his hand that Dean could swear was a motion toward his wrist before he stops, they both stop.
“Whatever you want to call it, Dean.”
Jesus. He drags a hand down his face, stares up at the vaulted ceiling, other hand on his hip. “Doesn’t uh – doesn’t dying undo wedding vows? Y’know, until ‘death do us part’ and all that?”
“Did you stipulate you were only committed to your brother unto death?”
He winces on the word brother. “No…”
“Then there you go.”
“You’re uh, really not surprised, huh?”
“It’s been over a year, has it not?”
He blows out a breath, looks back down to earth now, hand through his hair, still messy from how his demon-self liked it. He’ll need to shower before Sam gets back here. Which – he absolutely does not examine that thought, sets it aside. It’s just so he doesn’t look like the version of himself that went after Sam with a hammer and promised to bash his face in.
“How long have you known?”
“Since I regained my grace. How long have you?” He looks genuinely curious.
Dean glances to the side. “Crowley told me. Before the whole… Gadreel thing.”
Cas’s eyes narrow. Shit. “Dean.”
Shit shit shit –
“Is Sam aware that he’s married to you?”
Which, well, when he puts it like that -
“It’s been a busy year.”
Cas rolls his eyes, turns back toward the door. “Take some time away, Dean. For both your sakes.”
Plus One.
It’s their third night in the beach-front cottage they rented when Dean suggests stargazing. It’s been a while – hell, it’s been years. A lot’s been going on and there’s been a lot to smooth over. Sleep was a lot more precious than staying out at all hours to get a glimpse of the milky way, and even if there was practically no light pollution in north central Kansas near the bunker, it seemed weird to go for an evening stroll just to look up.
He half expects Sam to comment on it, laugh at him over it. A bit of ribbing at the very least. Sam’s face just breaks out into a surprised smile though, easy delight, and tells him he’ll pack the cooler. Dean summarily ignores the beating in his chest and the warmth in his stomach. Sammy is smiling and that’s what matters.
And if he decks Dean, well, that’s fine. He’s pretty sure it’s all gonna be fine. Sam is forgiving him for all the shit he did as a demon, he will forgive him for not mentioning the married thing. For being at fault for the married thing. Dean’s definitely to blame with the whole bandana thing, and maybe his choice of words. The hug didn’t help. No he’s pretty sure – well, either way, Sam will forgive him.
He’s pretty serious about the whole god thing though. Has an actual chance, unlike Dean, of getting married for real one day. What if it isn’t okay?
Dean decides not to think about that as he drives them the short way out away from any lights, far as they can get from the ambient pollution of cities and settlements that blot out the nebulae and distant stars and galaxies. Sammy goes wild for that shit, spent his teen years talking Dean’s ear off about the constellations and the stories behind each of them, way more than Dean cared to know if he’s being honest. But it was nice, and Sam tells him he picked a good spot when they get out and hop onto the hood with a beer apiece, and he lets himself smile over it.
“Shooting star,” Sam tells him after a long period of quiet and he glances up in time to catch the tail end of it. Meteors, tons of them, if you stay out late around the ass-end of summer like it is now, autumn encroaching but still warm this far south.
“You make a wish?”
Sam sighs and smiles, leans back and doesn’t comment. Dean watches him out of the corner of his eye, glances back up to the sky. He’s still got that elbow brace on.
Another meteor burns up in the atmosphere and Dean spares a wish for himself, that Sam doesn’t bust his elbow again punching him for what he’s about to bring up. He fiddles with the label on his now-second beer.
“You ever think about – I don’t know. Settling down?”
Keeps his gaze ahead, ignores the glance he’s getting from Sammy.
“Do you?”
Dean shrugs. “Not – really. I – have everything I need already.”
Sam hums and sips his beer. Dean musters up his courage because if he doesn’t tell Sam now, he’s not honestly sure if he ever will.
“I… we’ve been through a lot, over the years.” Stalls.
“Yeah, we have.” Sam’s voice is soft and reflective, like he’s cottoned on to the fact that there’s something Dean’s trying to say and doesn’t want to break his reverie. He appreciates it for all that it’s not making this any easier.
“What I’m trying to say is – I mean, we’re basically married.”
Sam snorts. “Yeah. You c’n say that again.”
