fic: Master of Two Worlds [SPN, Dean/Cas (implied), Dean/OMC]
Title: Master of Two Worlds
Author: littlehollyleaf
Pairing/Characters: Sam, Dean. Dean/Cas. Dean/OMC.
Spoilers: up to and including 7.23
Category: um… romance(ish), character study
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~2800
Summary: Dean’s been acting differently since he got out of Purgatory. Sam’s starting to think this might not actually be a bad thing…
Author’s Note: So I don’t write anything for ages, then the first thing I do is only Dean/Cas in the loosest sense. Hmmm… Basically, this is about Dean. Because as much as Purgatory is the perfect set-up for Dean/Cas, it is, I think, first and foremost DEAN’S story. This is about how I hope Purgatory will help him (and how Cas in Purgatory will help him, of course ;p).
It also maybe has (ooops!) some Wincest vibes, all of which were entirely accidental (and so canonical, I suppose :p). Trust me, I’m as surprised as you are! If you have a squick you should be fine though, it’s not THAT strong.
Title is from Campbell’s Hero Journey. Not because I’m a fan or because I think SPN follows it particularly (in fact I think it rather spectacularly DOESN’T). But because of all the stages in it the Return is the one our boys have struggled to reach the most IMO, and since Sam and Cas sort of did, incredibly, manage it in S07 it made me sadder for Dean than I usually am. So here you go bb, it’s your turn.
Master of Two Worlds
Having Dean back is nothing short of a miracle.
But miracles are par for the course for Winchesters.
Ecstatic as Sam is, as both of them are, over this latest impossible reunion, it feels like there's a caption under the whole situation reading 'here we go again.' Seriously, anyone else would need months to settle back into routine after the shock, but for them two weeks and counting seem to have been ample. More than anything it's all been remarkably familiar.
So here they are. Hunting. Joking around. Following leads on Crowley-most of them as stone cold as when Sam had been forced to leave them all those months ago, but you never know.
Family business as usual.
Which is precisely why Sam doesn't trust it. Why he catches himself holding his breath sometimes, waiting for the inevitable other shoe to start its descent.
Because it's been too easy, surely?
And if anything Dean seems happier now. More sure of himself-of his instincts and reactions, strengths and weaknesses. When they plan a job these days he'll pick out roles for himself-information gatherer, monster dispatcher, even bait-with a certainty that says he's weighed the pros and cons and determined his suitability without a doubt. Yet the overconfident-or insecure-arrogance Sam remembers is gone. Oh, Dean's still cocky. He'll still smirk and wink and crack a joke about his awesomeness. He's still Dean. But if Sam argues he can do something better Dean steps aside now, even letting Sam take the lead sometimes, letting him hunt alone if he has to while Dean drives ahead to another job the next state over.
It's trust, Sam realises with a jolt, finishing up a solo salt and burn and getting ready to hitch a ride down to Montana where Dean's waiting for him. A trust Sam didn't even know was missing between them until faced with this gratifying sense of having it. Or, no, not trust, faith. Faith not just in Sam and his abilities, but in himself and his own. It's Dean knowing what he can and can't do and not being ashamed of either, not being afraid to strike out on his own and do his own thing.
That's different. That's huge. But it's not... wrong.
Okay. So, maybe he's being paranoid. Maybe there is no other shoe.
Things don't feel off between them, after all, like separation has so often left them.
Maybe it's not that they've grown apart this past year. They've just... grown.
And is that so surprising? It is different this time. This last year wasn't some fucked up otherworldly torture, it was an honest, hard-working, lived-through year. It was real in a way Hell and its ever-changing landscape and shifting times had never been. Even in Purgatory time had been linear, Dean said. Morning, noon and night. Days, weeks, months. Just like home, only with more teeth and less Johnny Walker he'd grinned when Sam asked.
It's changed them, this year, of course it has.
But it hasn't broken them.
Maybe, Sam thinks, heading through the bustle of the bar where Dean said they should meet, maybe it's fixed them.
Stranger things have happened.
***
Dean isn't there.
It says something that Sam isn't worried about this. He's not sure what exactly-a sign of maturity, he hopes, and not a loss of empathy. But there's easy logic to fall back on to prevent inner turmoil over it. He's half an hour early. His brother probably hasn't arrived yet.
