After driving two hours to Dean’s place and hightailing it straight back, Sam leaves the car parked in the drive way and he rushes inside, going straight for the scotch in the cupboard. Eileen frowns at him. “Dean’s that bad?” she asks in a concerned tone.
He holds up a finger and guzzles some more of his drink. There’s no way he can handle this sober. He wants to … pitch a fit. How could Dean do this? How could he never have said anything?
“Sam, what’s wrong?” Eileen cups his face trying to steady his frantic movements.
Sam rests the bottle of whiskey to his side. “I think my brother is fucking an angel.”
ELEVEN HOURS EARLIER
Sam smiles as Eileen sets the eggs out in front of him. It took a bit for him to get accustomed to having someone other than Dean cooking for him, it’s enough for him though. What he has now, with Eileen.
The big bads are defeated and Sam no longer feels like the world is his responsibility.
Things are different now though. It’s strange to be so far from Dean all the time. Him and his brother have spent most of their lives together. In the same car, the same motel rooms and eventually the bunker. At first he felt as though he lost an arm and a leg, but Dean had been insistent. Saying that he wants to make his own life… a life that doesn’t infringe on Sam’s. He doesn’t understand why Dean had decided to move almost a hundred miles away when there were almost three empty houses right on Sam’s street.
He wonders what Dean is up to now? How he’s surviving. He knows that Dean is making his own music now. He also knows that Dean is trying out the college thing and starting up his own business. He’s proud of his brother. He’s happy that Dean is finally letting himself be and want. Most of all, he’s happy that Dean is finally taking the time to take care of himself.
“Aren’t you going to see Dean today?” Eileen asks, signing as she goes along.
‘Yes.’ Sam sings back. ‘Just let me finish breakfast before you rush me out of the house.’
The brightness shines even though Dean’s eyelids. He cracks them open with a groan, reaching out to the other side of the rumpled bed. It’s not hard to tell that happened there last night. If that isn’t enough, the pair of panties he trips over on the way to his bathroom make it glaringly obvious.
Dean stumbles into the shower, scoffing at the lavender, flowery shampoo shit that’s spilling out onto the floor. He remembers knocking it over last night, but he’d been too lost in the moment to care.
Chuckling to himself, Dean snatches the panties off the ground and heads out onto the vendetta. He throws his arms around the love of his life and waves the panties around. “You almost killed me with your underwear this morning.” He teases. “That would’ve been a sexy way to die.”
It feels dumb to say, but Dean is in love. Head over heels. It feels strange, being in an almost constant state of bliss.
His only worry is: what will Sammy think.
Sam doesn’t know Dean’s house number, but if it isn’t the one with the Impala in the driveway, then he deserves whatever lawsuit comes his way.
He doesn’t bother with a key, instead choosing to pick the lock. He half wonders he’s in the wrong place. This one isn’t very ‘Dean.’ First of all, it gives him the white picket fence and apple pie life. Something that Dean was always very adamant about avoiding.
When he sees the bacon on the table and the pie in the fridge, he’s pretty sure that this is Dean’s place. He makes his way past the coat rack then almost tumbles back down the stairs as the visuals from his eyes finally filter back to his brain.
Why does Dean have a trench-coat? Maybe it’s because he misses Cass? He hasn’t heard much from Cass since they all went their separate ways. Sam figures that he’d at least keep in contact with Dean given their… profound bond and lingering stares.
Sam shakes off the discomfort and makes his way up the stairs. He finds the bedroom easily and he laugh as he feels the memory foam beneath his fingers. And Dean insists he isn’t sentimental. He sees Dean’s work scattered across the night table and he fingers his brother’s notes. Dean seems like he’s really trying with this. And if he ‘A’ on the paper at the top of the pile says anything, then Dean is succeeding.
He hears laughing coming from the porch and Sam raises a brow at he takes in the state of the bed and the clothes littering the floor. Since when does Dean wear so many layers? He spots the bottle of lube and condom wrappers on the floor and shudders in disgust. That’s enough of Dean’s bedroom for now.
Sam wants to be a good little brother and scare the shit out of Dean and whichever chick he brought home, so he sneaks up to the glass door as quietly as he can and peeks outside.
“You know those are yours Dean.” The gruff baritone voice just makes Dean laugh harder.
“C’mon Cass. You know you like them.”
Sam, in disbelief shifts to get a better view; he finds the angel blushing. “I can’t argue with that.”
Dean perches on the edge of his chair. “How bout breakfast Cass?” he pouts. “Make me some coffee?”
Dean is sitting in Cass’ lap and laughing and waving a pair of silky panties in his face.
Sam flees, bolting down the stairs and past the trench-coat on the coat rack.
He shuts the car door and peels out of the drive way, guilt eating away at him.
How many years had this been going on right under his nose. Dean – Dean always acted different around Cass, but Sam just chocked that up to gratitude… friendship… literally anything else. He remembers how insensitive he’d been to Dean, all those times after Cass died. It makes him sick.
But at least they’re happy. Even if Dean doesn’t think he can tell him yet. At least they’re happy.
“Where’s Sam?” Castiel asks.