SPN Fic: Divine Intervention
Title: Divine Intervention
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG 13
Summary: "Dude," says Sam. "I think Castiel just hit on me." Crack Humor. Sam/Dean, Castiel, Chuck.
Word Count: ~3800
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers through end of season 4. Wincest. Crack.
Disclaimer:
AN: This is like a sequel to Kripked!!, except not.
“Sam Winchester,” intones Castiel.
“Jesus!” cries Sam, spinning around. “Give a guy some warning.”
Because, really, popping into existence in the middle of a gas station bathroom isn’t something you do to a person. Sam zips up his pants and glares.
Castiel doesn’t say anything. He just stares. At Sam.
“Cas?” asks Sam warily. Then, “Castiel?” Because he doesn’t really like the idea of someone other than him getting an overly-familiar, diminutive nickname from Dean.
“Samuel,” says Castiel gravely. “Would you consider yourself a 1 or a 2 on the Kinsey Scale? Perhaps a 3?”
Sam opens his mouth. “I,” he says. Then he closes his mouth. He opens it again for another try, but all that comes out is: “Ah. Uh. What?”
“You are ostensibly heterosexual,” explains Castiel serenely. “But current theory favors an interpretation of human sexuality as fluid.”
“Are you…” attempts Sam, and it’s almost impossible to get the words out. Castiel isn’t… he can’t be…
Castiel blinks, which, for an actual person, wouldn’t be of note, but for Castiel qualifies as an expression of deep emotion.
And shit, oh shit. Castiel is. He totally, totally is.
Thankfully, that’s the moment Dean chooses to burst in. Dean, apparently, has some rule about not letting Sam spend longer than three minutes alone in the restroom, which is useful when Sam’s had a vision or is being attacked by a ghost, but is usually just really fucking embarrassing.
Today, it’s useful. As soon as the door swings open, Castiel disappears.
“You all right Sammy?” asks Dean, looking concerned.
“Dude,” breathes Sam. “I think Castiel just hit on me.”
\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/
Dean looks kinda pissed off. But that’s okay; Dean’s spent most of Sam’s life looking kinda pissed off. It’s like his default expression, so Sam’s used to it.
“Seriously?” says Dean, for the sixth time since they got back in the car. “You think Cas was hitting on you? I didn’t think angels even had sex drives. Well, other than Anna I mean…” Dean trails off, smirking.
“Castiel,” corrects Sam mulishly. “And yeah, he pretty much asked me if I was bi.”
Dean scowls out the window. There’s a heat mirage in the distance, glimmering like water.
“Yeah, okay,” he concedes. Then: “Well, are you?”
Sam rolls his eyes. Another thing Dean’s been doing most of Sam’s life is questioning his sexuality. So Sam’s used to that too.
“Bite me,” he says pleasantly.
Dean grins. “Kinky Sammy.”
“Why are you so hung up on this anyway Dean?” asks Sam, more out of boredom than curiosity. They’ve got another three hours till Tulsa. “You jealous?”
“Yeah,” mutters Dean. “Cuz I totally want to sleep with you.”
Sam’s head whips around so fast he feels the liquid slosh in his brain. Dean’s not looking at him; he’s staring at the road like the careful driver he is not and has never been. His ears look kinda pink.
“Not what I meant,” Sam says, over-hasty. “I meant are you jealous of me. Not of Castiel. Who I’m not gonna sleep with, by the way.”
Dean just continues to stare out the window. Then he says, “Shut up Sam,” and turns on the radio.
They spend the next three hours like that. But, thing is, of the last few girls Sam’s really had a connection with, three are dead. All three deaths, you could argue, were in some way or another, Sam’s fault. And of those three, one was a werewolf and another was a demon who got him hooked on demon’s blood and manipulated him into freeing Lucifer and nearly ending the world.
So Sam’s more or less realized that he’s never gonna have a normal- or really any- kind of long-term, successful romantic relationship. To be honest, he pretty much came to that conclusion after Dean sold his soul for him, and he realized he’d do anything to save Dean. Sam’s world has pretty much narrowed down to just Dean, and Sam, surprisingly, is okay with that.
Dean is all he has- all he’s ever had, really- and having Dean safe and nearby is all Sam needs out of life.
It’s just not all he wants in life. And what he wants… Well, Sam is a pretty fucked up guy. But on a scale of 1 to 10 of fucked-upness, with 1 being getting kicked out of the house for getting a full-ride to Stanford and 10 being addicted to demon blood and inadvertently starting the apocalypse, having a big, gay, unrequited crush on his brother is probably only a 3. Maybe a 4, tops.
\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/
They get to Tulsa around dinner time, and Sam, for once, is starving. He drops his duffel bag onto his bed and says, “I saw a diner on the way in. Wanna grab some dinner and start working the case tomorrow?”
“Aw,” says Dean, “little Sammy’s worked up an appetite-”
“-sitting on his ass in the car all day.”
Dean started talking in the hotel room, he ends his sentence in the middle of a dimly lit, very expensive, very romantic looking restaurant. There are couples dining all around them, but none seem to have noticed two grubby and travel-worn men magically appearing in their midst.
“What the hell?” says Dean.
“Shit,” says Sam. He sees Castiel striding toward them, still in Jimmy Novak’s trenchcoat and with two menus tucked under his arm. “It’s Castiel.”
“Samuel, Dean,” says Castiel. “Follow me to your seats.”