His palms are sweaty on the beer, barely holding onto it. Dean finishes it, tosses it to the side of the car, will collect it after.
“I’m saying it, Sam. We’re uh – we’re married.”
Sam turns to look at him and Dean meets his gaze for a second, shifty, looks just to the left of him, then up. Forgiving sky. Sweet, sweet forgiving sky. Sky which is not Sam’s confused eyebrows.
“Dean?”
“We – we’re married, Sam. Actually married.”
“What are you talking about?”
Shit. He sighs, looks at those stupid puppy dog eyebrows, serious eyes. He bites the inside of his cheek, steels himself. “Just don’t bust your arm when you punch me.”
“What did you do?”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence but uh, nothing new. This has been since uh, since the trials. In that church.”
A refreshing return to surprised eyebrows and Dean barrels forward, buoyed by the so-far not horrified response.
“Didn’t realize at the time, of course, just uh – and it’s been a long year, I mean, year and a half, but there was – Crowley said some stuff – ”
“Crowley? Crowley knows we’re – ”
“Demons and angels, I guess they can ‘see’ this type of thing or whatever.”
Sam’s expression flicks to alarm. “All of them? You mean like – like all of them?”
Dean nods solemnly, lets Sam do the math on that, sees him swear under his breath.
“How is it – how is that even possible?”
“Oh you know – some vows were said, and we had a witness.” Sam’s face is priceless, realizing Crowley was their only wedding guest. “There’s this old tradition with wrapping things around the hand – ”
“Handfasting, of course.”
“You nerd. You know about that?”
“Of course – it’s an important ritual dating back to – ” he catches sight of Dean’s expression, flattens his features, “you’re not seriously telling me that you” he points to Dean, “and me,” and then to himself, “we’re…”
“Married.”
“We’re brothers.”
“Well apparently, God don’t care. We’ve got a whole golden string wrapped around our wrists that says ‘these guys are shacked up’.”
Sam blows out a breath, leans back against the windshield and seems to digest all that. “Married," he repeats after a minute.
“Married. But if it makes you feel any better – welcome to your uh, belated honeymoon.”
Sam looks at him like he’s an idiot. And then – infinitely more embarrassing – he catches Dean’s expression and his own gets soft.
“This is why you wanted to come out here.”
“Thought we could use some ‘us’ time.”
Sam shakes his head, smile tugging at his lips. “Hopeless romantic, you.”
“What, a guy can’t treat his wife?”
It’s Dean’s favorite thing when he shocks Sam into a delighted laugh, that wide-opened mouth one he doesn’t see that often anymore. “I’m the wife?” Is what he answers with when he’s done laughing, still grinning. “Dean – you’re the one who cooks 80 percent of what we eat. You iron my shirts, even if it is with beer half the time.”
“Hey! I’m just being a good husband! You’re the sensitive one!”
“I’m – you’re the one who planned this romantic getaway!”
“Damn straight – because I’m a provider!”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Yeah but I’m definitely the husband.”
Sam shakes his head, lets Dean win this one, although there was a mutter that sounded suspiciously like “I’ll husband you” that Dean isn’t touching.
“Does this mean…” Sam asks after a few minutes of quiet, picks at the label of his own beer. “I mean… we’re sort of uh, ‘It’ for each other, huh?”
There’s a clench in Dean’s stomach, could go either way. He glances to the side, out the corner of his eye. “That a bad thing?”
He absolutely doesn’t let out the breath he was holding when Sam shakes his head with a smile. “No… I think I’ve known that, or uh – felt that way, I guess – for a while now.”
Dean clears his throat. “Yeah. Me too.”
Sam nods decisively, sighs. “Can’t believe our wedding was so shitty.”
He snorts. “You’re telling me. And I didn’t even get a kiss out of the whole thing.”
“Did you want one?”
There’s a constricted noise in his throat, the question entirely unexpected. Sam’s his brother – what the hell kind of question is that? Well. Probably not that different from Dean complaining about the lack of kiss, but that’s his job, and Sam’s is to pretend he’s acting dumb, not to lean into it and take it seriously.
“Well?”
“I, uh – ” he turns, not entirely sure what he’s going to say yet, and Sam is. Right there. Just like – right there. “Sam?”