Sam pulls out his phone, but raucous laughter from a party to his left and animated 'debate' from a bunch of college jocks in a booth behind him says the likelihood of making a call here is slim to none. He heads for the toilets, veers away when he sees a green looking frat boy being hauled out of the doors by a chunky bouncer with hands the size of pineapples and pushes through a door leading to an alcove out the back instead.
His boots stick on something and he lifts one up to find a line of purple gum dotted with a couple of cigarette butts stretching from the toe. Further down beside the doorway are a couple of empty bottles fallen on their side and a used condom. And who said romance was dead?
Rubbing off the gum as best he can on the doorstep, Sam shakes his head at the places people will endure for a few seconds of ecstasy. Okay, maybe he'd had his fair share of 'up against the wall' liaisons in his youth, but he's pretty sure he and Jess performed their acts of public indecency in more sanitary places than this.
Or maybe he's just getting old and doesn't remember what it was like to be young and horny.
A soft moan followed by a gasp of pleasure further down tells Sam someone does though, and is enjoying every second. So much for privacy.
He's just turning to leave the lovers-who are no more than blissfully indistinct silhouettes, thank god-to their tryst, when one of them starts talking.
"Like that, huh?" It's a man's voice, light and teasing and with enough concern to make Sam smile. This isn't a dick taking advantage, this guy cares about what he's doing. Maybe he even cares about who he's doing it to. Well, good for them.
Only the answer stops Sam in his tracks.
"Fuck yeah, don't stop. Don't -"
It's not so much surprise or even disbelief, hearing that voice now. One as familiar to Sam as his own. The voice he'd planned to hear through his phone just seconds ago. It's more like shock at being caught out somewhere you know you shouldn't be.
There's some sickening sighs and groans after that and the sound of fabric scraping the wall. The other guy's panting, belt buckles jingle. Leave, Sam tells himself, fucking leave. But panic is rapidly taking over. They've remained unaware of him so far, but a focused, ominous hush is starting to fall and Sam's worried any sudden move might alert them to his presence. Logically he knows this shouldn't matter. He could just dash back inside and leave them to it. They're not going to mind a small disturbance and it's not like he'd be around for it to matter if they did. But there's no logic to the electric, 'on the edge' atmosphere building up in the tight, enclosed air around them and it fixes Sam in place.
He's holding his breath. Again. Maybe this is what's he's been waiting for.
The other guy's breathing turns shallow and there's a rhythmic, fast-paced sound of rubbing fabric. Rubbing. Rutting. Or-
Sam keeps his face angled fiercely away, but he's pretty sure from his earlier glimpse that one of the figures had been lifted from the ground, legs wrapped about the other's hips. And he knows it's not Dean who's panting because Dean's the one moaning, groaning, whimpering-each sound punctuated by a quiet, encouraging 'yeah... fuck... like that...'
"Couldn't... stop... if I wanted to... babe... I..."
And then it's over.
The guy gives a long, thoroughly satisfied sigh that's followed a few seconds later by a choked off cry from Dean.
Spell broken, Sam lunges for the door and sprints inside. There's a clatter behind him as he runs that he takes to be the door slamming awkwardly in his wake. It's not until he's made it back to the bar and placed a breathless order for two beers and a shot of scotch that he realises he no longer has his phone.
***
He's downed the scotch and made it half way through the first beer when he finds his phone being slid along the surface of the bar at his right.
"Thanks," Dean mutters, picking up the spare bottle and taking a swig before dropping into the next seat along.
"Dude, I-I didn't-" Sam stammers, grabbing the phone and stuffing it in his jeans like the device itself is somehow responsible for his embarrassment. "I was trying to call you. I didn't know-"
"It's cool, man. You don't have to pretend," Dean shrugs. "You get off watching me. I get it. I am fucking gorgeous."
Sam's chuckling out relief before Dean's even finished.
"Jerk," he breathes, finally glancing Dean's way.
Dean quirks his lips to the side in a brief smile back, obscured soon after as he takes another sip from the bottle. His calm eases the tension from Sam's shoulders and Sam realises the minor freak out he's been having the last ten minutes was never his own, it was in anticipation of his brother's discomfort. He'd even been prepping for anger. For Dean to show neither of these is more than just relief, it's another freaking miracle is what it is. Greater than Dean's return almost.