Dean looks at Sam and shrugs, and they follow Castiel. He leads them to a table that’s suspiciously out of the way and pays careful attention in seating Sam.
“The peppercorn steaks are especially good,” he tells Sam blithely, handing him a menu.
“And I’m assuming the tab’s on heaven?” asks Dean, looking torn between irritation and amusement.
Castiel doesn’t answer. He’s disappeared again. Somewhere in the restaurant, someone starts playing a violin. The table’s small enough that Sam and Dean’s knees brush against each other, and Sam’s used to being in close proximity to Dean, but never in a place like this. He feels warm.
“This is what humans typically consider romantic?” asks Castiel materializing again and pouring Sam a glass of wine.
“Uh,” says Sam. He has no idea why Dean is here as well. But then, it’s not like Castiel’s human; the proper rituals of courtship (which include: don’t bring your date’s sibling along for the ride) probably got lost in translation.
He can’t think of anything to say. So he ends up just staring blankly at Castiel. His appetite has completely disappeared.
Dean kicks him under the table.
“Dude,” he hisses. “It’s rude to flirt with the waiter when you’re on a date!”
“What?” shrieks Sam, staring at Dean now. He forces his voice down into a less embarrassing octave. “I’m not… We’re not.”
Dean smirks at him. Then he says accusingly, “You’re a horrible date. I’m sooo not putting out tonight.”
Sam wonders if his steak knife would be sharp enough to kill Dean and himself. Murder/suicide in front of an angel and a crowd of happy diners seems a fitting end.
Castiel just stares at them and frowns.
\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/
Sam calls Chuck later that evening, when they’re back at the hotel room and Dean’s in the shower.
“Hello,” says Chuck warily, picking up on the third ring.
“Hey Chuck. It’s Sam, uh, Sam Winchester. But you probably already knew I was gonna call you. I, uh, have a question.”
There’s a pause during which Chuck’s probably considering whether or not to hang up. Sam assumes it's pretty awkward being called up for advice by someone you thought was your fictional creation.
“About what?” sighs Chuck finally.
“About Castiel,” says Sam. “He’s been acting strange lately. Stranger than usual. I was wondering if you’d seen anything or, uh-”
“Sam,” cuts in Chuck, sounding puzzled. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m not having visions of you and Dean any more.”
“What?” says Sam. “Since when?”
“Since Dean and Castiel came to my house to find you, right before the final seal broke. Dean was supposed to stay mad at you. But he, he went off script. I haven’t seen a damn thing since.”
“Oh,” says Sam. “But I still broke the final seal.”
He has a hard time getting that out. It still really hurts to admit that he almost ended the world. Between that guilt and the demon blood addiction, it was pretty tough going for awhile.
But he’s better now. Really. Thanks for asking.
“But you and Dean managed to stop the Apocalypse, because you were together Sam. Which, I’ve been saying all along, is, like, the whole central theme of the series. It’s family, you know?”
“Yeah,” says Sam neutrally. “Thanks anyway Chuck. Talk to you later.”
He hangs up. He’s only slightly disappointed. On one hand, no insight into Castiel’s head. On the other hand, Chuck no longer has 24 hour access into his head. So on the whole, Sam’s relieved.
Then, he allows himself a brief moment to feel smug that it was Dean’s big stupid older brother love for him that kept the world from ending. Though, really, if you thought about it for any length of time, it was kind of completely duh, and that was probably why Ruby and the angels spent most of last year trying to break them apart.
Still, Dean’s love for Sam is stronger than Fate. And that’s. Well. That’s.
That’s certainly something.
\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/
“I keep expecting to get a do you like me? circle yes or no note,” says Sam darkly, after Dean’s gotten out of the shower.
Dean snorts and throws a sock at Sam. “You need to man up,” he says, batting the sock away when Sam throws it back at him. “Just tell Cas you’re not interested and he needs to stop hitting on you. You’re just being a pussy Sam.”
“Castiel,” corrects Sam without thinking, but Dean’s gone. He blinks, and standing right where Dean was, is Castiel.
“Holy shit,” snaps Sam. “You have to stop doing that.”
Castiel stares at him. Sam’s getting really unnerved by how often Castiel is staring at him lately.
“By modern cultural standards of masculine beauty,” Castiel says, completely without preamble, “your brother is extremely attractive and sexually appealing.”
Sam gapes.
“What?” he says. And then because he doesn’t feel like there was enough emotion behind it. “What?”
Castiel’s right of course. Dean is extremely appealing, and Sam can say that both objectively and as someone who’s completely and obnoxiously in love with the guy. But other than Dean, Sam’s not really attracted to men. (Okay, so maybe he actually does have a bit of a thing for Brad Pitt, but that’s totally just because of his lips and, shut up.)
And then it dawns on Sam that what Castiel really wants isn’t to sleep with Sam. What Castiel is really angling for is a threesome.
With him and his brother.
Angel of the lord his fucking foot.
There is, he decides, only one thing to do.
“Castiel,” he says, in his best it’s me, not you tone of voice. “I like girls. I’m attracted to people of the opposite gender, not guys.”
Castiel continues to stare emotionlessly at him, and Sam suddenly feels very nervous. He realizes that he just rejected an angel. He half expects to be smote or something. He’s almost about to apologize again or to take it back or to tell Castiel that Dean’s not into guys either (because, well, just because), but then Castiel’s gone.
