In Which Sam Does Not Know
So obviously everybody loves a good old fashioned Sam knows scenario, but consider this: Dean assumes Sam knows. Sam does not.
They’ve been waiting half an hour when Dean sees Cas pull up in the parking lot. It’s late summer, edging into fall, and when this hunt lead them to Daytona Beach Dean hadn’t hesitated to point out that Cas stood out like a sore thumb in his holy tax accountant getup. A brief, humidity-fueled argument at the motel sent Cas storming off to the nearest Walmart on his own, and now–this.
Cas is wearing white shorts. He’s wearing socks with sandals and a short-sleeved shirt, printed with flamingos. Dean wants to rip every last stitch off him. He’s completely and utterly fucked.
“He’s still hot,” Dean says weakly.
Sam doesn’t look up from his legal pad, a furrow on his brow as he tries to decipher whatever note he made in a hurry while interviewing their most recent witness. Dean’s own eyes are still glued to Cas, who’s adjusting the flamingo shirt’s collar and fluffing his hair in the side mirror of his car.
“He’s dressed like a sixty-year-old tourist at Disneyworld and I still want to climb him like a tree.”
That gets Sam’s attention. He looks up, startled, and the pen he’s been absently chewing drops out of his his mouth and hits the floor with a clatter.
“I mean, look at him, Sam,” Dean says, pointing toward Cas as he pulls open the door and scans the restaurant. “He’s… fuckin’. He’s smoking hot. What the hell.”
Sam glances over at him before returning his focus to Dean. His whole body stiffens, and he slowly narrows his eyes as he leans forward.
“Did you just Christo me?”
Sam gestures wildly, eyes wide as he all but hisses.
“Well last I heard, you weren’t into guys, least of all Cas, so–”
“Uh, yeah I am,” Dean cuts him off, pulling a face. “You knew that.”
Dean scoffs, but Sam’s expression isn’t changing. He’s wide eyed, staring at Dean as though he’s just grown a tail, and–Oh. Oh. He didn’t know? He didn’t know. Holy shit.
Come to think of it, it’s not like Dean ever flat out told him that he’s an equal opportunity kind of guy, but hell, he’s positive Sam got an eyeful of the Doublemint twins, and Sam’s been teasing him about his cowboy fetish for years. Sam didn’t seem shocked when Dean explained what makes Dr Sexy sexy. He didn’t seem surprised when he found Nick the siren in the motel room.
And as for the Cas thing–he’s hardly been subtle, right? Not when Cas isn’t around. He stares at Sam, trying to figure out how exactly his brother managed to miss all of this, and comes up short.
“You seriously didn’t know?”
Before Sam can respond, Castiel slides into the seat beside Dean.
“Is this acceptable attire?” he asks, and Dean gives Sam a look that he hopes his brother understands means to be continued before he turns to grin at Cas. He pats him on the shoulder and lets his hand linger.
“You look like a a sixty-year-old tourist at Disneyworld. So, y’know. Not great. But better than I expected.”
