Chapter Text
Dean wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and places his beer bottle back on the table. a bead of condensation slides down the glass and drips on to the wood. The beer is some shit kind the bar had-- not that there are any good kinds of beer in Dean's humble opinion, at this point he just drinks ‘em out of habit-- and the label is already peeling away where Dean has been picking at it. He's been a wreck since he got here and it's only getting worse by the minute, but he said he would do it and so here he is.
Sam is sitting in front of him, laptop open, same shit beer sitting open and half full. Even after the apocalypse, dude can't take a break. And Dean is proud of him, proud of his nerdy little brother who saved the world, and now is working to make it a better place. Sam and Eileen are taking over where Bobby left off, making a network for hunters and supernatural beings alike. Making sure nobody has to go through what the Winchesters have.
Dean's so fucking proud but he also knows that he's at the end of his rope here. He's been hunting for a long time, longer than most, and has seen more than his fair share of apocalypses. Dean's exhausted, and now that he's writing his own story, he finds himself wanting that apple pie life more and more. He wants his own house, outside of the bunker. Maybe a job, one that doesn't involve killing things. Dean wants a life, he's waited forty-five years for it and it scares him more than anything. Dean wants a life and he knows exactly who he wants to share it with.
Which brings him here, sitting in some seedy bar in Kansas with shitty beer.
"You alright dude?" Sam asks, not bothering to glance upward as he's typing.
“Yeah, fine"
Sam glances up at him. "You sure? You look constipated"
"Shut up bitch, I'm thinking" Dean says while rolling his eyes. He takes a gulp of liquid courage.
Sam shrugs his shoulders and goes back to his computer. A minute passes, then another, and god damnit he can't take this anymore.
"Sam, I'm bisexual" Dean says, and even he's surprised as the words leave his mouth. He hears Sam close his laptop, Dean's not looking at him, instead opting to fiddle with the label on the bottle between his hands.
"Dean?" Sam asks, and he knows Sam is wearing those puppy eyes of his, he can practically hear them.
" I like chicks, dudes too sometimes," Dean stumbles through his words. "I usually go for chicks more but yeah"
"Um wow, are you sure?"
"Pretty fucking sure, man"
"Alright, uh thanks for telling me. I love you, you know that, you're my brother"
Dean finally looks up at his brother, and Sam is giving him a small smile. Not anger or disapproval, so better than Dean had thought. Not that he thought Sam would get angry, the kid took some college classes, had to at least be a bit open minded, but Murphy's law always seemed to rear its ugly head in the Winchesters lives, so Dean prepared for something akin to the end of the world.
"Yeah I've been keeping it under wraps for 45 years, might as well let the cat outta the bag or whatever." Dean takes another swig of beer and it burns his throat going down.
"Why didn't you say something sooner?" Sam asks, and all at once Dean feels like a kid again, watching over his baby brother who's asking why Dad isn't back yet.
"You've seen what Dad was like, like hell I was gonna put myself under more fire. Then he died and I didn't really see the point in talking about it, never really had lasting relationships anyway. But now it matters, because uh…" Dean trails off. He's been brave enough to start the conversation but fuck is the rest of the trail an uphill battle.,"I thought this wouldn’t be so fucking hard"
"Take your time, it's fine dude," Sam says, and he's trying to be reassuring, Dean knows he is but it feels like pity and that is not what he needs right now.
"I took my time. I took 6 fucking months since chuck kicked the bucket. I spent 12 fucking years doing nothing. Held my tongue my whole life. I'm tired man. And now that we write our own story, I know what I want, who I want," Dean is speaking with a bite now, and he's not actually angry at Sam, but he's furious at himself, and if pseudo-anger is the only way he'll get this out then so be it. Sam doesn't say anything, just nods slightly, and so Dean continues.
"When Billie was coming after us, me and Cas got trapped in the dungeon. It was bad, there was no way out, and I thought we were gonna die. Then he starts talking about this deal he struck with the Empty, to save Jack. Cas would die when he reached a moment of true happiness and fuck maybe I'm a horrible friend for not realizing he wasn't happy but he started talking about how the one thing he wanted was something he couldn't have."
Dean pauses for a moment and breathes in. He speaks quietly, with a shaky voice and shaky hands. "He said he loved me. That he was in love with me. At least I think he meant in love. Son of a bitch told me he loved me and I stood there like an idiot, didn't even say it back, let him die thinking didn't have me."
A silence falls between them, thick and heavy and Dean feels like he can't breathe. He hasn't said the words out loud to anyone besides the guns in his room, and even then it was barely a whisper. Now that he has it feels real, it feels serious, he can run away anymore. Dean reaches for the bottle, a familiar habit to fall back on when his comfort zone is miles in the other direction. Sam drags his fingers along the grain of the table, his drink is still half full.
"And does he?" Sam asks finally, "have you, I mean?"
Dean swallows, and it feels like both a relief and a pressure on his chest when he replies "yeah, yeah he does. I think he has for a long time, Sammy."
"Have you told him yet? Since he got back from the empty?"
"No, but I'm trying. Can't let him die again without knowing he's loved" Dean lets out a shadow of a laugh, "Can't let him die again period"
"You should tell him," Sam takes his bottle of beer and swirls it around a bit. "You deserve to be happy Dean, and if Cas makes you happy, which I know that he does, you should tell him."
"I will, Sammy, I will." Dean says, and a breath comes out that he didn't realize he had been holding. He came out to his brother, told him that he was in love with their best friend, told him that he wanted a future that didn't look like the one their dad planned for them, and he's still here.
He's still here, not in hell, not in the empty, not being forced to repent for the sin of wanting. And it feels great, it fucking feels amazing. He can’t help but smile into his beer now, and he thinks that maybe he does see what Cas means about how it feels great just saying it. But fuck if Dean's not a selfish son of a bitch, wanting and wanting and never letting go.