There’s a quick flash of a grin and then Sam leans the last bit forward, shifts his weight to hold himself up on his hand, the one that isn’t caught up in a sling still, so that he can push their lips together. Quick, fleeting, more of a tease and not exactly hot and heavy. But definitely, unmistakeably a kiss.
“There.” He leans back out of Dean’s space and looks entirely too smug. “A kiss.”
“Jesus,” Dean’s voice is still all strangled. Dammit, he’s definitely not winning any disaffected cool older brother points here. Which is a normal thing to want in any situation, little brother kisses included. “Warn a guy next time.”
“I did.”
“Right.” Well.
“You did say we’re on our honeymoon.” Sam hops off the hood, tips back his head and finishes his beer, long neck stretched back and Adam’s apple bobbing. Not that Dean’s looking. He finishes the drink on a loud exhale, flashes a devious grin at Dean. “If you want any more kisses, I think they’re customary.”
“I mean hey – if you’re offering.” Dean keeps his voice light, loud enough to carry as he hops off his side of the car, collects his empties and tosses them into the back seat. “You know I never turn down a little action.” He glances over the roof of the car at Sam, surprised by his own boldness. Easy enough to be a joke. Serious enough for Sam to take it that way.
Sam’s smile is dimpled. “I can’t believe I married you.”
“Hey! I resent that! I’ll have you know I am a delightful husband and a very generous lover.”
“Well, guess we’ve got a few more days in the cottage for you to prove it.”
Dean’s ears may or may not be pink on the short drive back, but if so, that’s between him and his husband.
…
Alternately, If It Hadn’t Happened When It Did.
“Did you tell him?”
“Shhh, Cas,” he hisses, finger already going to his own lips and stepping closer to Cas as if Sam will magically appear in the kitchen instead of the bathroom where he said he was headed to go shower. Dean glances into the hall to be sure.
“Dean – ”
“Look we – we’re not good at downtime, alright? We found a case and – ”
“Tell. Your brother. That you are married.”
Dean leans back and gives him a flat look. “I want you to replay that sentence one more time in your head and then you might figure out why it’s a little awkward to bring up.”
Cas’s look is long-suffering, well-deserved, and easily ignored.
-
Death offers to let Dean spend eternity on an alternate planet and it’s a raw deal but better than some of the alternatives.
Except. Well.
There’s Sam, on his knees, beautiful as anyone Dean’s ever met and promising he will never stop believing in him. Having perfect, constant faith in him, in a way Dean’s pretty sure he doesn’t deserve but craves anyway. And he can’t help but glance at his wrist, at Sam’s, and remember that his vows don’t really stop with Death, do they?
So what if Sammy doesn’t know they’re married – they are married as hell. Super married. He’s more than happy to kill Death and anything else to prove it too.
-
“You don’t… ever want something more?”
Dean’s palms start to sweat on the wheel. How did congratulating his brother on getting laid in the back seat turn into this conversation so quickly? “I’m sorry have you met us? We’re batting a whopping zero in domestic life, man. Goose eggs.”
Sammy doesn’t need that domestic life, does he? Dean’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to tell his brother he needs a divorce in order to settle down. He’s not even sure how that would work – they didn’t sign anything the first time. If Gadreel and dying and the Mark of Cain and being a demon didn’t divorce them, he’s really not sure what he can do for Sam to break the golden string attaching their wrists if Sammy ever needs him to.
“You don’t ever think about something?” Sam presses and Dean’s stomach gets tight. “Not marriage or whatever.” Oh, not marriage, huh? Not marriage? “But…something? You know, with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life?”
Oh jesus, does he know? Is that what this is? No sir, not gonna trap Dean into admitting he lied for going on two years now, not happening.
“Have you not heard a single word Bob's been singing about? You're tired. I can tell. You're exhausted. Well, I'm still wired, so I'm gonna pull over, get some gas.” A little too wired, babbling. Keeps going, deflects onto, “You hop in the back, get some Z's 'cause, buddy, you earned 'em. Proud of ya! Piper.” Distracts himself with that thought, “Mmm. Man, she smelled good, too.”
Sam’s look is long-suffering and Dean breathes easier. Whatever, so maybe Sam doesn’t know, and maybe the conversation wasn’t a trap. That’s fine. Dean didn’t just blow the best opportunity he’s had in a year to bring it up. It’s not even a big deal.
