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Dean knows what he’s supposed to say in most situations when he hits a snag. When Lisa asks him when he’s going to propose, he’s supposed to say soon. When his boss asks him when the presentation’s going to be ready, he’s supposed to say as soon as possible.
When Sam sits him down at a crowded coffee shop, on a Friday evening, with a croissant and an Americano and tells him that he’s getting married, Dean is supposed to say congratulations.
Congratulations. Dean forgets that such a word exists in his vocabulary and Sam’s hesitant, nervous almost as he laces his fingers together, places his joined hands on the table as he meets eyes with Dean. Green, splices of green that cut Dean’s throat and he can hear his heart pounding under the cage of his ribs. His phone buzzes in his pocket. Lisa. Dean can feel the universe grab its stomach and burst out laughing at his sorry sight.
“Well?” Sam nudges, cheeks pink and ears red like he’s embarrassed, eyes blinking softly like he wishes he could flutter them and fly out of this fucking cafe.
It’s so noisy, everyone and their mothers have decided to buy a pumpkin spiced whipped caramel fucking latte today and Dean wants the universe to implode. Swallow him whole. Maybe swallow Jessica Moore so the problem itself is wiped off the face of the earth. Jessica Winchester, actually. Dean wants to shoot himself.
“Um, that’s great. Great.” Dean says, sounding perfectly not great. He takes a sip of his coffee and hates it so much. He hates coffee. “When did you — uh, y’know? Pop the question?” Fucking yikes.
“Like two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks.” Dean repeats. Sam smiles like he didn’t just singlehandedly turn Dean suicidal. Two weeks Dean was living his life like it hadn’t just ended.
“Yeah, she’s always wanted to see Miami so I took her. Got some flowers and stuff on a beach. A photographer. At sunset, it was — it was wonderful.”
“Oh, great.” Dean says, like a toddler who doesn’t know anymore than five words. “Florida, huh, Sammy? Romantic as hell.”
And Sam giggles, fucking giggles like he isn’t twenty-three and getting married, signing his bloody life away this young — Dean was a menace when he was twenty-three and Sam’s getting married — and Dean isn’t sure what he should say to this. “Congratulations, bitch.” Dean states, and he swears he sees Sam light up. Beams. Dean is about to open up fire on everyone in this damn coffee shop. Fuck pumpkin lattes.
“Thanks, but I actually invited you out because I wanted to ask you a question.”
Let’s run away together. Let’s go see the Grand Canyon like we always wanted to. Let’s have sex one more time and then one more time and then one more time.
Dean blinks. “What?”
“I want you to be my best man.”
It hits Dean like a freight train at full speed. It’s real, this is real. This isn’t some long elaborate prank that ends up with the two of them in the backseat of the Impala and Jessica Moore out of their lives like she’s always meant to be. This is real. Sam is getting married. Holy fucking —
“No way.” Dean voices out, and Sam freezes for a split-second. Eyes widening.
Expression crumbled. “Oh, I —“
“I’m kidding. Totally.” Dean says, sand in his mouth and Sam sighs, reaches over to smack Dean’s head. Like this is normal. “Of course I’ll be your best man.”
And Sam looks like he wants to hug him, eyes shiny and wide like he’s fucking Bambi and Dean’s the hunter who wants to shoot an arrow into Bambi’s blonde fiance and Dean isn’t quite sure how this dynamic is going to work. He’s hit a snag and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.
He goes over to Lisa’s apartment and he’s thinking of his brother when he fucks her. He almost feels guilty when she looks at him with hazy eyes, some intrinsic bond formed between the two of them like there hasn’t been in quite a while. She likes coffee with milk and sugar after sex — no matter how exhausted she is — and today Dean follows her to the kitchen. It’s three in the morning. Overcompensating.
“Sam’s getting married.” Dean says, and Lisa gasps, clearly excited as she walks around the counter to give him a tight hug. There’s uneasiness roiling in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t know why he brings it up again.
“You must be feeling proud, huh.” Lisa says, but it’s not really a question. Anyone else in Dean’s shoes would be proud as hell.
She reaches for her favorite mug in the cabinet next to the stove and Dean’s leaning against the counter, suddenly worried about the idea of her being a mind reader.
“Yeah, yeah, of course. It’s great news.”
Lisa nods, taking a sip of her coffee, Dean’s tshirt too big for her tiny frame and Dean wants to go home. He isn’t meant to be here. He’s supposed to be by Sam’s side, enjoying whatever little time they have left together. But it won’t look good. Dean’s lived his whole life keeping up appearances and he isn’t going to stop now. So, he stays and watches the moon through Lisa’s window, his arm around her waist, air conditioning unit whirring loud and he thinks about a fork in the road. The path not taken.
There are way too many flowers and cake tastings and Dean’s exhausted pretty easily. That coupled with the genuine distaste for the situation that he’s in, Dean’s miserable. He sits across from Jess and Sam as they feed each other fucking cake and Jess’ maid of honor is so enamoured by these two that Dean’s starting to get worried that he’s the only one who thinks this is sick. He doesn’t say anything about that, of course, not to anyone because he knows better.
