[FIC] Father's Gun (82/?)
Title: Father's Gun
Authors: diana_lucifera & tersichore
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: Mature
Warnings: minor character death, mentions of torture, the slowest of burns, and excessive bed-sharing
Summary: After the events of "Brother's Blood," Sam and Dean are faced with teaming up with John to hunt the Yellow-Eyed Demon, all while keeping Sam's powers a secret and dodging their dad's questions about just why things between them are so... different.
Previous Chapter | Master Post
“Sam!” Dean struggles with his own seatbelt, throws open his door, and clamors to his feet. “What the hell?”
His brother stands on the other side of the car, his hands shoving through his hair. He gives an angry huff, stalks a few feet away toward the scrubby brush on the side of the road, then turns around.
“Look,” he says, “if you won’t face the fact that one or both of us could bite it ending this thing, I will. If you want to pick a fight instead of telling me what the hell it is that’s been eating you up inside, I’ll fight with you, Dean! I swear to God, I will!”
Dean glares at him across the shiny, black expanse of the Impala’s roof. The car is still running, “Purple Haze” providing a bizarre soundtrack to their little roadside pissing match. Dean wants to turn the car off, but he can’t fight the feeling that the second he takes his eyes off his brother, Sam will be gone.
“And if I don’t tell you, you’ll what?” Dean demands. “Walk away?”
Sam spreads his arms wide.
“Do you see me walking?” he asks. “Look, I’m going to Tuscaloosa. But if you want me to go alone, you’re gonna have to be the one to drive off and leave me standing here, because I’m not gonna do it. I don’t want- I can’t- I just can’t.”
“Seemed pretty ready to take off last night,” Dean reminds him.
Sam rolls his eyes.
“Leaving to protect you from me and leaving because you have your head shoved so far up your ass you could wear your own rib cage as a hat are two completely different things, Dean.”
“They both end up with you gone, though, don’t they?”
Sam squints against a gust of wind, shoves his bangs up out of his eyes.
“It’s not like I want to go,” he says quietly.
“Then why the hell do you keep makin’ for the door?” Dean argues. “Over and over again, Sammy.”
“This the fight you want to have, Dean? Really?”
Sam sounds so goddamn put upon, like he wants to end that sentence with ‘again?’ Well, why the hell not?
“Car’s pulled over,” Dean tosses back. “You got your broody shoulders on, dewy sensitive eyes up. Hate to let it all go to waste.”
Sam sighs heavily. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
“‘Cause it’s just- it’s not-” Dean makes a frustrated noise. Trust Sam to cut to the heart of the issue. “You don’t need to know.”
“I don’t need to know?” Sam repeats. “You know who you sound like, right?”
“Yeah, you think I don’t know that?” Dean snaps, bristling at the comparison. “But that and this... Sammy, you don’t want to know, man. You really don’t.”
Sam is quiet for a few moments. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet but very firm.
“Dean, last time you told me that it was about monsters being real. And you were right, I didn’t want to know. But I needed to.”
Dean almost wants to laugh. He looks away from Sam’s face to study the cracks in the asphalt.
“You don’t need to know this, trust me.”
“Come on, Dean,” Sam tries again. “For once, just this once, let me decide. Please.”
“Sam…”
“You know I’m gonna keep asking,” Sam argues, and Dean chuckles. Yeah, that he knows for damn sure.
“And you know you try to do somethin’ stupid when we square off against Yellow Eyes…” he says. “Well. You know I’m not just gonna let you, right?”
Sam crosses his arms.
“What, you gonna put me in Time Out?” he asks, tone aiming for light.
“Hey, I’m serious. Whatever it takes to to get us both through this. I gotta cuff you, knock you out, lock your ass in the trunk, I will. And if you make me drag your ass back from the great beyond to kick it, I’ll do it. Don’t you think for a second I won’t. It’s my turn anyway.”
“It is your turn,” Sam echoes warily.
“Damn straight,” he answers. “Seriously, I’m tellin’ you right now, Sammy, if you get caught up in this noble sacrifice, blaze of glory crap and put me through that, I am gonna be pissed.”
“I’m not…” Sam starts. He frowns, digging the toe of his boot into the dirt. “I’m not planning on doing anything dumb. All I’m saying is, this isn’t the time to be keeping secrets.”
“Your opinion’s been noted,” Dean says. “Now get your ass back in the car.”
