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The only reason the spell hit Sam and not Dean was that Sam was a big old hero who’d jumped in front of Dean at the last second, taking the full wallop of the curse himself. Luckily, even though Sam was stunned, Dean had been able to aim around him and fire a couple of the special bullets they’d concocted and the witch they’d been hunting went down like a sack of beans, his body smoking and then just…disappearing. Huh. The guy was a real asshole, using homemade spells to manipulate people into doing whatever he wanted, including robbing banks and then killing themselves after he made off with the loot.
“What did you do that for?” Dean complained as he hauled Sam to his feet, visually inspecting him for damage. He looked all right—he looked better than all right, to be honest. They’d been so busy on this damn job that Sam hadn’t had a chance to shave in a few days and his hair needed a cut and he was all out of breath, muscles straining against his flannel. Dean took a second to appreciate the sheer hotness that was scruffy, strong Sam before locking all that tidily away.
“Couldn’t let him hurt you,” Sam said, then he frowned.
Dean chuckled awkwardly. It was nice to hear, but strange for Sam to come out and say the quiet part out loud. “Well, I appreciate the sentiment, but what exactly was in that whammy?”
“Oh no—I think it was a truth spell,” Sam said on a moan.
“You think?”
“It feels like one. I feel like—like even if I want to say something else, I’m being compelling to tell—to tell the truth. Fuck!” Sam turned away from Dean, his shoulders set in an angry line.
“A truth spell? Wouldn’t it deactivate after I smoked the guy?” Dean walked over to the pile of clothes that were all that was left of the witch. He nudged them with the tip of his boot, hit something hard. “What’s this?” He bent down to pick up what looked like a small, smooth stone, but Sam smacked his hand away.
“Don’t touch that,” Sam said with exasperation. “It might be the source of the truth spell.”
“So we just gotta destroy the stone and you’ll be fine,” Dean said.
“Hopefully.” Sam said, but he had a worried line between his eyebrows. “I’ll grab something from the car to hold it—don’t touch it.”
Dean put his hands up. “I’ll be good.”
“You’re a menace,” Sam said. Then he practically ran out of the room, returning a minute later with a carved wooden box. “It’s a reinforced box that should protect both the contents and keep its power locked inside.” Carefully, he scooped the stone into the box and shut the lid tight.
The ride back to the bunker was tense. Sam looked spooked, as if he thought Dean was going to take advantage of the situation. It wasn’t as if Dean hadn’t considered all the ways he could have fun with Sam when he was compelled to tell the truth—he was pretty interested in learning about Sam’s true porn habits, for instance, but when he thought about it a little longer, he realized if the roles were reversed, he definitely wouldn’t want Sam poking around in Dean’s mind, so he did his best to keep his mouth shut.
Luckily, they were only a few hours away from Lebanon. As soon as they got back, Sam took the box with the stone and disappeared into one of the bunker’s work rooms. Dean took a shower, thinking about what to make for dinner. He should make something Sam liked to cheer him up a little. He had a quart of homemade vegetable soup in the freezer—with some fat turkey melts on the side, they’d both be happy. He toweled off his hair, put on some jeans and a T-shirt, then went to find Sam and inform him of the plan. Maybe he’d gotten somewhere with the stone and the curse.
He heard Sam before he turned the corner into the work room. He was talking to someone, sounding slightly hysterical. “I tried that, Rowena. It didn’t work.” A pause. “Because I’m in love,” he said, sounding even more wretched.
Dean stopped in his tracks just outside the door. Love? In love? Sammy was in love with someone?
Another pause. “You knew? Jesus. Does everyone know?” A slightly bitter laugh. “Well that’s small comfort. I thought you’d be a little more helpful after all the shit we’ve—fine. Yes. And don’t—” Another pause. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Dean figured whatever Rowena had to offer probably wasn’t a good idea, but Sam must be pretty desperate to have called her for help so soon.
“All right. And thanks,” Sam bit off. There was more silence and Dean figured he’d ended the call. He chewed on his bottom lip, his stomach in free fall. Who the hell was Sam in love with, and why didn’t he know about it? Was Sam going to run off with this person? Were they going to get married?
