Real (a Dean & Sam, Destiel, Saileen coda to 15x09 “The Trap”)
Morning after, and Sam spies a little something blossoming in the kitchen. Something that stokes the fires of his curiosity. When the scene ends, he walks in with an intent to investigate. Learn about the strange magic that happened before his eyes. How quickly Dean and Cas’s relationship repaired. And what brilliant new shape it took on after Purgatory.
Will Sam be satisfied with the answer?
Sam hung back, hidden in the shadows. Content in letting the coffee cool in its pot to watch the scene unfolding in the kitchen. Assured that his entrance would interrupt the strange dance happening. Like stumbling upon two deer in the woods, a sudden sound would send them running. Where he stands, Sam can observe Dean and Castiel in undisturbed splendor.
They gravitate towards each other, an invisible string tugging them closer no matter how far one moves. Castiel hovers over Dean while he makes breakfast. He asks for ingredients, and the angel silently gathers them. Handing them over, sometimes their fingers brushing up against each other. Going out of their way to do so – Dean sliding into the milk’s handle while Castiel doesn’t let go until a healthy beat passed.
It’s a refreshing sight. Before Sam ran off with Eileen, wrangling either into a room in which the other already waited took an infinite amount of patience. When they did occupy the same space, both men stood on opposite sides. Waiting for a bell to ring.
“Seriously,” Sam said to Dean one night, “Why won’t you talk to him?”
“Because I got nothing to say.”
“Clearly that’s not the case.”
“Will you drop it?” Dean sighed, wiping down his gun for the seventh time, preparing to take it apart for the eighth. “What’s between me and Cas is between me and Cas…”
Sam rolled his eyes. “And why can’t you tell me?”
“Because,” he dropped the gun, rubbing his cheek. Uncaring to the grease stain slashed across his skin. “Because you wouldn’t get it, okay? Please… drop it.”
He tried talking about it a few other times after that, but Dean deftly avoided the topic. And now, with how their friendship looks, Sam will never get his answer. A price to pay for one good thing to come from the fiasco of the past twenty-four hours.
Movement in the kitchen draws him from his thoughts. Dean turned, quite suddenly, startling a frozen Castiel. Their chests bumped against each other, the pan of scrambled eggs barely surviving the slackness of Dean’s grip. His hold tightens, and Dean steps away. Enough for a piece of paper to slip between them.
Sam squints, leaning forward to better understand the shift.
Dean’s mouth parted open; his gaze locked on Castiel’s. Not strange except for the way the fluorescent lights hit him. Like they unlocked a secret that left Dean in a daze. His chest rises and falls, tapping at Castiel’s tie.
Castiel, however, remains calm. Fractures in this façade show, but he won’t fall under the same spell that enraptured Dean.
He steps to the side. “Your breakfast will get cold.”
Shadows crest and absorb the light, returning Dean to his senses. “Right,” he chuckles, “Thanks, Cas…” They walk towards the table, Dean sitting. Castiel stands at his side. “I know you don’t have to eat but you can sit if you want?”
Castiel shrugs, arms stiff at his sides. “I was thinking… of going for a drive,” he says, not looking down at his brother. “For a little bit, to get some fresh air. I wouldn’t be long.”
Dean sets his fork down, facing forward so all Sam sees is the back of his head. “Really?” he asks, voice terribly level. Sam pictures the haunting smoothness across his face, nary a wrinkle of sadness. “You want to go?”
“Maybe pop into town?”
“…Town?”
“Re-stock,” Castiel says, “I noticed that there’s hardly anything left in your fridge that would satisfy either you or your brother…”
Dean’s head twitches. “I did use up the last of the eggs…” His hands drop, one tapping at the table while the other digs into his robe pocket. “Okay,” he says, “Yeah… yeah, we need things. If you’re going though, take her.”
Baby’s keys dangle above Dean’s head like mock mistletoe. Both Castiel and Sam’s eyes widen at the gift. Now Dean won’t meet his stare. “Dean,” Castiel starts, “you want me to –“
“I doubt we’re going anywhere today,” Dean tells him, “And I like to get her out at least once every day. Besides… I trust you with her.”
Intently, Sam watches Castiel’s hand reach for the keys. Drifting slower than molasses, until in a blink he snatches them. Brings them to his chest in a soft reverence. “This means a lot to me, Dean,” he says, “… thank you.”
Dean waves him off, digging into his eggs. “You get a scratch on her and you’re paying for it.”
“I’ll be careful.” Castiel, with his other hand, swings it wide towards an unidentifiable goal. Only it never lands, awkwardly circling until it lands at his side. “Thank you.” He shuffles away, over to the other exit.
“Cas,” Dean calls when the angel reaches the doorjamb. He pauses, turning slightly. Waiting for him to continue. His brother drags their silence into oblivion, like he forgot what he meant to say. “Just,” he sighs, “Come back?”
Castiel smiles, “Of course.” He leaves, blinking from existence as if he flapped his wings and tore through reality. Really his footfalls carry him down the hallway while they echo in the glaring absence.
Sam waits an appropriate amount of time to walk in. Long enough for the air to return to his lungs and for his brain to function at a higher level. Not repeating ‘what was that’ on a loop. He attempts casualness, shuffling to the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup. Dean grunts, sliding the sugar over when Sam sits opposite him. “Morning.”
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