They drink in companionable silent after that. Long enough for Sam to start questioning the situation again. Because while it's great Dean's cool about it and everything, it does put Sam in a something of a dilemma. Should he even mention it or-?
With a decisive tap Dean puts his beer back on the side and turns.
"Go ahead, ask," he says, and Sam blinks up at him in surprise.
He opens his mouth, but can't seem to remember what comes next. It just so unprecedented, Dean inviting this kind of scrutiny.
"Uh... hey, man," Sam offers in the end, waving a hand. "What you do in your own time is your business. I've never asked about your hook-ups before, I'm not gonna start now."
Dean nods, sucks in his lips for a moment, then looks away.
It's the first sign of unease he's shown since he sat down and Sam's absurdly grateful for it. It's not that he wants Dean to be embarrassed or, worse, ashamed of what he was doing. He just wanted a sign that Dean at least remembers being uncomfortable about this kind of thing, evidence that this is still his brother and what Sam witnessed (or rather didn't, most definitely didn't witness) outside wasn't a symptom of some supernatural evil.
"Yeah, but... this is different," Dean tells the tarnished wood of the bar, voice lowering after the hesitation, like he's maybe regretting having broached the topic after all.
That's more like it.
Sam moves his beer to the side and leans closer.
"Is it?" he pushes gently, because the last thing he wants to be is the dick who makes this seem weird or abnormal.
When Dean glances at him this time his face is more open, eyes wide. Hopeful, Sam thinks.
"Isn't it?"
Sam takes a breath, searching for a way to answer that's casual without being dismissive. Despite how composed he's being Sam knows this would have been a big thing for Dean once and hang ups like that don't shift easily, no matter what might have happened in Purgatory. Or with who. He needs to take this seriously without making it A Big Deal.
"It shouldn't be," he settles on, adding a shrug.
It's the right thing to say. Dean's wide-eyed expression settles to something softer, a smile flicking back across his lips. He nods. Pauses. Nods again. Reaches for the beer bottle and rubs a thumb down the condensation over the label.
"So you don't-" he starts. He sounds almost disinterested now. Not forming a question so much as verbalising Sam's implication. Just to be clear.
Sam doesn't let him finish, hurrying to give his own assurances.
"Dude! What do you take me for? Of course I don't care!" he insists with just the slightest touch of offence that it should ever have been in doubt. "You're my badass big brother. Liking guys doesn't change that. Come on."
A full on grin spreads across Dean's face.
"Good. Yeah. I-" He looks over and he's just happy. No weary crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. No anxious lines etched into his forehead. It takes years off his face and it's like they've gone back in time-before Lucifer, before Hell, before everything. Or... well maybe not everything. In any case Sam feels like a kid again for a moment as he smiles back and he likes the feeling. He likes it a lot. "I knew you'd be cool. And, uh, I wasn't trying to hide it or anything."
"I didn't think you were," Sam cuts in.
Dean nods again and takes another sip of beer.
It feels like a suitable end to the discussion so Sam leans back and takes a gulp from his own bottle. His head's still tipped back when Dean starts up again and Sam breaks off a little too quickly in his hurry to return his attention, spraying froth on his upper lip. Using the back of his hand to wipe the stuff off Sam looks at Dean over his knuckles.
"It's just different out here, you know? There's no TV in Purgatory. No cinema. No porn." He flattens his lips in an exaggerated show of despair and Sam plays along by rolling his eyes. "It was..." He frowns for a second, thinking. "It was simpler. Just us and them. No fake IDs, no dodging the law, no lying, no pretending to be someone you're not. Just plain old survival. That... that kind of situation... it shows a guy what he's made of, I guess. Or..."
"Or... who he is?" Sam suggests as Dean trails off.
Dean shoots him a disdainful look.
"All right, don't need to get all New Age mumbo jumbo about it," he bitches. But he doesn't contradict, Sam notes. "I just... I thought maybe it was just a... Stockholm, something, trapped in a foxhole thing. I wasn't sure I'd feel the same... when I got out..."
"But you do?"
"Turns out..." A pause. "Actually, I..." Dean coughs, a familiar awkwardness creeping in as he continues. "I think I always..." He turns back to his beer, rolling his shoulders in what might be a shrug or might be a show of discomfort. "You know..."