And in his place is a very pissed, very pretty girl wearing Dean’s clothes.
“What the fuck is his problem?” she snarls. “I hate it when he does that.”
“Uh, Dean,” says Sam. “Is that you?”
The girl glares at him. Her body language is just like Dean’s, head cocked, shoulders tightly wound. She even has bow legs.
“Of course it’s me,” she snaps. “You get knocked in the head or something Sammy?”
“Uhm,” attempts Sam trying to find the best way to say this. “You, uh. You.”
He gives up on the diplomatic approach.
“Dean,” he says bluntly. “You’re a chick.”
\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/
In a just world, Sam would find his brother (sister?) sobbing into his shirt to be very awkward. But considering Dean spent most of the last year crying, Sam’s just kinda used to it.
What he’s not used to is how much shorter Dean is. Dean’s been shorter than Sam for almost a decade, but now that he’s lost even more inches, he’s tiny.
“Shh,” he says quietly, trying to decide the best place to put his hands. He settles on just letting them hang loose at his sides. “Hey, it’s okay Dean.”
Dean pulls away. His eyes are red-rimmed. He’s also really pretty, prettier than before even. Sam’s not sure how that’s possible. Dean was already pretty as a guy (not that Sam would ever admit that), but as a woman, he’s fucking ridiculous. There’s a softness and a delicacy to his features that make Sam think of when Dean was a teenager and kept getting into fights with people who told him he looked like a girl.
And now he really is one.
“It’s okay?” mimics Dean in a shrill voice. “Seriously Sam? That’s the best you can do? It’s okay? That bastard took my dick! You don’t. You don’t do that to a guy!”
He lets go of Sam’s shirt and stalks away, his tears drying up in his rage.
“He’s dead,” rants Dean, voice high and a little hysterical. “Cas is dead. I don’t care that he helped save the world. I’m killing him. This is a fucking crime against humanity.”
“Castiel,” corrects Sam. “And we don’t know for sure he’s the one who did it.”
Dean wheels on him, eyes narrowed. “Don’t know for sure?” he repeats, incredulous. “Of course we know for sure Sam! He beams me out, has a little chat with you, beams me back in and poof! tits.”
Dean scowls down at his breasts as if they were the ones responsible for his misfortune. Personally, Sam doesn’t think it’s right of Dean to blame his breasts. They’re very nice breasts. Then Dean looks up at Sam, a calculating gleam in his eyes.
“What did you two talk about anyway?” he asks. And that, that’s the question Sam really did not want Dean to ask.
He’s pretty sure he’s the reason Dean’s been turned into a woman. Castiel said Dean was an attractive male; Sam said he was only attracted to women, and….
And poof! tits.
The realization hits Sam hard. He sits down on the bed.
“Holy fuck,” he whispers, running a hand through his hair.
“What?” demands Dean.
“I,” says Sam. He looks up at Dean. “He… Castiel,” he gulps. “Castiel told me that you were, you know, attractive for a guy.”
“Which I am,” says Dean. “Except not right now because I’m female.”
Sam nods distractedly. “And I told him I wasn’t interested in guys and then, he just left.”
Dean looks like he doesn’t believe Sam. “That was it?” he says.
“Yeah,” says Sam. “I think… I don’t think Castiel wants me to sleep with him. I think…” He trails off.
“You think he wants you to sleep with me,” finishes Dean, looking horrorstruck.
“Yeah,” says Sam, a little numbly. He rubs his jaw. “You think he’s been reading the fanfiction?” he jokes weakly.
Dean doesn’t say anything. He’s staring off into the distance like he’s thinking hard about something.
Finally, he says, “So you’re really not attracted to me like this?”
Sam jerks back, taken completely by surprise.
“What the hell Dean,” he says, only he doesn’t actually manage to say it because Dean’s kissing him. Dean’s kissing him. With his lips. On Sam’s lips. And Sam.
Sam is really fucking confused.
Dean pulls away after a minute, and Sam chases after but gets stopped by a hand to his chest. Dean looks like he might cry again.
“What the hell Dean?” he says, and manages to say it this time, a little angrily because he’s kinda pissed off. Dean just kissed him and now Dean’s about to cry again and Sam really did not think he was that bad of a kisser.
“It didn’t work,” says Dean softly.
“What didn’t work?” asks Sam.
Dean frowns at him. “I was supposed to turn back. Cas turned me into a chick so you’d be attracted to me. But you’re not, and when I kissed you that was supposed to prove you weren’t and I’d turn back.”
“Or,” says Sam, a little nonplussed by Dean’s ‘logic.’ “I could’ve just said, ‘Hey! You’re still my brother, sister, whatever, of course I’m not attracted to you!' Or, we could have just summoned Castiel and asked him to fix things. There didn’t have to be… kissing.”
Not that he objects, exactly. He’s a pervert, he knows that, and that was probably the only time he’ll ever get to kiss Dean like that, which was once more than he ever honestly expected. But he doesn’t want Dean to know he’s a sick freak. That’s been priority number one for a long time.
But Dean doesn’t seem to hear what Sam’s saying. He’s looking thoughtful again, and when he looks at Sam, Sam swears Dean’s eyes are blazing.
“But I didn’t turn back,” says Dean slowly. Some realization dawns on his face. His eyes go wide and round. “Because you are! You are attracted to me like this!”
Sam blushes and looks away.