“If you won’t tell me, I’m just gonna have to make it up,” Sam picks up, gives in but not up as he slides back into the car. Dean waits until he hears the sound of the seatbelt before he gets in the driver’s side.
“Make up what?”
“The thing you’re keeping from me,” Sam breezes, tone almost convincingly light. “If you don’t tell me, I’m just gonna have to make something up.”
“Come on, Sam…” Dean grumbles, squinting against the sun as he angles his baby off of the shoulder.
“You’ve never pulled a credit card scam in your life,” Sam guesses. “You and dad have been exotic dancing your way through ammo and car parts, and now I’ve got to start grinding on people. Waxing things. The real family business.”
“Hey, can’t let all this pretty go to waste.” Dean grins.
“Bobby called,” Sam tosses out, throwing Dean a wild card. “He and Ellen are giving up hunting to paint the junkyard pink and open a B&B.”
Dean snorts. “Well, he’s already got the waffle iron for it, and Ellen sure as hell knows her way around a doily.”
“Fair enough.” Sam nods with a reluctant half-smile, digging their journal from his laptop bag and running nervous fingers over the cover, tracing the cool, smooth black leather over and again as his eyes dart back to Dean.
“Dad called,” he ventures.
“Yeah, ‘cause he had a great fucking track record with that before I clocked him one and told him to lose our number.”
“He called,” Sam continued quietly, “because Yellow Eyes has been following the kids their entire lives. Keeping eyes on them. Plants around them. And Stanford, Jess, all of it-”
“Sammy, no.”
“Or he told you the kids are turning,” Sam continues. “That whatever I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be it soon. Or I’m already-”
“Sam,” Dean rasps, his throat working, feelings rise up and get swallowed down just as fast. “It’s not that, it’s not. I’d tell you-”
“No you wouldn’t, Dean!” Sam bursts out. “I know you wouldn’t! You didn’t! So how- how am I supposed to know? To know he didn’t call and say I’m changing? Or- or I’m something worse? Or I got someone else killed? Like Mom and Jess and Ash and that family weren’t enough.”
His voice breaks.
“I mean, Jesus, if it’s this bad, worse than all of that, so bad you won’t even tell me, even after everything, then what am I supposed to think, Dean? What is it? What could it possibly be? Something with the demon? Mom? Are we-”
He swallows hard.
“Are we even brothers?”
“Hey, hey. No,” Dean interrupts. He reaches out, fighting to keep his voice steady and fingers soothing as they find that place at the base of Sam’s neck. “Sam, Sammy, no, it’s not that. It’s not- it’s not any of that stuff. It’s not, I promise.”
“How can I trust that, Dean?” Sam breaks out. “You only ever get like this when it’s something big, something you know I’d be happier not knowing. What the hell am I supposed to do but keep at you until you spill it? Until you realize that no matter how much I might not want to know it, I need to?”
“You don’t need to,” Dean grinds out.
“Except I do, Dean!” Sam explodes. “I do, ‘cause we’re about to go up against something that knows all of it, every bit, and I can’t have him dump it on me again. I can’t! I can’t walk into this knowing one of us might not walk out, might be gone, forever, and leave this, whatever the hell it is, left unsaid. And I know you, Dean. I know you’re not telling me ‘cause you think it’ll hurt or that I can’t take it, but believe me, not knowing is worse. All I can do is sit here and think of worse and worse crap that it could be, and considering the bar for that crap is set at ‘you’re the completely literal and non-metaphorical antichrist,’ the blanks I’m having to fill in here are pretty horrifying, so for the love of God, Dean, just put me out of my misery and tell me already! I promise, at this point, no matter what it is, it’s not gonna be worse than some of the stuff I’m coming up with.”
“Sam…” Dean starts.
“Do you trust me?” Sam cuts him off sharply.
Dean sighs. “Come on, Sam.”
“No, I mean it,” Sam cuts him off sharply. “We’re driving halfway across the country to find the thing that got Mom and Jess and shoot it in the fucking face. We got no plan, no backup, nothing but you and me and this. This and what it’s all goddamn leading to, and I am asking you, man: Yes or no? Do you trust you and me and everything we have ever been through to be- to be more than whatever the hell it is that you know and I don’t? To outweigh whatever you’ve got in you that’s so awful that you would rather go in the ground and let me eat myself alive with the million things it could be than just- just come out with it?”
Dean lets out a low, bleak laugh. If possible, Sam looks even more concerned.