"Yeah," Sam grins. "Yeah, I know."
The look in Dean's eyes as he snaps his head round is sharp, almost one of betrayal. Sam smiles wide and apologetic in response. What did Dean expect? For Sam to have sat him down and told him 'hey, dude, I think you might be kinda gay'? Because that's something Dean would have listened to and not possibly made it his life's mission to deny, obviously. No, as much as Sam might have suspected, he's always known this was something Dean had to figure out on his own. Better late than never, right?
"But you know what, good for you," Sam presses on. "And as coming out speeches go, this has pretty painless so..." He lifts his bottle and holds it up in invitation. "Congratulations."
After glaring a second or two longer Dean loses his scowl with a sound somewhere between a scoff and laugh and lifts his bottle towards Sam. Then, just as they're about to clink he pauses and pulls back a fraction.
"I'm not saying I'm gay," he says, eyeing Sam over the top of the glass. "You get that right? It's... it's complicated."
"With you?" Sam chuckles. "I expect nothing less." And with that he closes the distance between the bottles before Dean can protest, tapping the glass together and raising his to his lips. Dean melts into an amused, relaxed, grin and does the same.
***
"Don't you want me to tell you, though?" Dean asks later when they've moved to a booth and their next round. "Why now? What changed?"
He's tense this time, Sam notices from his seat opposite, watching Dean's fingers tap against the neck of his latest beer.
But it's not anxiety. His expression's too clear for that.
Impatience, maybe.
Yeah, that makes sense.
"You don't have to," Sam answers. Dean lifts an eyebrow. Sam takes a breath. "We'll find him, Dean. We'll get him back."
There's no surprise on Dean's face after the promise. Just a tiny flicker at the corner of his lips that might be pride. Which is sweet, Sam thinks, but unnecessary. He'd have to be really stupid not to have realised.
You can discover a lot about yourself out in the desert, or the woods, alone. Sam's learnt that first-hand. So yeah, it makes sense for Purgatory to have been a place of self-discovery for his brother.
But sometimes self-awareness needs two. And Dean wasn't the only one who got sucked into monsterland that night.
"Oh, I know it," Dean answers back, voice hard, eyes glinting. Confident. Determined. "I know it."
~fin~
Author: littlehollyleaf
Pairing/Characters: Sam, Dean. Dean/Cas. Dean/OMC.
Spoilers: up to and including 7.23
Category: um… romance(ish), character study
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~2800
Summary: Dean’s been acting differently since he got out of Purgatory. Sam’s starting to think this might not actually be a bad thing…
Author’s Note: So I don’t write anything for ages, then the first thing I do is only Dean/Cas in the loosest sense. Hmmm… Basically, this is about Dean. Because as much as Purgatory is the perfect set-up for Dean/Cas, it is, I think, first and foremost DEAN’S story. This is about how I hope Purgatory will help him (and how Cas in Purgatory will help him, of course ;p).
It also maybe has (ooops!) some Wincest vibes, all of which were entirely accidental (and so canonical, I suppose :p). Trust me, I’m as surprised as you are! If you have a squick you should be fine though, it’s not THAT strong.
Title is from Campbell’s Hero Journey. Not because I’m a fan or because I think SPN follows it particularly (in fact I think it rather spectacularly DOESN’T). But because of all the stages in it the Return is the one our boys have struggled to reach the most IMO, and since Sam and Cas sort of did, incredibly, manage it in S07 it made me sadder for Dean than I usually am. So here you go bb, it’s your turn.
Master of Two Worlds
Having Dean back is nothing short of a miracle.
But miracles are par for the course for Winchesters.
Ecstatic as Sam is, as both of them are, over this latest impossible reunion, it feels like there's a caption under the whole situation reading 'here we go again.' Seriously, anyone else would need months to settle back into routine after the shock, but for them two weeks and counting seem to have been ample. More than anything it's all been remarkably familiar.
So here they are. Hunting. Joking around. Following leads on Crowley-most of them as stone cold as when Sam had been forced to leave them all those months ago, but you never know.
Family business as usual.
Which is precisely why Sam doesn't trust it. Why he catches himself holding his breath sometimes, waiting for the inevitable other shoe to start its descent.
Because it's been too easy, surely?