-
There’s a creature called a qareen who kills with a kiss and who appears as a person’s darkest desire. Dean’s honestly confused when it appears as Amara to him instead of Sam. And sure, Sam reassures him, but he spends the rest of the day pondering it, well into the night.
It’s not until he turns on his side in his bed, glances at his wrist and then across at Sammy in the other motel bed, wrist similarly outstretched, that he figures it out.
Of course it didn’t appear as Sam. That’s not deep or dark. Dean wanting to kiss his husband is a pretty natural and obvious thing, after all, not a hidden secret.
Which. Well, maybe he should mention that to Sam. Then again, maybe not.
-
They meet a couple of old retired hunters who argue like brothers until they say that no, they’re actually an old married couple.
A couple. A male couple of old married hunters.
Huh.
Sam shoots him glances the entire hunt and Dean ignores him and really, that’s fine. He’s like 90-10 on Sam having figured it out a while back. Maybe Cas told him. Hell, maybe Crowley told him ages ago, back when Dean was a demon, or when they were conspiring to get the Mark off his arm. Either way, he’s pretty sure Sam knows, and therefore there is no need to talk about it.
-
“And Dean?” Chuck says on Dean’s way toward the door. Dean sighs, turns. Who knew God would be so annoying? Also he resents that he’s pretty sure Chuck reads his thoughts, and if you’re listening right now –
“Just,” Chuck cuts him off. Or doesn’t, if he wasn’t listening. But if he was – “Tell your brother about the golden string at some point, would you? It’s getting weird, man.”
And this, Dean thinks loudly, is why he’s an atheist.
-
Look, there’s a time to tell your brother that he’s accidentally married to you, and a window of opportunity to bring it up, and eventually, that window passes and everyone just has to live with that fact (Chuck included).
So maybe Sam and Dean’s mom comes back from the dead and maybe Dean lets himself be distracted by that fact rather than think about Chuck’s admonishment or anything else. Whatever.
And sure, maybe there’s an Apocalypse World and maybe Sam says “if we die, we’ll do that together too” and maybe that makes him think about vow renewal ceremonies and Dean’s pretty sure now, like 99-1 odds, that Sam knows and is deciding not to talk about it either, and if so that’s between them.
And maybe Dean’s brother-husband dies in said Apocalypse World and maybe Dean intends to follow him into that dark and maybe he’s remembering that time when he and Sam were in maximum security off-the-grid prison and their hearts stopped at exactly the same time with the sense of wistful nostalgia normally reserved only for 90s cartoons on stupid online list articles, but hey that’s no one else’s business but his.
Whatever, they’re married, it’s not a big deal. Couples die together all the time, right? Probably a good thing Sam came back though, and he lets Dean look him over and stroke his face and hug him better and yeah, that works too.
And maybe, well, maybe when Dad appears for a day, for a family meal and not much longer, and tells Dean he wished for a family for him, and maybe Dean’s reply is too easy, too honest. “I have a family.”
Maybe later that night, when he takes a ride with his brother and finds out they fucked up the timeline and don’t get to have this, what slips out his mouth on the drive back is, “That timeline’s so dumb, we’re not even married.”
Which. Ah. Huh.
And maybe the look Sam gives him as he’s driving is nothing short of incredulous. “Now? You want to talk about this now?”
Bingo. Knew he’d figured it out. Dean swallows. “Actually, no. Let’s not.” Reaches for the radio and Sam bats his hand away, turns in his seat to face Dean. He refuses to pull over so they can have this conversation properly.
“You aren't talking about us being married to other people.”
“C’mon Sam,” sweat starting under his pits, back of his neck, “we’ve gotta get back to the bunker.”
“You’re the one who brought it up!”
“By accident!”
“Stop the car.”
Dammit. Dean does, pulls her over on the empty road that leads to the bunker. So close. So far. He breathes deep.
“C’mon.” Sam gets out. Dean follows him. Sam comes around Dean’s side of the car and Dean readies himself for the swing. Sam just stops in front of him, eyebrows raised. “So?”
Dean peers up at him, confused. Closes one eye to mock-think, fake-cringe at the expected punch that never came. “So?”
“So are we married or not?”