He was trying to decide whether to turn around and pretend he hadn’t heard anything or go talk to Sam as planned or go dry heave over the toilet, when Sam came out of the room and practically ran right into him. “Dean!”
“Hey, Sam,” Dean said, trying not to sound like his entire world was crumbling around him. “What’s up?”
“I called Rowena but the stone doesn’t resemble anything she’s familiar with. She said she’d call if she came up with anything.”
“I won’t hold my breath,” Dean said.
Sam’s shoulders were caved in, his eyes darting everywhere but Dean’s face.
“Want some dinner?” Dean said with faux heartiness. Sam’s in love. Sam’s in love was looping in his brain like a broken record.
“Um. Sure,” Sam said.
“Veggie soup and turkey melts,” Dean said on autopilot. “Sound good?”
“Sounds great, Dean. I love your soup,” Sam said. He shook his head, as if he hadn’t meant to say that.
“That’s because I’m a good cook,” Dean said, trying to keep things light and normal. That was normal, wasn’t it? “Soup’s on in thirty.”
“See you then.” Sam brushed past him, practically running down the hall in the direction of his room.
Well. This was terrible.
***
Dinner was stilted. Dean couldn’t think of a way to ask about Sam’s love life without being completely obvious, and he didn’t want to have to find out this way, with Sam looking like a scared rabbit every time Dean opened his mouth.
“Relax, dude, I’m not going to give you the third degree just because you can’t lie,” Dean said gruffly, draining his beer.
Sam’s shoulders dropped an inch. “Thanks. And thanks for dinner. It’s really good.”
“And I know you’re not just saying that,” Dean said.
Sam glared at him. “This isn’t funny, Dean. If we can’t undo this spell, I’m going to—I don’t know. Have to start wearing a muzzle or something.”
Dean arched an eyebrow, trying to picture it, then trying to un-picture it when he decided he liked the image a bit too much. He cleared his throat and asked, “Are you worried about offending the world with all your hot takes?”
“No! I’m worried about—” and Sam snapped his mouth shut, looking green around the gills. But the silence only lasted a few seconds and then his mouth opened and words poured out. “Hurting you, making you hate me, saying something I can never take back.”
Dean widened his eyes while Sam stared at his empty soup bowl, patently miserable. “Holy shit, how much do you have floating around in that noggin of yours that you don’t want me to know, huh?” He tried not to be stung at the idea of Sam keeping secrets from him, secrets that might hurt. Maybe that’s why Sam hadn’t told Dean about being in love already—maybe he knew Dean’s heart would break if he knew the truth.
“Not that much,” Sam said softly. “Only one thing. But please don’t ask me what it is, Dean. I’m begging you.”
Sam’s one thing—the fact that he was in love with someone. Who was it? Eileen? Some civilian who lived in Lebanon? Was it that cute brunette who worked at the post office who always looked at Sam with fuck-me eyes? Was Sam going to leave and get the normal life Dean had always claimed he’d wanted for him?
He suddenly pushed back from the table. “How about some ice cream for dessert?”
“No thanks,” Sam said. “I think I’ll just go to bed early.”
Dean was losing him already.
***
Dean had terrible dreams and tossed and turned all night, but Sam looked like he hadn’t slept at all when he tracked him down the next morning. His little brother was in the library poring over a book with red rimmed eyes and messy hair. His shirt was buttoned wrong. Dean couldn’t help thinking Sam was kind of adorable all disheveled. He wanted to unbutton his buttons for him and then button them up right, smoothing his hands down Sam’s endless chest, putting him back to rights.
But that wasn’t Dean’s place. Because they were brothers. Obviously. He knew that. He was acutely aware of how very, very much they were brothers. He loved being Sam’s brother. It was just easier to bear when he could pretend that it was going to be him and Sam against the world forever. The knowledge that Sam loved someone—someone else—and that might someday change things—well. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that wouldn’t go away.