And if anything Dean seems happier now. More sure of himself-of his instincts and reactions, strengths and weaknesses. When they plan a job these days he'll pick out roles for himself-information gatherer, monster dispatcher, even bait-with a certainty that says he's weighed the pros and cons and determined his suitability without a doubt. Yet the overconfident-or insecure-arrogance Sam remembers is gone. Oh, Dean's still cocky. He'll still smirk and wink and crack a joke about his awesomeness. He's still Dean. But if Sam argues he can do something better Dean steps aside now, even letting Sam take the lead sometimes, letting him hunt alone if he has to while Dean drives ahead to another job the next state over.
It's trust, Sam realises with a jolt, finishing up a solo salt and burn and getting ready to hitch a ride down to Montana where Dean's waiting for him. A trust Sam didn't even know was missing between them until faced with this gratifying sense of having it. Or, no, not trust, faith. Faith not just in Sam and his abilities, but in himself and his own. It's Dean knowing what he can and can't do and not being ashamed of either, not being afraid to strike out on his own and do his own thing.
That's different. That's huge. But it's not... wrong.
Okay. So, maybe he's being paranoid. Maybe there is no other shoe.
Things don't feel off between them, after all, like separation has so often left them.
Maybe it's not that they've grown apart this past year. They've just... grown.
And is that so surprising? It is different this time. This last year wasn't some fucked up otherworldly torture, it was an honest, hard-working, lived-through year. It was real in a way Hell and its ever-changing landscape and shifting times had never been. Even in Purgatory time had been linear, Dean said. Morning, noon and night. Days, weeks, months. Just like home, only with more teeth and less Johnny Walker he'd grinned when Sam asked.
It's changed them, this year, of course it has.
But it hasn't broken them.
Maybe, Sam thinks, heading through the bustle of the bar where Dean said they should meet, maybe it's fixed them.
Stranger things have happened.
***
Dean isn't there.
It says something that Sam isn't worried about this. He's not sure what exactly-a sign of maturity, he hopes, and not a loss of empathy. But there's easy logic to fall back on to prevent inner turmoil over it. He's half an hour early. His brother probably hasn't arrived yet.
Sam pulls out his phone, but raucous laughter from a party to his left and animated 'debate' from a bunch of college jocks in a booth behind him says the likelihood of making a call here is slim to none. He heads for the toilets, veers away when he sees a green looking frat boy being hauled out of the doors by a chunky bouncer with hands the size of pineapples and pushes through a door leading to an alcove out the back instead.
His boots stick on something and he lifts one up to find a line of purple gum dotted with a couple of cigarette butts stretching from the toe. Further down beside the doorway are a couple of empty bottles fallen on their side and a used condom. And who said romance was dead?
Rubbing off the gum as best he can on the doorstep, Sam shakes his head at the places people will endure for a few seconds of ecstasy. Okay, maybe he'd had his fair share of 'up against the wall' liaisons in his youth, but he's pretty sure he and Jess performed their acts of public indecency in more sanitary places than this.
Or maybe he's just getting old and doesn't remember what it was like to be young and horny.
A soft moan followed by a gasp of pleasure further down tells Sam someone does though, and is enjoying every second. So much for privacy.
He's just turning to leave the lovers-who are no more than blissfully indistinct silhouettes, thank god-to their tryst, when one of them starts talking.
"Like that, huh?" It's a man's voice, light and teasing and with enough concern to make Sam smile. This isn't a dick taking advantage, this guy cares about what he's doing. Maybe he even cares about who he's doing it to. Well, good for them.
Only the answer stops Sam in his tracks.
"Fuck yeah, don't stop. Don't -"
It's not so much surprise or even disbelief, hearing that voice now. One as familiar to Sam as his own. The voice he'd planned to hear through his phone just seconds ago. It's more like shock at being caught out somewhere you know you shouldn't be.
There's some sickening sighs and groans after that and the sound of fabric scraping the wall. The other guy's panting, belt buckles jingle. Leave, Sam tells himself, fucking leave. But panic is rapidly taking over. They've remained unaware of him so far, but a focused, ominous hush is starting to fall and Sam's worried any sudden move might alert them to his presence. Logically he knows this shouldn't matter. He could just dash back inside and leave them to it. They're not going to mind a small disturbance and it's not like he'd be around for it to matter if they did. But there's no logic to the electric, 'on the edge' atmosphere building up in the tight, enclosed air around them and it fixes Sam in place.