Jess’ maid of honor, Jo Harvelle turns Dean on to smoking. Dean hates that, too, but it’s easier to take a break once every hour now that he has an excuse as to why. There’s only so much of Sam and Jess that he can take until his head explodes.
They’re so fucking domestic and Jessica is objectively hot, which makes everything worse. She’s clearly the sun of Sam’s solar system and Dean doesn’t remember when he realized it wasn’t him anymore.
Dean and Jo are standing outside the florist shop, lighting each other’s cigarettes while Sam and Jess pick out flower arrangements. Jo’s perfectly nice and attractive — he knows it would piss Lisa off if she knew about her and the smoking — but Dean doesn’t get the urge to hit on her. He’s off his game, way, way off.
“So, how does it feel?” Jo asks, cigarette could between her teeth.
“How does what feel?”
“Your baby brother. Getting married. Is it blowing your mind that he’s gonna be having marital sex in a few months now?”
“That’s unsettling,” Dean says, feeling his face twist in disgust at the idea of it. It makes Jo laugh. “You got any siblings?”
“Nah.” She says. “My mom decided I was enough of a handful pretty early on.”
“Sounds about right.”
Jo grins. They smoke in silence but Dean’s starting to learn that she can’t keep her mouth shut for too long. “So I’ve got a question.”
Dean hums.
“Do you not want Sam to get married to Jessica?”
And Dean freezes, deer caught in the headlights as he looks at her and says, “What.”
Jo shrugs. “I dunno, it always seems like you’re kinda… distracted. More often than not. It’s very… obvious.”
Dean can’t even think of being honest with her. He looks at her, blinks for a few seconds while Jo takes a drag of her cigarette, eyebrows cocked. “It was just sudden.”
Jo huffs. “Try again, Winchester.”
Dean sighs, clamps the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. He should definitely do something to throw her off the trail. “He didn’t tell me that he was gonna take such a big step. He always tells me this kinda stuff — or told, I guess.”
“Do you think maybe he was nervous to see your reaction?” She says, absentminded, ducking her head back into the shop to see if the happily engaged couple needs them.
Dean shrugs, flicks his cigarette filter away. “Maybe. Just because you’re afraid to do something doesn’t mean you just don’t do it, right?”
“You’re right.” Jo mutters. “Maybe you should talk to him about it.”
And Dean should, but there’s a lot of things Dean should do. He isn’t perfect. He sure as hell isn’t stupid enough to think he could try and bring this up with Sam without talking about the thing they swore they buried forever. It’s easier, way easier to swallow his feelings and let it go. Let it go. Because Dean isn’t stupid and Sam isn’t his.
Suit fittings. Dean has always hated Sam’s fratboy friends. They don’t suit his brother, it’s more of Dean’s scene to be the troublemaker, the partier, the alcoholic and being loud doesn’t look good on Sam. But it’s Sam’s wedding and Dean’s taken a day off from work and he’s hungry and Sam’s getting his suit made.
They’ve taken Dean’s, Brady’s, Andy’s, Jake’s measurements already and Dean’s on the couch outside, waiting for Sam to finish getting his fucking inseam measured. Dean’s starving and Sam’s friends are fucking loud and Sam’s getting married, Sam’s getting married, Sam’s getting —
Sam sticks his head out through the fitting room door, nervous and unsure. His baby brother. “Dean?”
Sam is on this pedestal, full length mirror in front of him. He’s so tall that Dean can’t see his head in the mirror and Dean runs his eyes along his brother’s form in the suit he’s getting married in and Dean doesn’t know if this will ever be different. His heart lurching under the cage of his ribs. Pained. Dean’s mouth is full of sand and Sam’s so tall, so young with his hair slicked back and the purple bowtie fixed at the heart of his collars and Dean says, “How much is all of this gonna cost?”
The sun’s shining in through this window up above, Sam’s eyes shiny and wide and he laughs like there’s phlegm caught in his throat. Sam’s face is twisted, eyes glinting like they’re crafted from gold. Sam’s got a gold band on his ring finger. It’s funny, Dean always thought that Sam was more of a silver person.
Dean walks towards him, fingers running along the lapels of Sam’s suit and he says, “Mom and Dad would’ve been so proud.”
Sam splinters into pieces of glass, pulls Dean into this tight hug, buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck like he’s made himself smaller. Dean hesitates, wraps his arms around Sam’s middle. This is weird. Dean doesn’t remember if they’ve ever hugged before.
“Is this gonna change anything,” Sam asks, but it sounds like a statement. Muffled by Dean’s neck.
“No, of course not.” Dean lies. When’s he ever been honest with Sam?
Bachelor party. Dean’s slightly buzzed and he’s booked private lap dances for all of Sam’s loud, obnoxious friends. Sam’s having fun and he’s got a cap with plastic boobs on and he’s sipping on champagne, dollar bills being tucked into stripper thongs and Dean’s watching him from across the stage. Purples and greens and blues on Sam’s face. Lisa’s texting him and Dean reaches for his phone.
How’s it going
Dude, it’s weird. I’m absolutely not paying attention to these tits in my face.
