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It was amusing really, that, for once, he was on the receiving end of the affections of an older lady instead of Sam. Though, now he understood how those few (far too many, actually) advances made Sammy feel. His skin was still slightly crawling with the seedy feeling Mildred's touches had left, especially when they had lingered a little too long for it to be any kind of comfortable or for the intentions behind the touches to be up for any kind of debate. No, Mildred was a direct girl, and knew what she wanted.
Dean, on the other hand, wasn't as clear on that and wished he'd had the balls of that old lady, now, walking at his side. The minute she, albeit jokingly, told him that it wouldn't have worked out between them, anyways, because she'd never go for someone so obviously pining for someone else, he tasted the bile rising up into his throat and mouth.
Because his first thought went to Amara and that really didn't sit well with him. Effectively, he knew that she'd somehow enchanted him, put him under some kind of spell, whether intentionally or not didn't really change anything. So rationally, he knew that his attraction to her was something superficial, even though emotionally he tried and failed to dismiss it. It felt more like an addiction rather than attraction. Because what could he really be attracted to? He didn't know anything about except for the fact that she was an extremely powerful being older than time. He didn't like her. He was… bound by her, feeling a need to seek her out and be in her general vicinity. It felt like chains on his wrists, trying to keep him away from what his heart and soul really desired, trying to pry him away from his true love.
His second thought, though, made him shift his eyes further down the driveway of the retirement home. He looked at Sammy, who was standing next to Eileen and talking to her. Something was funny, apparently, and Dean's gut churned yet again. Mildred put her hand on his arm, this time though less suggestively and more like a caring mom. “Oh, don't try and hide it, now. Follow your heart! Remember?" At that, Dean sighed heavily and looked at his toes.
“That fairytale of you two being brothers, you can try and sell that to someone else”, Mildred kept going. And Dean started to sweat. “I've seen enough on the road to catch the glimpses between the both of you”, she said with a nod in Sam's direction, who was still tangled up in a seemingly funny conversation with their new hunter acquaintance. He gulped loudly and then turned his eyes onto Mildred again. “The problem, my dear, is that we really are brothers. And I am sick in the head for how I feel about him. But, thankfully, he knows nothing of it.” And where the hell had that come from? Why had Dean just said that out loud to this charming old lady from the nursing home, whom he'd just met? And, by the looks of it, scarred for the rest of her retirement home bound life. Because, now, it was Mildred’s turn to swallow thickly. “Oh, I see”, she said with a look at Sam.
Dean wanted to apologize, make up some bullshit that he'd just been joking, no, they aren't really brothers, just messing with you, hahaha, but she just barreled over him. “Well, I've seen some weird stuff while touring. I've never seen this particular kind of weird, but I think it's made me more accepting of such phenomena.” Her voice had dropped a little, the tone a tad more serious, less quirky old lady, more grandma who Dean had just come out to. “But honey, don't fool yourself into believing he doesn't know anything. Or, if he really doesn't know, then he's got his whole own story going. You didn't see the look he had on his face until he could make sure that you'd be alright.” And even despite that revelation, the biggest elation that Dean could feel in that moment was born of the fact that she still had it in her to smile at him. Even after his unholy confession.
“Naah, he ain't as messed up as me”, Dean dismissed her. But Mildred caught him again. “Honey, you aren't messed up for that. You've just found your peace and bliss in someone closer than the rest of us. And what harm could it do, really? It's not like you'll be able to procreate.” Dean choked on the air he inhaled. After his coughing fit - and shit, Sammy caught wind of it and made his way over - he asked her: “You sure you didn't bump your head somewhere last night, Mildred?” She just smiled and held her hand over his heart, giving him a penetrating look straight into his eyes and smiling caringly. “Follow your heart and take a jump into the cold water. Watching the sunset after is much more rewarding when you can feel the rays warm your skin.”
Then she turned to Sam. “Alright, you boys stay out of trouble.” “Thats not gonna happen, Mildred”, Dean retorted and felt happy that he still made her chuckle. With a last touch to her arm and a nod at Eileen he ushered Sammy towards the car, head swimming with brain goo, seeing as that conversation had short-circuited his synapses and melted his gray and white matter.