He's holding his breath. Again. Maybe this is what's he's been waiting for.
The other guy's breathing turns shallow and there's a rhythmic, fast-paced sound of rubbing fabric. Rubbing. Rutting. Or-
Sam keeps his face angled fiercely away, but he's pretty sure from his earlier glimpse that one of the figures had been lifted from the ground, legs wrapped about the other's hips. And he knows it's not Dean who's panting because Dean's the one moaning, groaning, whimpering-each sound punctuated by a quiet, encouraging 'yeah... fuck... like that...'
"Couldn't... stop... if I wanted to... babe... I..."
And then it's over.
The guy gives a long, thoroughly satisfied sigh that's followed a few seconds later by a choked off cry from Dean.
Spell broken, Sam lunges for the door and sprints inside. There's a clatter behind him as he runs that he takes to be the door slamming awkwardly in his wake. It's not until he's made it back to the bar and placed a breathless order for two beers and a shot of scotch that he realises he no longer has his phone.
***
He's downed the scotch and made it half way through the first beer when he finds his phone being slid along the surface of the bar at his right.
"Thanks," Dean mutters, picking up the spare bottle and taking a swig before dropping into the next seat along.
"Dude, I-I didn't-" Sam stammers, grabbing the phone and stuffing it in his jeans like the device itself is somehow responsible for his embarrassment. "I was trying to call you. I didn't know-"
"It's cool, man. You don't have to pretend," Dean shrugs. "You get off watching me. I get it. I am fucking gorgeous."
Sam's chuckling out relief before Dean's even finished.
"Jerk," he breathes, finally glancing Dean's way.
Dean quirks his lips to the side in a brief smile back, obscured soon after as he takes another sip from the bottle. His calm eases the tension from Sam's shoulders and Sam realises the minor freak out he's been having the last ten minutes was never his own, it was in anticipation of his brother's discomfort. He'd even been prepping for anger. For Dean to show neither of these is more than just relief, it's another freaking miracle is what it is. Greater than Dean's return almost.
They drink in companionable silent after that. Long enough for Sam to start questioning the situation again. Because while it's great Dean's cool about it and everything, it does put Sam in a something of a dilemma. Should he even mention it or-?
With a decisive tap Dean puts his beer back on the side and turns.
"Go ahead, ask," he says, and Sam blinks up at him in surprise.
He opens his mouth, but can't seem to remember what comes next. It just so unprecedented, Dean inviting this kind of scrutiny.
"Uh... hey, man," Sam offers in the end, waving a hand. "What you do in your own time is your business. I've never asked about your hook-ups before, I'm not gonna start now."
Dean nods, sucks in his lips for a moment, then looks away.
It's the first sign of unease he's shown since he sat down and Sam's absurdly grateful for it. It's not that he wants Dean to be embarrassed or, worse, ashamed of what he was doing. He just wanted a sign that Dean at least remembers being uncomfortable about this kind of thing, evidence that this is still his brother and what Sam witnessed (or rather didn't, most definitely didn't witness) outside wasn't a symptom of some supernatural evil.
"Yeah, but... this is different," Dean tells the tarnished wood of the bar, voice lowering after the hesitation, like he's maybe regretting having broached the topic after all.
That's more like it.
Sam moves his beer to the side and leans closer.
"Is it?" he pushes gently, because the last thing he wants to be is the dick who makes this seem weird or abnormal.
When Dean glances at him this time his face is more open, eyes wide. Hopeful, Sam thinks.
"Isn't it?"
Sam takes a breath, searching for a way to answer that's casual without being dismissive. Despite how composed he's being Sam knows this would have been a big thing for Dean once and hang ups like that don't shift easily, no matter what might have happened in Purgatory. Or with who. He needs to take this seriously without making it A Big Deal.
"It shouldn't be," he settles on, adding a shrug.
It's the right thing to say. Dean's wide-eyed expression settles to something softer, a smile flicking back across his lips. He nods. Pauses. Nods again. Reaches for the beer bottle and rubs a thumb down the condensation over the label.
"So you don't-" he starts. He sounds almost disinterested now. Not forming a question so much as verbalising Sam's implication. Just to be clear.
Sam doesn't let him finish, hurrying to give his own assurances.
