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“No.”
Sam rolled his eyes. Good old predictable Dean. “He wasn’t asking you, dumbass, he was asking me. You don’t get to answer for me.”
“Sam, he just asked you to marry him for real. I put up with the fake marriage bullshit you needed to do to get undercover in that cult, because the only other choice was to pretend to be married to one of you myself, but that’s over. We took down that third-rate dime-store pagan god. It’s over, you two can stop pretending to be in love, and we can all get on with our lives without the idiocy of the last three weeks.”
That had, admittedly, been what Sam was expecting. No more having to remind himself that Mick was just pretending when he said “I love you.” No more kissing, no more casual touches that left Sam’s skin tingling for hours afterward. No more close quarters and sharing a bed and being hyperaware of every little movement. No more wishing that this could last forever and feeling guilty because that would mean the pagan god they were after was still causing chaos.
Instead, after they had finished the official debrief and returned to the bunker, Mick had followed them in. He’d asked to speak to Sam, and then gotten down on one knee. That’s when Dean had gone off.
“Technically, I didn’t, because you didn’t let me say a word,” Mick interrupted, with perhaps more forthrightness than sense of timing. “However, Sam’s right. This is his call to make, not yours.”
“And I want to at least hear him out,” Sam said. “Shut up. Go away if you have to. Go to Hell if that’s what it takes for you not to ruin this for me.”
Dean shot him a freaked-out look at the choice of words, but crossed his arms and settled for a glare. Mick took that as permission to go on. “Sam, these past few weeks… I’ll admit, I chose you over Dean to ask merely because I thought you’d be the one who would be more likely to agree to it. However, I believe you and I share a kinship of sorts. I was initially very worried about my acting skills, but as time went by… I stopped needing them. I realize that for you, it was likely all an act, and that I’m about to get rejected quite properly, but in our line of work, you have to take risks. Hesitation can kill you. So I’m taking the risk and not hesitating to ask: will you marry me, for real? Allow me to love you in earnest?”
Sam risked a glance over at Dean, who was torn between gagging at the chick flick moment, glaring at Mick on general principles, and laughing at the absurdity of it. It was almost enough to make him laugh himself, but he refused to do it. “I stopped acting a while back, myself,” he told Mick. “I fell in love for real, and you’re right. Hesitation kills. Yes, Mick. I will marry you for real.”