In the car, he contemplated what the charming lady had said to him. But the fifteen minute drive home to the bunker wasn't really enough for life altering decisions to be made on the way. So, when he walked into the kitchen later that evening and Sammy tossed him a cold one without even looking, he felt a zap of electricity run through his veins as his head replayed Mildred's words in his ears. Having a conversation with Sam about Cass was done on autopilot, shortly interrupted by Sammy's blissful admission that he was right about getting back into the game. His apology about not looking for Dean while he was stuck in purgatory made his stomach drop to the floor through his crotch. Playing it off, telling Sam that he's forgiven him for it and that the past was in the past, was just an attempt at cutting the conversation short, so that he didn't get his hopes up too much. “All that matters now, all that's ever mattered, is that we're together. So, shut up and drink your beer.” But Sam didn't seem too sold on it.
“Are you gonna be able to sleep tonight?”, he asked his little brother while holding his pulsating head at the cut. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so. What about you?” Sammy asked him back. “Yeah, I still got some ringing going on in my head, but nothing some good music can't wash out.” And he hoped to God that it really would help. He almost sighed in relief when Sam stood up from the table and turned to walk away.
But then the little (not so much, really) shit lingered in the doorway and fixed him with a loaded glare: “You know, I still can't figure that out. I mean, Banshees go after the vulnerable, right? So, why’d it go after you?” And Dean felt the cold sweat break out again on his back. He needed a fast way out of this. “You're overthinking it.” He tried to go for uncaring but firm. “It was going after Mildred, it saw my gold blade, acted out of self-defense. Simple.” Sam's look told him he'd failed miserably.
And when Sam took a step back towards him, Dean steeled himself as if for a blow. “I don't buy it”, he said. “What are you not telling me?” And Dean felt like the smallest man on Earth under Sam's scrutinizing glare. He felt the cold sweat on his back, tasted the too thick saliva in his mouth with that bitter tang of hops and malt, failed to keep the tear rolling over his cheek in his eye. At that, Sam kneeled down in front of him and placed his hands on Dean's knee and arm, tablet clattering to the floor, forgotten and unimportant. “Hey, what's wrong?” Sammy asked worriedly, drawing small circles with his thumbs where his hands lay on his brother. And Dean couldn't swallow down the wrecking sob that escaped him, nor the onslaught of emotion rolling over him like a tidal wave.
So he sank into Sam's welcoming embrace and let loose, shed the tears and started apologizing to his little brother. Feeling safe and secure in his brother's arms, Dean let the tears flow and take with them the only real fear he'd ever had. So, when he was all cried out, he pulled back, locked eyes with Sammy, took his little brother's beautiful face in between his hands and kissed him. He jumped into the cold water.
He'd made his peace with it, with taking this chance and getting pummeled by the rejection and the disgust and the loathing. What he hadn't made any kind of peace with was the reciprocation of the kiss. Because Sam leaned in, pushing Dean back, chasing his mouth like a starving man tasting food for the first time ever. The hands that were on his extremities before had found their way to his face, into his hair and onto his neck, holding him against his brother's face, while Sammy's mouth wreaked havoc on his own, prying his lips open with his tongue, pushing in, plundering and ravaging until Dean had no more air in his lungs. When Sam pulled away, he didn't go far. He stayed with his forehead pressed to Dean's, eyes closed, a miracle in Dean's sight, panting, kiss swollen lips, lashes fanning over his cheeks, hair falling around those gorgeous features.
“So, I guess it could have gone for me, just as much”, Sam said when he caught his breath. And Dean wasn't sure if he'd heard right. He blinked once, twice at Sam and marvelled at the wide grin that pulled at the corners of his little brother’s mouth and made those dimples appear deeper than ever. And at that, he realized, he felt the warmth of the sunset on his skin. “Because if this is what made you vulnerable, then I have been carrying a target painted on my back since I was thirteen years old”, Sam admitted oh so easily that Dean had to restrain himself from melting onto the floor. Instead, he surged forward, kissing Sam again, mentally thanking Mildred for being right. And then he kissed him some more. And after that he did a little more than kissing. But who really cared? It's not like they were fucking to procreate.