"Dude! What do you take me for? Of course I don't care!" he insists with just the slightest touch of offence that it should ever have been in doubt. "You're my badass big brother. Liking guys doesn't change that. Come on."
A full on grin spreads across Dean's face.
"Good. Yeah. I-" He looks over and he's just happy. No weary crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. No anxious lines etched into his forehead. It takes years off his face and it's like they've gone back in time-before Lucifer, before Hell, before everything. Or... well maybe not everything. In any case Sam feels like a kid again for a moment as he smiles back and he likes the feeling. He likes it a lot. "I knew you'd be cool. And, uh, I wasn't trying to hide it or anything."
"I didn't think you were," Sam cuts in.
Dean nods again and takes another sip of beer.
It feels like a suitable end to the discussion so Sam leans back and takes a gulp from his own bottle. His head's still tipped back when Dean starts up again and Sam breaks off a little too quickly in his hurry to return his attention, spraying froth on his upper lip. Using the back of his hand to wipe the stuff off Sam looks at Dean over his knuckles.
"It's just different out here, you know? There's no TV in Purgatory. No cinema. No porn." He flattens his lips in an exaggerated show of despair and Sam plays along by rolling his eyes. "It was..." He frowns for a second, thinking. "It was simpler. Just us and them. No fake IDs, no dodging the law, no lying, no pretending to be someone you're not. Just plain old survival. That... that kind of situation... it shows a guy what he's made of, I guess. Or..."
"Or... who he is?" Sam suggests as Dean trails off.
Dean shoots him a disdainful look.
"All right, don't need to get all New Age mumbo jumbo about it," he bitches. But he doesn't contradict, Sam notes. "I just... I thought maybe it was just a... Stockholm, something, trapped in a foxhole thing. I wasn't sure I'd feel the same... when I got out..."
"But you do?"
"Turns out..." A pause. "Actually, I..." Dean coughs, a familiar awkwardness creeping in as he continues. "I think I always..." He turns back to his beer, rolling his shoulders in what might be a shrug or might be a show of discomfort. "You know..."
"Yeah," Sam grins. "Yeah, I know."
The look in Dean's eyes as he snaps his head round is sharp, almost one of betrayal. Sam smiles wide and apologetic in response. What did Dean expect? For Sam to have sat him down and told him 'hey, dude, I think you might be kinda gay'? Because that's something Dean would have listened to and not possibly made it his life's mission to deny, obviously. No, as much as Sam might have suspected, he's always known this was something Dean had to figure out on his own. Better late than never, right?
"But you know what, good for you," Sam presses on. "And as coming out speeches go, this has pretty painless so..." He lifts his bottle and holds it up in invitation. "Congratulations."
After glaring a second or two longer Dean loses his scowl with a sound somewhere between a scoff and laugh and lifts his bottle towards Sam. Then, just as they're about to clink he pauses and pulls back a fraction.
"I'm not saying I'm gay," he says, eyeing Sam over the top of the glass. "You get that right? It's... it's complicated."
"With you?" Sam chuckles. "I expect nothing less." And with that he closes the distance between the bottles before Dean can protest, tapping the glass together and raising his to his lips. Dean melts into an amused, relaxed, grin and does the same.
***
"Don't you want me to tell you, though?" Dean asks later when they've moved to a booth and their next round. "Why now? What changed?"
He's tense this time, Sam notices from his seat opposite, watching Dean's fingers tap against the neck of his latest beer.
But it's not anxiety. His expression's too clear for that.
Impatience, maybe.
Yeah, that makes sense.
"You don't have to," Sam answers. Dean lifts an eyebrow. Sam takes a breath. "We'll find him, Dean. We'll get him back."
There's no surprise on Dean's face after the promise. Just a tiny flicker at the corner of his lips that might be pride. Which is sweet, Sam thinks, but unnecessary. He'd have to be really stupid not to have realised.
You can discover a lot about yourself out in the desert, or the woods, alone. Sam's learnt that first-hand. So yeah, it makes sense for Purgatory to have been a place of self-discovery for his brother.
But sometimes self-awareness needs two. And Dean wasn't the only one who got sucked into monsterland that night.
"Oh, I know it," Dean answers back, voice hard, eyes glinting. Confident. Determined. "I know it."
~fin~