Fic: Wild By Skye (3/27)
The next month his excuse went by the name of Rosalita. Sam had no idea who she was or where Dean might have met her (the brothers had been working almost shoulder to shoulder for days on a poltergeist case), but Dean stole off under cover of night, and Sam only knew about it because he'd woken up as Dean was sneaking back into the room at the crack of dawn.
Sam had glowered. Dean just gave an airy shrug, a trade-mark cocky smile, tossed Sam a bagel, and made up a jingle about Rosalita, the Hot Senorita.
Sam was quiet as he packed up his things after breakfast. He was watching his brother, puzzled. Dean was walking on sunshine. His mood was almost creepily good. Not at all in character for the broody, flippant Dean Winchester. Sam considered slipping some holy water in Dean's coffee just to be sure.
He didn't ask Dean what had him hitting the proverbial happy gas, because Sam had just about enough of the Rosalita, the Hot Senorita ditty. Sam made the mistake of asking for details about one of Dean's sexual exploits once, when he was a curious teenager, and he'd learned his lesson. It only reinforced what Sam had always known - his brother was a very twisted individual.
But Sam honestly doubted there was a Rosalita. He couldn't exactly say why, but the pep to Dean's step wasn't the kind of bounce that usually followed a night of fantastic sex. His brother had enough of those, and Sam had been present for the afterglow of accomplishment enough that Sam could tell the swagger of Big Brother Victorious when he saw it. This lightness of step wasn't that.
But Dean had his cover story, and there was no way Sam was going to risk hearing about his brother's sexual deviancy to root out the truth. Which Dean no doubt knew and was probably the point of the Rosalita cover.
But what did Dean need a cover for? Sam couldn't imagine what Dean would feel the need to hide from his brother. They were almost uncomfortably close and had been as long as he could remember. The constant moving when they were kids, always sharing a room and more times than not a bed, almost guaranteed they would be plugged in to each other's personal lives.
As Dean gunned the accelerator and sped the Impala on to the highway, Sam recounted every other instance in his recent memory when Dean had been on Cloud Nine like this, and it was last month. Then again, the month before that.
Sam turned that detail over and stored it away. It would need some closer inspection. Sam could be patient; sometimes that was the only way to crack the marble that was Dean Winchester.
Part Four
Sam had glowered. Dean just gave an airy shrug, a trade-mark cocky smile, tossed Sam a bagel, and made up a jingle about Rosalita, the Hot Senorita.
Sam was quiet as he packed up his things after breakfast. He was watching his brother, puzzled. Dean was walking on sunshine. His mood was almost creepily good. Not at all in character for the broody, flippant Dean Winchester. Sam considered slipping some holy water in Dean's coffee just to be sure.
He didn't ask Dean what had him hitting the proverbial happy gas, because Sam had just about enough of the Rosalita, the Hot Senorita ditty. Sam made the mistake of asking for details about one of Dean's sexual exploits once, when he was a curious teenager, and he'd learned his lesson. It only reinforced what Sam had always known - his brother was a very twisted individual.
But Sam honestly doubted there was a Rosalita. He couldn't exactly say why, but the pep to Dean's step wasn't the kind of bounce that usually followed a night of fantastic sex. His brother had enough of those, and Sam had been present for the afterglow of accomplishment enough that Sam could tell the swagger of Big Brother Victorious when he saw it. This lightness of step wasn't that.
But Dean had his cover story, and there was no way Sam was going to risk hearing about his brother's sexual deviancy to root out the truth. Which Dean no doubt knew and was probably the point of the Rosalita cover.
But what did Dean need a cover for? Sam couldn't imagine what Dean would feel the need to hide from his brother. They were almost uncomfortably close and had been as long as he could remember. The constant moving when they were kids, always sharing a room and more times than not a bed, almost guaranteed they would be plugged in to each other's personal lives.
As Dean gunned the accelerator and sped the Impala on to the highway, Sam recounted every other instance in his recent memory when Dean had been on Cloud Nine like this, and it was last month. Then again, the month before that.
Sam turned that detail over and stored it away. It would need some closer inspection. Sam could be patient; sometimes that was the only way to crack the marble that was Dean Winchester.
Part Four