“Any luck?” he asked, setting a cup of coffee next to Sam’s elbow. He didn’t brush the bangs out of Sam’s eyes the way he wanted to.
“Since when do I ever have any luck?” Sam said bitterly. He made a face. “Ugh.”
“Guess the truth spell is still in effect?” Dean asked, taking a sip from his own cup of coffee.
“Yeah,” Sam said miserably.
“Should we test it to make sure?” Dean asked carefully.
“I don’t want to,” Sam said tiredly, taking a sip of coffee.
“That probably means it is,” Dean said. “How’s the coffee?”
“Delicious, just the way I like it,” Sam said, then he clapped his hand over his mouth.
Dean chuckled. “Okay, yeah. Usually you just grunt and say thanks.”
Sam smiled a tiny bit. “Sorry. I guess I’ve gotten used to you making it the way I like.”
“No problem, kiddo,” Dean said, then winced. Sam was thirty-five. Not a kid anymore. He cleared his throat. “So, what’s the plan for ending the spell? Maybe I should just shoot the rock and see what happens.”
“That’s a terrible idea,” Sam said flatly.
“Jeez, tell me how you really feel,” Dean said, not actually offended. It was a long shot, but he didn’t have any other ideas.
“I—” Sam stood up abruptly and sprinted from the room.
Dean gazed after him, his heart breaking a little more. Obviously Sam didn’t want to tell Dean how he really felt—but why? Did he think Dean was that pathetic, that codependent that Sam knew he wouldn’t be able to handle hearing that Sam was in love?
He looked down at the book Sam had been reading. It looked like a spell book. He looked closer. His Latin wasn’t as good as Sam’s, but he could read enough to know this page was a spell for taking away a person’s voice. What the hell? Was Sam seriously considering giving himself another dose of magic just so he wouldn’t say something he’d regret?
Sam’s coffee cup had been left behind in his haste to escape from Dean. Dean picked it up. It would be a shame to let the brew go to waste. He looked for Sam in his room, then the bathroom, then made his way to the work room where the witch’s stone was being held in quarantine. He hadn’t made up his mind about what he was going to do about the fact that Sam was in love and didn’t want to tell him about it, but he knew at the end of the day, he’d do whatever was best for Sam. Even if it meant losing him to a postal worker.
Before he entered the room, he heard voices. Sam was saying “What the hell?” and another voice, a man’s voice said, “It worked! Holy shit, it worked!”
Wait a minute. Dean recognized that voice. It was the witch they’d ganked yesterday. Son of a bitch. He didn’t have his gun on him, just two cups of by now lukewarm coffee. He peered around the doorframe to see Sam looking shocked at the witch—the completely naked witch. At least the bastard didn’t have any weapons on him. But he was still dangerous. Dean barged in, threw both cups of coffee in the witch’s face, and tackled him to the ground.
“Get the cuffs,” he yelled to Sam. Damn, this witch was slippery. And somehow he grabbed hold of a coffee mug and cracked Dean in the temple. Dazed, but not unconscious, Dean punched wildly, connecting with something fleshy, attempting to subdue the perp. He heard the witch mumble something under his breath and then—nothing.
***
Dean came to slowly, Sam’s words pouring into his ears. “…god, you better be all right. I can’t lose you, can’t live without you, Dean. I love you so much, you big idiot, so you have to open your eyes, okay? Please, please open your eyes.”
Dean opened his eyes to see Sam’s big wet ones looking down at him. “What the fuck?” It sounded like Sam had just said he loved him. Among other things.
“Oh thank fuck,” Sam said, his hands dropping from where they’d been clutching Dean’s shoulders. “You—you’re dead,” he said fiercely, turning on the other figure in the room.
Dean struggled to sit up and saw the witch shackled in the iron cuffs and sitting on a metal chair. Dean hoped the chair was ice cold on his naked ass.
“Oh, untwist your panties, he’s fine,” the witch spat. “I didn’t do anything to him except a little knockout spell.”
“What the fuck is going on here?” Dean said, his headache receding slightly. “Where did you even come from? I killed you.”