I hope you don’t expect me to believe that
Swear to the high heavens
You’re such a sweet boyfriend
Ofc babe
“Dean?!” Sam calls out to him from across the stage, waving both arms and he looks fucking ridiculous. Sam’s cheeks are tinged pink. There’s a stripper grabbing Sam’s face. “This is Tiffany!” Sam says through hollowed cheeks. Tiffany turns back to Dean, gives him a small smile.
God I wanna come home
Just ditch it and come back. I’m watching Desperate Housewives
Andy’s got his arm around Sam, Sam’s face smushed against his shoulder.
I don’t wanna leave Sam here
He’s got friends to take care of him, right?
The strippers lead Andy, Jake and Brady away to private rooms and Dean isn’t paying attention to the women on the stage in front of him. He’s watching his brother, eyes sharp and clear and his brother’s watching him. Sam holds his hand up, curls two fingers around his wrist. Their sign to get away for a bit. Dean’s teeth sink into his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.
“I’m exhausted. And drunk.” Sam sighs, rubs his face with his hands as he and Dean lean against the Impala outside the strip club. “God, I wanna go home.”
Dean blinks. “There’s no way. I think there’s a Candice who’s very excited to see you. And she was expensive, so you better not —“
Sam wrinkles his nose. “It’s so unethical.”
“Boo fucking hoo, Sammy.”
“I dunno, man.” Sam mutters, runs his thumb along his bottom lip. “I’m beat. Let’s just go out on a drive.”
Dean’s eyebrows furrow, as he looks up at Sam. “What about the stripper?”
“What about her?” Sam says, shrugging and it’s more of an invitation than anything Sam’s ever said.
Dean has rolled the windows down and Sam’s laughing — louder than he’s ever laughed before and there’s a stick of mint chewing gum under Dean’s tongue. He’s watching Sam in the rearview mirror, so horribly unsafe and Dean can’t believe that Sam’s gonna get married. Sam reaches for the radio, turns the music up high, leans back into the seat.
“Can I ask you something?” Sam says, and without waiting, starts speaking. “You’re taking this surprisingly well.”
“Nothing to take.” Dean says, and Sam looks at him, like he doesn’t quite believe it.
“Are you not mad?”
“Not even slightly?”
“No.” Dean lies. Tries something else on for size. “Do you want me to be?”
Sam pauses for quite a long time. The Impala keeps going faster. “A little bit.” Sam says.
“How much is a little?”
“Very.”
“Okay, you’re very very drunk.” Dean says, even though he can feel the color bleeding into his cheeks. “Let’s get you home and then I’ll go pick up your idiot friends.”
Jessica helps bring Sam back into her apartment from Dean’s car and for a girl her size, she’s freakishly strong. She gives Dean a side hug, thanks him for bringing Sam back in one piece. Sam smiles at him, gives him a big wave, shouts “Dean, I love you so fucking much —“ as the door closes behind him.
Rehearsal dinner. Dean’s supposed to be giving a toast. He’s got his cue cards ready, propped up on his knee and Lisa’s sitting beside him at the table, fixing her dress. Dean turns his head to look at her, the tight black dress clings to her body and she looks fucking beautiful and Dean tells her so, it slips out of his mind without much thinking.
A surprised laugh slips out of Lisa’s mouth. Dean smiles. Someone’s clearing their throat from across the table. Two fingers curling around his wrist.
“I don’t wanna do this.” Sam says, as the bathroom door closes behind them and it’s so cramped in here that Dean might start to get fidgety.
“Sam. It’s just cold feet.”
“No. I know cold feet. This isn’t cold feet.”
“Sam —“
“No, I —“ Sam stops, runs his hands through his hair. “This was a mistake. Massive. I never should’ve proposed. I was just trying to — I dunno, I just thought that —“
“You thought what?”
“I had a dream last night.” Sam says, and he doesn’t seem to be on one single track. There’s a million things going on inside his brain and Dean’s nervous. “Dean, I fucked up. I don’t want to marry her. I don’t love her, I never did, I just thought that —“
Dean blinks. “Thought what?”
“I thought you were proposing to Lisa.”
There’s a crash outside the bathroom door like someone’s rammed a cart into it. They don’t look away from each other. “Wait,” Dean says. “You proposed because you thought I was going to propose? Sam, that’s fucking insane.”
Sam doesn’t like that. “Can you blame me?” Sam snaps. “God, Dean, this was —“ He pauses. “I can’t go back out there.”
Dean’s eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
“I’m telling you, Dean. I’m leaving either way. You come with me or you don’t, that’s it.”
And there it is. A fork in the road. Sam’s got his hands tucked in his pockets in his really expensive suit with his really expensive haircut and Dean goes with him. Of course he does. They go see the Grand Canyon and Dean changes his number. He doesn’t know if Sam does. They gamble away a few thousands in Vegas, beaches in Miami, drive along the roads of California and this all seems like less of a mistake and more of inevitability.
Sam kisses him in a bed and breakfast in Vermont, tasting of pancakes and maple syrup and Dean thinks this is enough. He doesn’t need anything more than this.
⚭