“N-no.” he stammers. “It’s just. You don’t look anything like yourself,” which isn’t really true, “and my body, it’s just. You know how it is. And we can still just summon Castiel and have him change things back. No harm, no foul, right?”
Once again, Dean looks like he might cry. “Shit,” he says, “shit.”
It takes a moment for Sam to figure out what’s wrong. Normally, he’s quicker at reading his brother’s facial expressions, but he has a good excuse for being off his game tonight.
Dean, he realizes, is disappointed.
“Do you… do you want me to be attracted to you?” Sam asks dazedly.
Dean doesn’t say anything. He bites his lip. It’s really distracting. It’s answer enough. And it is everything Sam has ever wanted. He doesn’t even think.
Sam scrambles to his feet. He grabs Dean and pulls him close. Dean tries to squirm away, still not looking at Sam, but Sam holds his brother (sister, whatever) close, because this is way too fucking important.
“Dean,” he says, staring down at him. “I don’t care if you get turned into a mermaid. I am completely and totally gone for you.”
He kisses Dean, and after a brief, terrifying second, Dean kisses back. As they kiss, he feels Dean shift, transform, and suddenly the angle gets really awkward. Sam pulls back, and Dean’s a hell of a lot taller now than he was a minute ago. He’s firm and solid against Sam the way he wasn’t as a girl.
“Motherfucker!” he howls, gripping Sam tight and smiling. “Seriously Sam, a mermaid? That’s some pretty kinky shit.”
“Fuck you,” laughs Sam. He jabs Dean in the shoulder. “Brotherfucker.”
The smile disappears off Dean’s face.
“Yeah,” he says tentatively. “That’s gonna take some getting used to.”
“No, sorry,” says Sam, blushing, and this is weird for him too. “I just.” He sighs. “Just fucking kiss me again, okay?”
\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/
He wakes up several hours later, curled naked around Dean. He’s happier than he has been in a long time. He’s warm and still sleep-mellow. He yawns and stretches, Dean sleeping peacefully beside him, then freezes.
Castiel is standing at the foot of the bed.
Castiel is standing at the foot of the bed watching him and Dean nakedly cuddle.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” he explodes. Castiel doesn’t even flinch, but Dean bolts awake next to him, holding a knife he pulled from somewhere and looking intent on putting the knife through whatever made Sam shout.
He pauses when he sees Castiel.
“Uh,” Dean says. “Cas, I’m saying this as politely as possible, but what the fuck?”
Castiel smiles at them. An actual smile, an expression of deep and moving happiness.
It’s a little frightening.
Dean and Sam exchange glances, and Sam grimaces.
“Look, Castiel,” he says. “Cas. We really, uh, appreciate all you’ve done for Dean and I, especially what you just did, but….”
“What my brother is trying to say,” says Dean, picking up where Sam stopped, “is why did you try to hook us up?”
Castiel blinks. Sam’s pretty sure he’s confused by the term “hook up.”
“You know,” says Sam, waving his hand vaguely between Dean and him, both still naked but mercifully covered up by the bedsheet. “And isn’t this kinda sinful? I’m not sure God approves of homosexual incest.”
Castiel beams at him. “God is a god of love,” he says. Which, Sam’s read the Bible. But, whatever, Castiel’s entitled to his opinion. The guy looks downright joyful.
“And I ‘hooked you up,’” explains Castiel- Sam can hear angelic quotation marks around the term, “because Dean is my friend, so I wanted to make him happy.” He smiles benevolently at Sam. “And you’re what makes him happy.”
“Oh,” says Sam, blushing deeply. It’s actually really sweet.
“You thought you would make me happy by taking away my dick?” breaks in Dean, aghast.
Castiel looks abashed. He’s getting better at the having an actual expression thing. “I am sorry,” he says, and he sounds sincere in his apology. “I did not realize you were so attached.”
“Yeah, well,” growls Dean, sex having put him into a charitable mood. “Just never do it again.”
There’s a pause after that, which stretches on too long from companionable and straight into tremendously awkward. Sam’s still naked and in bed with his brother who he had sex with a few hours before. Blessings from on high or no, it’s not really a comfortable situation.
“So, uh,” he says. “Thanks for stopping by, but if you don’t mind…”
“I do not mind,” says Castiel.
Dean’s less tactful than Sam. “Look,” he says. “Thanks. Let’s get drinks some time and talk. But you gotta go now. Sam and I are going to do some stuff you really don’t want to see.”
Castiel blinks and then, Sam swears to God, he actually blushes.
“Right,” Castiel says. “I’ll just be going.” And he disappears.
“Well, that was fun,” mutters Dean.
“You have weird friends,” comments Sam. Dean sneers at him. Sam smiles. He places his hands around Dean’s face and draws him forward. Dean rolls his eyes, but there’s a grin lurking around the corner of his mouth.
Sam kisses that corner of Dean’s mouth. Then he kisses Dean properly. He’s allowed to now.
He has a fucking holy mandate.
AN: Essentially, I wrote this fic around the mental image of Castiel asking Sam where he was on the Kinsey scale. Why did that image pop into my head? I have no clue. Anyway, funny story about this fic, I was pretty much finished with it, and opened the word file to write the last couple hundred words and about three-quarters of the fic were gone. Almost three thousand words of writing had disappeared into the ether of my computer.
That probably should have been a sign to give up. But I didn't, and I rewrote what I'd lost using my memory and my handwritten notes. You're welcome.
