Chapter Text
“You’re kidding, right? You’re joking. This is all one big laugh, huh? Well, haha! You got me! Good one, Sammy.”
“I’m really not joking, Dean.”
Dean had thought they got all the apocalypse shit over with four years ago, but this truly was the end of times.
“You want to buy a house!? ”
"Yeah." Sam shrugged at him over the racks of gas station chips and pre-made sandwiches with that hopeful-puppy expression that had got him so many places as a child. But Dean wasn’t giving in this time, nu-uh. He’d had his shots. He was immune.
“Why?”
“I just thought, it might be nice for us to, you know, settle down a bit.” Sam’s hopeful look was slowly fading into disappointment and a bit of hurt at Dean’s tone, those broad shoulders hunching a little more, and a small part of Dean was starting to feel guilty, but most of him was too busy being taken up with incredulity.
“Settle down? What, you mean retire? Stagnate?”
“No! Does Bobby look like he’s stagnating? Just…” Sam sighed, turning away, his lips pursed, broad shoulders slightly hunched. “Just an idea. Never mind.”
He turned away, and Dean watched him wander off with a distinct sense of unease. He bit his lip as Sam pretended to be engrossed in a display of sweets, dithering before making his way to the till.
Whatever Sam might say, it wasn’t ‘just an idea’. It stuck in Dean’s mind all the way through paying for his snacks, nagged at him through the slightly tense journey to their next motel, ate at him in a way that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
He turned to look at Sam’s sleeping face pressed against the side door as he pulled up. His brother’s mouth was slightly open, breath creating a gently fluctuating patch of condensation on the cold window. Everything had seemed to be going so well. Heaven was slowly un-fucking itself with Gabriel's help, the hunters were back to dealing with restless spirits and werewolves, Bobby was as ornery as ever, and he and Sam were back on the road together with their old comradery restored. Even Hell was quiet these days; that hadn't had a demon case in six months now that Crowley had secured his power. He and Cas had a good thing going. Sam and Gabe were as nauseatingly close as ever. They were fine. They were happy.
But Sam’s earlier words and eager look still came echoing back to haunt him; “settle down” . A frisson of anxiety went up his spine.
So Dean did what he always did now when he wasn’t feeling sure; he sighed, booked them into a room, packed Sam off to bed, got back into the impala, and called Cas.
...
There wasn’t a sound these days that could put Dean at ease faster than the
whup-whuf
of angel wings. By the time he turned to the passenger seat Cas was already there, his hair windswept, looking like he had just rolled out of bed and was (in Dean's opinion) adorably grumpy about it. Dean breathed out, letting tension slip out of his shoulders for what seemed like the first time in hours. “Cas.”
Cas took in his stressed expression and immediately his grumpiness sharpened into alarm, eyes flicking back and forth, scanning the area for danger. “Dean, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Is it Sam? Do we need Gabriel?”
Dean gave a tired chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s Sam, but it’s not an emergency, Cas. Cool your jets.”
Cas relaxed. “I have wings, not jets,” he said, returning his blade to the inside of his coat.
Dean smirked. He’d worked out Cas’ bone dry sense of humour years ago now, and it was still satisfying to watch him confuse and frustrate the other hunters, but he was feeling too unsettled tonight to joke around like they sometimes did. Cas seemed to sense it, his eyebrows drawing together and eyes softening into a frown of genuine concern. “Dean, is everything alright?”
Dean sighed, his smile slipping. He raised a hand to his forehead to try and rub away the budding headache. “It’s something Sam said earlier…”
He explained the whole thing. He could feel himself getting more and more wound up as he related the story, until by the end he could hear his heart thumping unevenly in his ears. “We don’t need a house with a lawn and a goddamn picket fence!” He exclaimed, gesturing, on a roll now. “What’s wrong with the impala, huh? We’ve always been just fine living out of motel rooms! That’s what we’ve done our entire lives! And now suddenly he’s too good for all that!” Even if it would have been nice to have a mattress where the springs weren’t trying to assassinate you like Julius Caesar every night. And maybe a decent kitchen. And maybe somewhere to hide his ever-growing collection of cowboy gear...
But Cas wasn’t nodding along and agreeing with him. In fact, his eyebrows had grown closer together in a considering frown. “Actually, Dean... I can see where Sam is coming from.”
Dean shot him an incredulous glare. Surely he should be taking Dean’s side on this? He opened his mouth to loudly object, but Cas wasn’t done. “Maybe Sam feels the need to put down more permanent roots, and to have some space to himself.” Cas met his eyes, as unnervingly insightful as ever. “And unless I’m mistaken, I believe that you do too. There is no sense in depriving yourself of any scrap of stability.”
Dean grunted, unwilling to admit it but also desperately not wanting to fight with Cas as well. “Whatever. This’ll all fall through, you watch. I don’t need a house to be happy, and neither does Sam.”
He quickly got out of the car, letting the door slam behind him with a solid clunk and refusing to look back as he walked up to the motel door. If he stayed in there, Cas was going to psychoanalyse him until Dean gave in and bought a condo in the suburbs, he just knew it.
With a humph, he slid the key into the lock. What did Cas know? He and Sam managed just fine! They were fine!
Quiet noise filtered through the wood, he realised. Probably Gabe coming down for a visit. Good, that might put a smile on Sammy’s face after the wobbly lower lip he’d had to put up with all day. Dean vaguely wondered what they were doing as he turned the key. They were probably watching a movie or some other disgusting coupl-y shit. Watching them was enough to give Dean cavities they were so romantic, which, Dean wouldn’t lie, wasn’t what he’d ever expected from Gabriel, but here they were. Their lives were weird. At least they weren’t sharing a body any more. And he seemed to be treating Sam right- initially Dean had worried when he came back that their relationship might burn out when they weren’t in one meatsuit any longer, but they’d gone and proven him wrong. The last four years only seemed to have made their relationship stronger.
The lock gave way with a click . Dean swung the door open and-
He only caught the most fleeting glance. A flash of bared skin, a leg flung over someone’s hips, the wink of a buttock before-
“DEAN!! GET THE HELL OUT!!”
…
Dean shut the impala door with a clunk of miserable resignation and sighed. He didn’t even bother looking over at Cas. No doubt his expression was unbearably smug. Instead he scrubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes to see if he could remove the images seared there. Nope. Those were burned in.
“Fine.” He muttered bitterly, “So we need a house. With locking doors. Got any suggestions?”