“Come on, Dean,” he begs. “Please.”
“God, you’re really not gonna drop this?” Dean asks, fingers digging into the steering wheel.
“I can’t, Dean.”
“Fine,” Dean exhales. “Fine, fine, fine. But you asked for it, got it?”
Sam blinks in surprise. He readjusts himself so he can peer into Dean’s face, his face screwed up expectantly.
“Okay,” he says seriously.
Dean clears his throat. “All right. So, I might kinda be gay. Not like, gay-gay, but sometimes. Like, half-ish. Every now and then.”
Sam is quiet for a long moment.
“Bullshit.”
“Dude, seriously? I come out to you and I get ‘bullshit?!’ Where’s the fucking kindness? Where’s the Dewey, sensitive goddamn understanding?”
“That’s not it,” Sam dismisses. “Be serious, Dean.”
“I am serious!” Dean protests. “I’m seriously not against the idea of trying out getting some dick!”
Sam snorts inelegantly. “Yeah, okay.”
“Don’t be all, ‘yeah, okay’ like ‘yeah, okay,’” Dean snaps. “You wanted to know what the fuck was going on, I’m telling you. I think I might like dudes so... there.”
“Since when?” Sam challenges skeptically.
“Since none of your business!” Dean snaps. “And what the hell?! I didn’t call you a liar and give your ass the third degree when you came clean about flying the rainbow flag!”
“That’s because you dragged my last hookup out of me dick first and put a gun to his head, Dean!” Sam snaps. “It was kind of hard to miss at that point, and a little bit more definite than ‘kind of sort of maybe wanting to try it some time.’”
“So what, you’re not gonna believe me until you catch me balls deep in some asshole-?”
“That’s not what I’m saying, Dean!” Sam interrupts, his face going red.
“Then what are you saying?” Dean challenges. “You’re allowed to be gay, but I’m not? What the hell kinda rules are those, Sam? I can be as gay as I wanna be. Way gayer than you. And by the way, who made you king of the gays? I mean, Jesus Christ. Excuse me, Gay Hitler, I didn’t know I needed to go through you for which set of junk I jack off to! Is there an application? I gotta get my credit score and three references to wanna blow a guy, or is that shit in the trial membership? Sorry, didn’t knowing only Ivy League know-it-alls could like dick! Whatever. I think you’re gay racist.”
“Dean, I am not gay racist!”
“Then why won’t you believe me?”
“Because it doesn’t make sense!” Sam exclaims. “If it were just that you liked guys, why hide it from me? Why all the secrets and denial and keeping it all boxed up like it was the next fucked up revelation about our fucked up lives? You know I’m into guys. You know I’m fine with it. Why not tell me if you were the same way? What’s the big deal? Where’s the big fucked-up awfulness that demands you completely shut off from me if, if it’s just this?”
“Well, God, you tell me, Sam! What had you so freaked out when I found out?”
Sam stares at him for another long moment, his mouth set in a thin line. He shakes his head.
“No, I don’t buy it. Not if you still look like this, even after you’ve told me. Not if it took all this to make it come out in the first place.”
“What?”
“If you really figured out guys did it for you just as well as girls did, it’d be as simple as that,” Sam explains. “‘Guys, too? Huh. Okay.’ That’d be it. And maybe I’d find out, maybe I wouldn’t. Either way, no big deal. You know I go both ways, know I don’t judge, know there’d be no problem there. So if whatever it is still has you looking like you did every single time I asked where Dad went all day, every single time I asked why we had to move so much, or why you and dad were so serious in Manning, I’m gonna call bullshit. It’s different. I know it’s different.”
“Not that different,” Dean says grimly.
“So it is about me.”
Dean starts. “What?!”
“God, you do this; you always do this!” Sam exclaims, rubbing at his forehead. “And with the big gay smokescreen-”
“Hey, I am not smokescreen gay,” Dean protests. “I am real gay! Legitimately turned on by dick gay, right here! So it’s not like-”
“Like what?” Sam asks acerbically. “Like you didn’t just fake come out of the closet to distract me from whatever the hell is wrong with me this time?! Which, way to set gay rights back twenty years, Dean! Thanks for that!”
Dean groans. “Oh, my god.”
“What?” Sam exclaims. “What? What is it that is so bad-”
“I’m gay for you, you big dumb retard!!” Dean exclaims before he can stop himself. “There, are you happy?!”