Feedback is good karma. Thanks for reading.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG 13
Summary: "Dude," says Sam. "I think Castiel just hit on me." Crack Humor. Sam/Dean, Castiel, Chuck.
Word Count: ~3800
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers through end of season 4. Wincest. Crack.
Disclaimer:
AN: This is like a sequel to Kripked!!, except not.
“Sam Winchester,” intones Castiel.
“Jesus!” cries Sam, spinning around. “Give a guy some warning.”
Because, really, popping into existence in the middle of a gas station bathroom isn’t something you do to a person. Sam zips up his pants and glares.
Castiel doesn’t say anything. He just stares. At Sam.
“Cas?” asks Sam warily. Then, “Castiel?” Because he doesn’t really like the idea of someone other than him getting an overly-familiar, diminutive nickname from Dean.
“Samuel,” says Castiel gravely. “Would you consider yourself a 1 or a 2 on the Kinsey Scale? Perhaps a 3?”
Sam opens his mouth. “I,” he says. Then he closes his mouth. He opens it again for another try, but all that comes out is: “Ah. Uh. What?”
“You are ostensibly heterosexual,” explains Castiel serenely. “But current theory favors an interpretation of human sexuality as fluid.”
“Are you…” attempts Sam, and it’s almost impossible to get the words out. Castiel isn’t… he can’t be…
Castiel blinks, which, for an actual person, wouldn’t be of note, but for Castiel qualifies as an expression of deep emotion.
And shit, oh shit. Castiel is. He totally, totally is.
Thankfully, that’s the moment Dean chooses to burst in. Dean, apparently, has some rule about not letting Sam spend longer than three minutes alone in the restroom, which is useful when Sam’s had a vision or is being attacked by a ghost, but is usually just really fucking embarrassing.
Today, it’s useful. As soon as the door swings open, Castiel disappears.
“You all right Sammy?” asks Dean, looking concerned.
“Dude,” breathes Sam. “I think Castiel just hit on me.”
\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/
Dean looks kinda pissed off. But that’s okay; Dean’s spent most of Sam’s life looking kinda pissed off. It’s like his default expression, so Sam’s used to it.
“Seriously?” says Dean, for the sixth time since they got back in the car. “You think Cas was hitting on you? I didn’t think angels even had sex drives. Well, other than Anna I mean…” Dean trails off, smirking.
“Castiel,” corrects Sam mulishly. “And yeah, he pretty much asked me if I was bi.”
Dean scowls out the window. There’s a heat mirage in the distance, glimmering like water.
“Yeah, okay,” he concedes. Then: “Well, are you?”
Sam rolls his eyes. Another thing Dean’s been doing most of Sam’s life is questioning his sexuality. So Sam’s used to that too.
“Bite me,” he says pleasantly.
Dean grins. “Kinky Sammy.”
“Why are you so hung up on this anyway Dean?” asks Sam, more out of boredom than curiosity. They’ve got another three hours till Tulsa. “You jealous?”
“Yeah,” mutters Dean. “Cuz I totally want to sleep with you.”
Sam’s head whips around so fast he feels the liquid slosh in his brain. Dean’s not looking at him; he’s staring at the road like the careful driver he is not and has never been. His ears look kinda pink.
“Not what I meant,” Sam says, over-hasty. “I meant are you jealous of me. Not of Castiel. Who I’m not gonna sleep with, by the way.”
Dean just continues to stare out the window. Then he says, “Shut up Sam,” and turns on the radio.
They spend the next three hours like that. But, thing is, of the last few girls Sam’s really had a connection with, three are dead. All three deaths, you could argue, were in some way or another, Sam’s fault. And of those three, one was a werewolf and another was a demon who got him hooked on demon’s blood and manipulated him into freeing Lucifer and nearly ending the world.
So Sam’s more or less realized that he’s never gonna have a normal- or really any- kind of long-term, successful romantic relationship. To be honest, he pretty much came to that conclusion after Dean sold his soul for him, and he realized he’d do anything to save Dean. Sam’s world has pretty much narrowed down to just Dean, and Sam, surprisingly, is okay with that.
Dean is all he has- all he’s ever had, really- and having Dean safe and nearby is all Sam needs out of life.
It’s just not all he wants in life. And what he wants… Well, Sam is a pretty fucked up guy. But on a scale of 1 to 10 of fucked-upness, with 1 being getting kicked out of the house for getting a full-ride to Stanford and 10 being addicted to demon blood and inadvertently starting the apocalypse, having a big, gay, unrequited crush on his brother is probably only a 3. Maybe a 4, tops.
\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/
They get to Tulsa around dinner time, and Sam, for once, is starving. He drops his duffel bag onto his bed and says, “I saw a diner on the way in. Wanna grab some dinner and start working the case tomorrow?”
“Aw,” says Dean, “little Sammy’s worked up an appetite-”
“-sitting on his ass in the car all day.”
Dean started talking in the hotel room, he ends his sentence in the middle of a dimly lit, very expensive, very romantic looking restaurant. There are couples dining all around them, but none seem to have noticed two grubby and travel-worn men magically appearing in their midst.
“What the hell?” says Dean.
“Shit,” says Sam. He sees Castiel striding toward them, still in Jimmy Novak’s trenchcoat and with two menus tucked under his arm. “It’s Castiel.”
“Samuel, Dean,” says Castiel. “Follow me to your seats.”