Crap. Okay. He exhales. “Yeah. Yeah, Sam. We’re uh – we’re married.” Sam’s eyebrows are in the stratosphere. “Have been for uh – like. Six years, give or take.”
He sees it click. “The church. The – the trials.” Dean nods. “We’ve been married since the trials?!”
Dean curls back a bit against the Impala’s door, cool comfort. “I… thought you knew? Or uh, figured it out. At some point.”
“I di – I mean, I sort of did. I – you said too many, there were hints.” Dean desperately wants to know what hints he dropped. They were not deliberate hints. “But no Dean I did not know we had been actually factually married for – wait a second.”
Uh oh.
“Married in whose eyes? Is this – was this marriage ordained by Hell?”
“No! No no, uh - not hell. Crowley was mostly human at the time and anyway, heaven’s on board.”
“Heaven’s on board.”
“Yeah, Gadreel – “ Sam’s expression goes flat “—and Cas! And uh, and Chuck. They all confirmed it.”
Wrong thing to say when Sam’s expression goes from pinched to pissed. “You talked… to the angel you stuffed in my skin, to Cas, and to God about our wedding before you talked to me?”
He opens and closes his mouth. Probably best not to mention the added conversations with Crowley. He doesn’t think Garth counts. Probably.
“If… if it makes you feel any better…” Sam shoots him a look and Dean plasters on a winning smile, “I made sure we got a honeymoon.”
“What. On earth. Are you talking about?”
“The… cottage, after I stopped being a demon.”
Sam looks at him like he’s insane. That’s probably fair. He paces for a minute, breathes deep, then turns to face Dean.
“Okay, this is how it’s going to go. One, you’re going to tell me everything. Two, we’re going to do things right, at least a little. No I don’t mean you get to start calling me your wife so don’t even ask.” Dean closes his mouth. “I mean we’re gonna sit down and decide if we want this and what being married means to us and then – implement whatever that is. And three.” He breathes out, looks nervous for the first time, squirrely expression that’s always out of place on a guy as big as Sam. “We’re gonna…”
Dean waits. And waits. Sam’s expression gets pinched. He turns his face and glares into the forest. “Gonna what, Sam?”
“Might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever said out loud.”
Oh Dean can’t wait. He’s not allowed to make fun, obviously. Maybe later, depending on how embarrassing it is. But not in this conversation, and he steels himself not to laugh in case it’s really bad.
“Three.” He sighs and seems to give up the fight with himself. “If we’re gonna stay married I want a proper ceremony. One where I’m not, y’know…”
“On the cusp of dying?”
“Yeah.”
And well, it might be dumb. And Dean might want to tease him into oblivion for it except that his own chest is tight and warm and overly fond. It’s… he’s been thinking of Sam as his for years (for forever). Has known he’s married to Sam and relished in that. But he never really let himself think that Sam might want to be married to him, might want to do it right, from ceremony to –
“Does this mean I get a proper wedding night?” Can’t help it, his impulse to flirt comes out and Dean grins lascivious. “I know you’re not wearing a white dress – ”
“Dean!”
“Hey I’m not complaining – about the white dress or the wedding night. I’ll even carry you over the threshold, sasquatch that you are – ”
“Oh my god – ”
“C’mon Sammy, I’m getting a kiss out of the deal at least, right? We can do the handfasting thing again if you want, don’t care about rings, but I’m not getting married a second time without a kiss from my bride.”
And that’s it, Sammy’s smiling now, cheeks with spots of color and tilting his head back to fight and hide his smile, looking up at the sky and shaking his head. Overly fond exasperation, it’s his best look. “You’re an idiot.”
“Yeah but guess what – I’m your idiot.”
“I guess that’s true.” A laugh and yeah, Dean’s salvaged this. That’s good, because he definitely didn’t want to drive back and face his folks with all the bad news and with a pissed off husband.
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Think we should tell the folks?”
Sam looks at him like he’s grown a second head, which – fair.
“Okay, no telling the folks.”
“Yeah no.”
Dean glances to the back seat, raises his eyebrows at Sam. “I mean – we might still have some time to kill. You uh, waiting for our next wedding night, or…?”
“Such an idiot,” Sam mutters, but all the same he slides into the back seat ahead of Dean. And well, he might make an honest man out of Dean yet.