“A little spell I devised—never knew if it would really work, but it did,” the witch said, sounding pleased with himself. “It’s an anti-death spell. If I take a killing blow, I transform into a sacred stone for twenty four hours, then come back. And it worked!”
“Great, so you can undo your truth spell,” Sam said grimly. “Now.”
“Ooh—that worked, too? I’m so awesome,” the witch said. “Although, to be honest, I was going for a killing spell, but I must have done it out of order.”
“Whatever, just fix it,” Dean said.
“I can’t—not with these babies on.” The witch rattled the cuffs. “These are sweet. Where’d you get them?”
Dean ignored him, looked at Sam. “He’s right. He won’t be able to do anything with those on.”
Sam looked murderous. “Give me a minute.” He stalked out of the room.
Since Dean was pretty sure he knew what Sam was up to, he slowly got to his feet. “So, you think you’re pretty smart, huh?”
“Sometimes witchcraft is so theoretical. It’s nice to get some real-world field testing in,” the witch said.
“The people you murdered weren’t theoretical,” Dean reminded him. “They were regular people with families.”
“Sheep,” the witch said callously. “Easily controlled sheep.”
Dean figured Sam would get mad at him if he strangled the guy before they could undo the spell, so he balled his hands into fists but kept them at his sides. He only had a moment to think back on what he’d heard when he woke up—Sam’s words of desperation ringing in his ears. It almost sounded as if Sam—as if Sam lo—
“All right,” Sam said, rushing back into the room. He handed Dean his gun—which Dean was positive was loaded with witch-killing bullets. He hefted his own and pointed it at the witch. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to reverse the truth spell, and then we’re going to lock you up again. If you try anything—anything at all, my brother will drop you faster than you can blink.”
Dean got all tingly when Sam got menacing like that. Sam glanced at him, made eye contact. Dean nodded. Sam unlocked the shackles and the witch said a few lines in Latin. Sam shook his head, as if clearing his ears.
“All good?” Dean asked, but before Sam could answer, the witch lunged for Sam’s gun. Dean didn’t think twice, and plugged the witch where he stood. This time, he went down and stayed down. No disappearing. No little rock left behind.
Sam scowled at the body. “God, I hope that did it. Ask me something.”
Dean decided if he was wrong, he could blame it on a witch-induced concussion. “Are you in love with me?”
Sam’s face went ashen. He said nothing.
“Because I heard you telling Rowena you were in love. And I’ve been tying myself up in knots thinking about who—and how—and if—but I didn’t think it could be—could be…me.” He swallowed heavily, in too deep to back out now. “But if it is, then, um. That would be…really good. Yeah. Because I love you. Bad. Like, would-be-cutting-my-own-tongue-out-before-telling-you bad except for the fact that you’re thirty-five and can make up your own mind and yeah it’s wrong and shit but it’s also just kind of the way it is so yeah, I love you. I’m in love with you, Sam.”
He forced himself to stop talking and look at his brother, who looked even paler.
“Is that true?” Sam asked, voice gravelly.
“Every word.”
Sam was across the room in two giant steps. He put the safety on his gun and tucked it into his waistband. Dean mirrored him. They stared at each other and then Sam reached out and put one of his big hands on Dean’s jaw, cradling it almost. Dean shuddered, his entire body on alert. This was happening. This was actually happening and he wasn’t ready, he wasn’t prepared for getting the thing he’d always told himself he’d never get.
“I am in love with you,” Sam whispered, and then, still holding Dean’s jaw, he leaned in and kissed him. The moment their lips touched, Dean knew all his doubts, his fears, his guilt, his shame—it was all peanuts compared to the feeling of kissing Sam. Kissing Sam was watching a sunset from the top of Everest. It was riding a comet through the cosmos. It was a burger and a beer and a slice of apple pie on a sunny summer day. It was everything Dean had never allowed himself to imagine he could have.
“Sam,” Dean murmured when their lips finally unglued.
“Dean,” Sam answered throatily.
And truer words were never spoken.
End