Dean looks at Sam and shrugs, and they follow Castiel. He leads them to a table that’s suspiciously out of the way and pays careful attention in seating Sam.
“The peppercorn steaks are especially good,” he tells Sam blithely, handing him a menu.
“And I’m assuming the tab’s on heaven?” asks Dean, looking torn between irritation and amusement.
Castiel doesn’t answer. He’s disappeared again. Somewhere in the restaurant, someone starts playing a violin. The table’s small enough that Sam and Dean’s knees brush against each other, and Sam’s used to being in close proximity to Dean, but never in a place like this. He feels warm.
“This is what humans typically consider romantic?” asks Castiel materializing again and pouring Sam a glass of wine.
“Uh,” says Sam. He has no idea why Dean is here as well. But then, it’s not like Castiel’s human; the proper rituals of courtship (which include: don’t bring your date’s sibling along for the ride) probably got lost in translation.
He can’t think of anything to say. So he ends up just staring blankly at Castiel. His appetite has completely disappeared.
Dean kicks him under the table.
“Dude,” he hisses. “It’s rude to flirt with the waiter when you’re on a date!”
“What?” shrieks Sam, staring at Dean now. He forces his voice down into a less embarrassing octave. “I’m not… We’re not.”
Dean smirks at him. Then he says accusingly, “You’re a horrible date. I’m sooo not putting out tonight.”
Sam wonders if his steak knife would be sharp enough to kill Dean and himself. Murder/suicide in front of an angel and a crowd of happy diners seems a fitting end.
Castiel just stares at them and frowns.
\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/
Sam calls Chuck later that evening, when they’re back at the hotel room and Dean’s in the shower.
“Hello,” says Chuck warily, picking up on the third ring.
“Hey Chuck. It’s Sam, uh, Sam Winchester. But you probably already knew I was gonna call you. I, uh, have a question.”
There’s a pause during which Chuck’s probably considering whether or not to hang up. Sam assumes it's pretty awkward being called up for advice by someone you thought was your fictional creation.
“About what?” sighs Chuck finally.
“About Castiel,” says Sam. “He’s been acting strange lately. Stranger than usual. I was wondering if you’d seen anything or, uh-”
“Sam,” cuts in Chuck, sounding puzzled. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m not having visions of you and Dean any more.”
“What?” says Sam. “Since when?”
“Since Dean and Castiel came to my house to find you, right before the final seal broke. Dean was supposed to stay mad at you. But he, he went off script. I haven’t seen a damn thing since.”
“Oh,” says Sam. “But I still broke the final seal.”
He has a hard time getting that out. It still really hurts to admit that he almost ended the world. Between that guilt and the demon blood addiction, it was pretty tough going for awhile.
But he’s better now. Really. Thanks for asking.
“But you and Dean managed to stop the Apocalypse, because you were together Sam. Which, I’ve been saying all along, is, like, the whole central theme of the series. It’s family, you know?”
“Yeah,” says Sam neutrally. “Thanks anyway Chuck. Talk to you later.”
He hangs up. He’s only slightly disappointed. On one hand, no insight into Castiel’s head. On the other hand, Chuck no longer has 24 hour access into his head. So on the whole, Sam’s relieved.
Then, he allows himself a brief moment to feel smug that it was Dean’s big stupid older brother love for him that kept the world from ending. Though, really, if you thought about it for any length of time, it was kind of completely duh, and that was probably why Ruby and the angels spent most of last year trying to break them apart.
Still, Dean’s love for Sam is stronger than Fate. And that’s. Well. That’s.
That’s certainly something.
\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/
“I keep expecting to get a do you like me? circle yes or no note,” says Sam darkly, after Dean’s gotten out of the shower.
Dean snorts and throws a sock at Sam. “You need to man up,” he says, batting the sock away when Sam throws it back at him. “Just tell Cas you’re not interested and he needs to stop hitting on you. You’re just being a pussy Sam.”
“Castiel,” corrects Sam without thinking, but Dean’s gone. He blinks, and standing right where Dean was, is Castiel.
“Holy shit,” snaps Sam. “You have to stop doing that.”
Castiel stares at him. Sam’s getting really unnerved by how often Castiel is staring at him lately.
“By modern cultural standards of masculine beauty,” Castiel says, completely without preamble, “your brother is extremely attractive and sexually appealing.”
Sam gapes.
“What?” he says. And then because he doesn’t feel like there was enough emotion behind it. “What?”
Castiel’s right of course. Dean is extremely appealing, and Sam can say that both objectively and as someone who’s completely and obnoxiously in love with the guy. But other than Dean, Sam’s not really attracted to men. (Okay, so maybe he actually does have a bit of a thing for Brad Pitt, but that’s totally just because of his lips and, shut up.)
And then it dawns on Sam that what Castiel really wants isn’t to sleep with Sam. What Castiel is really angling for is a threesome.
With him and his brother.
Angel of the lord his fucking foot.
There is, he decides, only one thing to do.
“Castiel,” he says, in his best it’s me, not you tone of voice. “I like girls. I’m attracted to people of the opposite gender, not guys.”
Castiel continues to stare emotionlessly at him, and Sam suddenly feels very nervous. He realizes that he just rejected an angel. He half expects to be smote or something. He’s almost about to apologize again or to take it back or to tell Castiel that Dean’s not into guys either (because, well, just because), but then Castiel’s gone.
And in his place is a very pissed, very pretty girl wearing Dean’s clothes.