Chapter 83
Authors: diana_lucifera & tersichore
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: Mature
Warnings: minor character death, mentions of torture, the slowest of burns, and excessive bed-sharing
Summary: After the events of "Brother's Blood," Sam and Dean are faced with teaming up with John to hunt the Yellow-Eyed Demon, all while keeping Sam's powers a secret and dodging their dad's questions about just why things between them are so... different.
Previous Chapter | Master Post
“Sam!” Dean struggles with his own seatbelt, throws open his door, and clamors to his feet. “What the hell?”
His brother stands on the other side of the car, his hands shoving through his hair. He gives an angry huff, stalks a few feet away toward the scrubby brush on the side of the road, then turns around.
“Look,” he says, “if you won’t face the fact that one or both of us could bite it ending this thing, I will. If you want to pick a fight instead of telling me what the hell it is that’s been eating you up inside, I’ll fight with you, Dean! I swear to God, I will!”
Dean glares at him across the shiny, black expanse of the Impala’s roof. The car is still running, “Purple Haze” providing a bizarre soundtrack to their little roadside pissing match. Dean wants to turn the car off, but he can’t fight the feeling that the second he takes his eyes off his brother, Sam will be gone.
“And if I don’t tell you, you’ll what?” Dean demands. “Walk away?”
Sam spreads his arms wide.
“Do you see me walking?” he asks. “Look, I’m going to Tuscaloosa. But if you want me to go alone, you’re gonna have to be the one to drive off and leave me standing here, because I’m not gonna do it. I don’t want- I can’t- I just can’t.”
“Seemed pretty ready to take off last night,” Dean reminds him.
Sam rolls his eyes.
“Leaving to protect you from me and leaving because you have your head shoved so far up your ass you could wear your own rib cage as a hat are two completely different things, Dean.”
“They both end up with you gone, though, don’t they?”
Sam squints against a gust of wind, shoves his bangs up out of his eyes.
“It’s not like I want to go,” he says quietly.
“Then why the hell do you keep makin’ for the door?” Dean argues. “Over and over again, Sammy.”
“This the fight you want to have, Dean? Really?”
Sam sounds so goddamn put upon, like he wants to end that sentence with ‘again?’ Well, why the hell not?
“Car’s pulled over,” Dean tosses back. “You got your broody shoulders on, dewy sensitive eyes up. Hate to let it all go to waste.”
Sam sighs heavily. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
“‘Cause it’s just- it’s not-” Dean makes a frustrated noise. Trust Sam to cut to the heart of the issue. “You don’t need to know.”
“I don’t need to know?” Sam repeats. “You know who you sound like, right?”
“Yeah, you think I don’t know that?” Dean snaps, bristling at the comparison. “But that and this... Sammy, you don’t want to know, man. You really don’t.”
Sam is quiet for a few moments. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet but very firm.
“Dean, last time you told me that it was about monsters being real. And you were right, I didn’t want to know. But I needed to.”
Dean almost wants to laugh. He looks away from Sam’s face to study the cracks in the asphalt.
“You don’t need to know this, trust me.”
“Come on, Dean,” Sam tries again. “For once, just this once, let me decide. Please.”
“Sam…”
“You know I’m gonna keep asking,” Sam argues, and Dean chuckles. Yeah, that he knows for damn sure.
“And you know you try to do somethin’ stupid when we square off against Yellow Eyes…” he says. “Well. You know I’m not just gonna let you, right?”
Sam crosses his arms.
“What, you gonna put me in Time Out?” he asks, tone aiming for light.
“Hey, I’m serious. Whatever it takes to to get us both through this. I gotta cuff you, knock you out, lock your ass in the trunk, I will. And if you make me drag your ass back from the great beyond to kick it, I’ll do it. Don’t you think for a second I won’t. It’s my turn anyway.”
“It is your turn,” Sam echoes warily.
“Damn straight,” he answers. “Seriously, I’m tellin’ you right now, Sammy, if you get caught up in this noble sacrifice, blaze of glory crap and put me through that, I am gonna be pissed.”
“I’m not…” Sam starts. He frowns, digging the toe of his boot into the dirt. “I’m not planning on doing anything dumb. All I’m saying is, this isn’t the time to be keeping secrets.”
“Your opinion’s been noted,” Dean says. “Now get your ass back in the car.”