“What the fuck is his problem?” she snarls. “I hate it when he does that.”
“Uh, Dean,” says Sam. “Is that you?”
The girl glares at him. Her body language is just like Dean’s, head cocked, shoulders tightly wound. She even has bow legs.
“Of course it’s me,” she snaps. “You get knocked in the head or something Sammy?”
“Uhm,” attempts Sam trying to find the best way to say this. “You, uh. You.”
He gives up on the diplomatic approach.
“Dean,” he says bluntly. “You’re a chick.”
\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/
In a just world, Sam would find his brother (sister?) sobbing into his shirt to be very awkward. But considering Dean spent most of the last year crying, Sam’s just kinda used to it.
What he’s not used to is how much shorter Dean is. Dean’s been shorter than Sam for almost a decade, but now that he’s lost even more inches, he’s tiny.
“Shh,” he says quietly, trying to decide the best place to put his hands. He settles on just letting them hang loose at his sides. “Hey, it’s okay Dean.”
Dean pulls away. His eyes are red-rimmed. He’s also really pretty, prettier than before even. Sam’s not sure how that’s possible. Dean was already pretty as a guy (not that Sam would ever admit that), but as a woman, he’s fucking ridiculous. There’s a softness and a delicacy to his features that make Sam think of when Dean was a teenager and kept getting into fights with people who told him he looked like a girl.
And now he really is one.
“It’s okay?” mimics Dean in a shrill voice. “Seriously Sam? That’s the best you can do? It’s okay? That bastard took my dick! You don’t. You don’t do that to a guy!”
He lets go of Sam’s shirt and stalks away, his tears drying up in his rage.
“He’s dead,” rants Dean, voice high and a little hysterical. “Cas is dead. I don’t care that he helped save the world. I’m killing him. This is a fucking crime against humanity.”
“Castiel,” corrects Sam. “And we don’t know for sure he’s the one who did it.”
Dean wheels on him, eyes narrowed. “Don’t know for sure?” he repeats, incredulous. “Of course we know for sure Sam! He beams me out, has a little chat with you, beams me back in and poof! tits.”
Dean scowls down at his breasts as if they were the ones responsible for his misfortune. Personally, Sam doesn’t think it’s right of Dean to blame his breasts. They’re very nice breasts. Then Dean looks up at Sam, a calculating gleam in his eyes.
“What did you two talk about anyway?” he asks. And that, that’s the question Sam really did not want Dean to ask.
He’s pretty sure he’s the reason Dean’s been turned into a woman. Castiel said Dean was an attractive male; Sam said he was only attracted to women, and….
And poof! tits.
The realization hits Sam hard. He sits down on the bed.
“Holy fuck,” he whispers, running a hand through his hair.
“What?” demands Dean.
“I,” says Sam. He looks up at Dean. “He… Castiel,” he gulps. “Castiel told me that you were, you know, attractive for a guy.”
“Which I am,” says Dean. “Except not right now because I’m female.”
Sam nods distractedly. “And I told him I wasn’t interested in guys and then, he just left.”
Dean looks like he doesn’t believe Sam. “That was it?” he says.
“Yeah,” says Sam. “I think… I don’t think Castiel wants me to sleep with him. I think…” He trails off.
“You think he wants you to sleep with me,” finishes Dean, looking horrorstruck.
“Yeah,” says Sam, a little numbly. He rubs his jaw. “You think he’s been reading the fanfiction?” he jokes weakly.
Dean doesn’t say anything. He’s staring off into the distance like he’s thinking hard about something.
Finally, he says, “So you’re really not attracted to me like this?”
Sam jerks back, taken completely by surprise.
“What the hell Dean,” he says, only he doesn’t actually manage to say it because Dean’s kissing him. Dean’s kissing him. With his lips. On Sam’s lips. And Sam.
Sam is really fucking confused.
Dean pulls away after a minute, and Sam chases after but gets stopped by a hand to his chest. Dean looks like he might cry again.
“What the hell Dean?” he says, and manages to say it this time, a little angrily because he’s kinda pissed off. Dean just kissed him and now Dean’s about to cry again and Sam really did not think he was that bad of a kisser.
“It didn’t work,” says Dean softly.
“What didn’t work?” asks Sam.
Dean frowns at him. “I was supposed to turn back. Cas turned me into a chick so you’d be attracted to me. But you’re not, and when I kissed you that was supposed to prove you weren’t and I’d turn back.”
“Or,” says Sam, a little nonplussed by Dean’s ‘logic.’ “I could’ve just said, ‘Hey! You’re still my brother, sister, whatever, of course I’m not attracted to you!' Or, we could have just summoned Castiel and asked him to fix things. There didn’t have to be… kissing.”
Not that he objects, exactly. He’s a pervert, he knows that, and that was probably the only time he’ll ever get to kiss Dean like that, which was once more than he ever honestly expected. But he doesn’t want Dean to know he’s a sick freak. That’s been priority number one for a long time.
But Dean doesn’t seem to hear what Sam’s saying. He’s looking thoughtful again, and when he looks at Sam, Sam swears Dean’s eyes are blazing.
“But I didn’t turn back,” says Dean slowly. Some realization dawns on his face. His eyes go wide and round. “Because you are! You are attracted to me like this!”
Sam blushes and looks away.
“N-no.” he stammers. “It’s just. You don’t look anything like yourself,” which isn’t really true, “and my body, it’s just. You know how it is. And we can still just summon Castiel and have him change things back. No harm, no foul, right?”
Once again, Dean looks like he might cry. “Shit,” he says, “shit.”
It takes a moment for Sam to figure out what’s wrong. Normally, he’s quicker at reading his brother’s facial expressions, but he has a good excuse for being off his game tonight.
Dean, he realizes, is disappointed.
“Do you… do you want me to be attracted to you?” Sam asks dazedly.
Dean doesn’t say anything. He bites his lip. It’s really distracting. It’s answer enough. And it is everything Sam has ever wanted. He doesn’t even think.
Sam scrambles to his feet. He grabs Dean and pulls him close. Dean tries to squirm away, still not looking at Sam, but Sam holds his brother (sister, whatever) close, because this is way too fucking important.
“Dean,” he says, staring down at him. “I don’t care if you get turned into a mermaid. I am completely and totally gone for you.”
He kisses Dean, and after a brief, terrifying second, Dean kisses back. As they kiss, he feels Dean shift, transform, and suddenly the angle gets really awkward. Sam pulls back, and Dean’s a hell of a lot taller now than he was a minute ago. He’s firm and solid against Sam the way he wasn’t as a girl.
“Motherfucker!” he howls, gripping Sam tight and smiling. “Seriously Sam, a mermaid? That’s some pretty kinky shit.”
“Fuck you,” laughs Sam. He jabs Dean in the shoulder. “Brotherfucker.”
The smile disappears off Dean’s face.
“Yeah,” he says tentatively. “That’s gonna take some getting used to.”
“No, sorry,” says Sam, blushing, and this is weird for him too. “I just.” He sighs. “Just fucking kiss me again, okay?”
\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/
He wakes up several hours later, curled naked around Dean. He’s happier than he has been in a long time. He’s warm and still sleep-mellow. He yawns and stretches, Dean sleeping peacefully beside him, then freezes.
Castiel is standing at the foot of the bed.
Castiel is standing at the foot of the bed watching him and Dean nakedly cuddle.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” he explodes. Castiel doesn’t even flinch, but Dean bolts awake next to him, holding a knife he pulled from somewhere and looking intent on putting the knife through whatever made Sam shout.
He pauses when he sees Castiel.
“Uh,” Dean says. “Cas, I’m saying this as politely as possible, but what the fuck?”
Castiel smiles at them. An actual smile, an expression of deep and moving happiness.
It’s a little frightening.
Dean and Sam exchange glances, and Sam grimaces.
“Look, Castiel,” he says. “Cas. We really, uh, appreciate all you’ve done for Dean and I, especially what you just did, but….”
“What my brother is trying to say,” says Dean, picking up where Sam stopped, “is why did you try to hook us up?”
Castiel blinks. Sam’s pretty sure he’s confused by the term “hook up.”
“You know,” says Sam, waving his hand vaguely between Dean and him, both still naked but mercifully covered up by the bedsheet. “And isn’t this kinda sinful? I’m not sure God approves of homosexual incest.”
Castiel beams at him. “God is a god of love,” he says. Which, Sam’s read the Bible. But, whatever, Castiel’s entitled to his opinion. The guy looks downright joyful.
“And I ‘hooked you up,’” explains Castiel- Sam can hear angelic quotation marks around the term, “because Dean is my friend, so I wanted to make him happy.” He smiles benevolently at Sam. “And you’re what makes him happy.”
“Oh,” says Sam, blushing deeply. It’s actually really sweet.
“You thought you would make me happy by taking away my dick?” breaks in Dean, aghast.
Castiel looks abashed. He’s getting better at the having an actual expression thing. “I am sorry,” he says, and he sounds sincere in his apology. “I did not realize you were so attached.”
“Yeah, well,” growls Dean, sex having put him into a charitable mood. “Just never do it again.”
There’s a pause after that, which stretches on too long from companionable and straight into tremendously awkward. Sam’s still naked and in bed with his brother who he had sex with a few hours before. Blessings from on high or no, it’s not really a comfortable situation.
“So, uh,” he says. “Thanks for stopping by, but if you don’t mind…”
“I do not mind,” says Castiel.
Dean’s less tactful than Sam. “Look,” he says. “Thanks. Let’s get drinks some time and talk. But you gotta go now. Sam and I are going to do some stuff you really don’t want to see.”
Castiel blinks and then, Sam swears to God, he actually blushes.
“Right,” Castiel says. “I’ll just be going.” And he disappears.
“Well, that was fun,” mutters Dean.
“You have weird friends,” comments Sam. Dean sneers at him. Sam smiles. He places his hands around Dean’s face and draws him forward. Dean rolls his eyes, but there’s a grin lurking around the corner of his mouth.
Sam kisses that corner of Dean’s mouth. Then he kisses Dean properly. He’s allowed to now.
He has a fucking holy mandate.
AN: Essentially, I wrote this fic around the mental image of Castiel asking Sam where he was on the Kinsey scale. Why did that image pop into my head? I have no clue. Anyway, funny story about this fic, I was pretty much finished with it, and opened the word file to write the last couple hundred words and about three-quarters of the fic were gone. Almost three thousand words of writing had disappeared into the ether of my computer.
That probably should have been a sign to give up. But I didn't, and I rewrote what I'd lost using my memory and my handwritten notes. You're welcome.
Feedback is good karma. Thanks for reading.