“If you won’t tell me, I’m just gonna have to make it up,” Sam picks up, gives in but not up as he slides back into the car. Dean waits until he hears the sound of the seatbelt before he gets in the driver’s side.
“Make up what?”
“The thing you’re keeping from me,” Sam breezes, tone almost convincingly light. “If you don’t tell me, I’m just gonna have to make something up.”
“Come on, Sam…” Dean grumbles, squinting against the sun as he angles his baby off of the shoulder.
“You’ve never pulled a credit card scam in your life,” Sam guesses. “You and dad have been exotic dancing your way through ammo and car parts, and now I’ve got to start grinding on people. Waxing things. The real family business.”
“Hey, can’t let all this pretty go to waste.” Dean grins.
“Bobby called,” Sam tosses out, throwing Dean a wild card. “He and Ellen are giving up hunting to paint the junkyard pink and open a B&B.”
Dean snorts. “Well, he’s already got the waffle iron for it, and Ellen sure as hell knows her way around a doily.”
“Fair enough.” Sam nods with a reluctant half-smile, digging their journal from his laptop bag and running nervous fingers over the cover, tracing the cool, smooth black leather over and again as his eyes dart back to Dean.
“Dad called,” he ventures.
“Yeah, ‘cause he had a great fucking track record with that before I clocked him one and told him to lose our number.”
“He called,” Sam continued quietly, “because Yellow Eyes has been following the kids their entire lives. Keeping eyes on them. Plants around them. And Stanford, Jess, all of it-”
“Sammy, no.”
“Or he told you the kids are turning,” Sam continues. “That whatever I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be it soon. Or I’m already-”
“Sam,” Dean rasps, his throat working, feelings rise up and get swallowed down just as fast. “It’s not that, it’s not. I’d tell you-”
“No you wouldn’t, Dean!” Sam bursts out. “I know you wouldn’t! You didn’t! So how- how am I supposed to know? To know he didn’t call and say I’m changing? Or- or I’m something worse? Or I got someone else killed? Like Mom and Jess and Ash and that family weren’t enough.”
His voice breaks.
“I mean, Jesus, if it’s this bad, worse than all of that, so bad you won’t even tell me, even after everything, then what am I supposed to think, Dean? What is it? What could it possibly be? Something with the demon? Mom? Are we-”
He swallows hard.
“Are we even brothers?”
“Hey, hey. No,” Dean interrupts. He reaches out, fighting to keep his voice steady and fingers soothing as they find that place at the base of Sam’s neck. “Sam, Sammy, no, it’s not that. It’s not- it’s not any of that stuff. It’s not, I promise.”
“How can I trust that, Dean?” Sam breaks out. “You only ever get like this when it’s something big, something you know I’d be happier not knowing. What the hell am I supposed to do but keep at you until you spill it? Until you realize that no matter how much I might not want to know it, I need to?”
“You don’t need to,” Dean grinds out.
“Except I do, Dean!” Sam explodes. “I do, ‘cause we’re about to go up against something that knows all of it, every bit, and I can’t have him dump it on me again. I can’t! I can’t walk into this knowing one of us might not walk out, might be gone, forever, and leave this, whatever the hell it is, left unsaid. And I know you, Dean. I know you’re not telling me ‘cause you think it’ll hurt or that I can’t take it, but believe me, not knowing is worse. All I can do is sit here and think of worse and worse crap that it could be, and considering the bar for that crap is set at ‘you’re the completely literal and non-metaphorical antichrist,’ the blanks I’m having to fill in here are pretty horrifying, so for the love of God, Dean, just put me out of my misery and tell me already! I promise, at this point, no matter what it is, it’s not gonna be worse than some of the stuff I’m coming up with.”
“Sam…” Dean starts.
“Do you trust me?” Sam cuts him off sharply.
Dean sighs. “Come on, Sam.”
“No, I mean it,” Sam cuts him off sharply. “We’re driving halfway across the country to find the thing that got Mom and Jess and shoot it in the fucking face. We got no plan, no backup, nothing but you and me and this. This and what it’s all goddamn leading to, and I am asking you, man: Yes or no? Do you trust you and me and everything we have ever been through to be- to be more than whatever the hell it is that you know and I don’t? To outweigh whatever you’ve got in you that’s so awful that you would rather go in the ground and let me eat myself alive with the million things it could be than just- just come out with it?”
Dean lets out a low, bleak laugh. If possible, Sam looks even more concerned.
“Come on, Dean,” he begs. “Please.”
“God, you’re really not gonna drop this?” Dean asks, fingers digging into the steering wheel.
“I can’t, Dean.”
“Fine,” Dean exhales. “Fine, fine, fine. But you asked for it, got it?”
Sam blinks in surprise. He readjusts himself so he can peer into Dean’s face, his face screwed up expectantly.
“Okay,” he says seriously.
Dean clears his throat. “All right. So, I might kinda be gay. Not like, gay-gay, but sometimes. Like, half-ish. Every now and then.”
Sam is quiet for a long moment.
“Bullshit.”
“Dude, seriously? I come out to you and I get ‘bullshit?!’ Where’s the fucking kindness? Where’s the Dewey, sensitive goddamn understanding?”
“That’s not it,” Sam dismisses. “Be serious, Dean.”
“I am serious!” Dean protests. “I’m seriously not against the idea of trying out getting some dick!”
Sam snorts inelegantly. “Yeah, okay.”
“Don’t be all, ‘yeah, okay’ like ‘yeah, okay,’” Dean snaps. “You wanted to know what the fuck was going on, I’m telling you. I think I might like dudes so... there.”
“Since when?” Sam challenges skeptically.
“Since none of your business!” Dean snaps. “And what the hell?! I didn’t call you a liar and give your ass the third degree when you came clean about flying the rainbow flag!”
“That’s because you dragged my last hookup out of me dick first and put a gun to his head, Dean!” Sam snaps. “It was kind of hard to miss at that point, and a little bit more definite than ‘kind of sort of maybe wanting to try it some time.’”
“So what, you’re not gonna believe me until you catch me balls deep in some asshole-?”
“That’s not what I’m saying, Dean!” Sam interrupts, his face going red.
“Then what are you saying?” Dean challenges. “You’re allowed to be gay, but I’m not? What the hell kinda rules are those, Sam? I can be as gay as I wanna be. Way gayer than you. And by the way, who made you king of the gays? I mean, Jesus Christ. Excuse me, Gay Hitler, I didn’t know I needed to go through you for which set of junk I jack off to! Is there an application? I gotta get my credit score and three references to wanna blow a guy, or is that shit in the trial membership? Sorry, didn’t knowing only Ivy League know-it-alls could like dick! Whatever. I think you’re gay racist.”
“Dean, I am not gay racist!”
“Then why won’t you believe me?”
“Because it doesn’t make sense!” Sam exclaims. “If it were just that you liked guys, why hide it from me? Why all the secrets and denial and keeping it all boxed up like it was the next fucked up revelation about our fucked up lives? You know I’m into guys. You know I’m fine with it. Why not tell me if you were the same way? What’s the big deal? Where’s the big fucked-up awfulness that demands you completely shut off from me if, if it’s just this?”
“Well, God, you tell me, Sam! What had you so freaked out when I found out?”
Sam stares at him for another long moment, his mouth set in a thin line. He shakes his head.
“No, I don’t buy it. Not if you still look like this, even after you’ve told me. Not if it took all this to make it come out in the first place.”
“What?”
“If you really figured out guys did it for you just as well as girls did, it’d be as simple as that,” Sam explains. “‘Guys, too? Huh. Okay.’ That’d be it. And maybe I’d find out, maybe I wouldn’t. Either way, no big deal. You know I go both ways, know I don’t judge, know there’d be no problem there. So if whatever it is still has you looking like you did every single time I asked where Dad went all day, every single time I asked why we had to move so much, or why you and dad were so serious in Manning, I’m gonna call bullshit. It’s different. I know it’s different.”
“Not that different,” Dean says grimly.
“So it is about me.”
Dean starts. “What?!”
“God, you do this; you always do this!” Sam exclaims, rubbing at his forehead. “And with the big gay smokescreen-”
“Hey, I am not smokescreen gay,” Dean protests. “I am real gay! Legitimately turned on by dick gay, right here! So it’s not like-”
“Like what?” Sam asks acerbically. “Like you didn’t just fake come out of the closet to distract me from whatever the hell is wrong with me this time?! Which, way to set gay rights back twenty years, Dean! Thanks for that!”
Dean groans. “Oh, my god.”
“What?” Sam exclaims. “What? What is it that is so bad-”
“I’m gay for you, you big dumb retard!!” Dean exclaims before he can stop himself. “There, are you happy?!”
Chapter 83