Sam is a little bit worried about Dean and Castiel.
When Dean had sat him down a few weeks back and said, “just so you know, me and Cas are a thing, so he’ll be staying in my room from now on”, Sam had been borderline overjoyed. Not only was he going to get the chance to make fun of his brother’s profound bond with his personal guardian angel (something he’d been wanting to do for years) but this meant that all the snarky, sexually frustrated bickering was going to stop and Dean and Castiel were going to start acting like normal human beings in love (well… a normal human being and a normal multi-dimensional wave of celestial intent) like they were supposed to.
But it’s been several weeks now, and the bickering hasn’t stopped. It hasn’t even gotten better.
It’s gotten worse.
“Cas, jesus, could you pick your shit up off the floor?”
Sam winces from where he’s alphabetizing in the library. He can’t tell which room Dean is in (probably the kitchen) but his brother’s voice always seems to carry. The Men of Letters probably designed their hideout that way, but most likely not for the purposes of allowing Dean Winchester to bellow across the entire bunker at his angel boyfriend.
Sam slams the book shut and stalks out of the library, down the hallway with the ficus plants, and into the kitchen. Dean is standing at fridge, considering its contents, but Sam can see the problem right away: Castiel has left his shoes next to the table. Again.
Considering Castiel had never taken his shoes off before they invited him to live in the bunker, Sam usually allows him some leeway when he finds Castiel’s nice black dress shoes in the middle of the floor, but Dean had established practically militaristic cleanliness standards in the bunker right away and does not stand for anything being out of it’s place.
“Cas, I swear to God—”
“Stop screaming at me,” Castiel says.
Sam only jumps a little when Castiel manifests behind him and pads, barefoot, to the table to scoop up his shoes. He’s never sure whether Castiel is actually appearing and reappearing with angel mojo or whether the dude is just really sneaky, but living with him is like being on edge all the time. Especially when Castiel is in a bad mood. Like right now. Clearly. Without another word to Dean, Castiel leaves the room with his shoes clutched to his chest.
“And don’t just dump them on the floor!” Dean shouts after him. “Put them in the closet where they belong!”
Castiel doesn’t answer, and Dean is too busy examining what might be zucchini (honestly, what has domesticity done to his brother?) to notice Sam’s worried face.
They’re all making dinner together the next night when it starts up again.
“Dean, I know how to boil water. I can boil water without a stove. I could do it with my brain.”
“Well, congratulations, David Copperfield, but if I wanted a meal made with magic, I’d eat in Vegas. Back away from my stove. You’re chopping vegetables.”
Castiel sits down at the table and starts chopping up a carrot with barely concealed sullenness.
“Careful with that knife, you’re going to take off one of your fingers.”
“I’d just heal myself.”
“Yeah, well, Sammy passes out at the sight of blood, you would traumatize him.”
“Hey!” Sam makes an affronted noise. “Don’t drag me into this!”
In return, he gets twin condescending glares from the wonder couple. This is starting to get a little ridiculous. Sam is definitely worried.
A day doesn’t go by without some small incident.
In the cereal aisle of the grocery store, Dean makes a joke about Cheerios and orgasms and Castiel rolls his eyes behind Dean’s back, and before Sam can intervene, Dean is spinning around, hissing, “I saw that, you assole, don’t roll your eyes at me!” and Castiel is hissing back and soon enough they’re having a full on whisper-fight in the Piggly-Wiggly. Sam is mortified.
They go to the thrift store to buy new clothes because some of their old shirts have too many bloodstains and Dean tries to make Castiel buy a pair of jeans and somehow it turns into a too-loud argument in public about Castiel not being good enough and an embarrassment and Dean is shouting about putting words in his mouth and somehow they get onto the subject of “what you’re giving up by being with me” and Sam has to hustle them out of the store to avoid the manager asking questions about their mental health.
It seems like they can’t go anywhere without Dean and Castiel snarking at each other. The bicker about detergent at the laundromat, they slap each other’s hands over the radio when Sam stretches out in the backseat of the car, they trip each other running around the house racing to get to the first shower, and Sam suddenly feels very old and fatherly when he has to bark, “Stop rough-housing!”
So all things considered, Sam is pretty worried.
The next night, the house is shockingly quiet, so Sam figures it as good a time as any to try to talk to Dean about his relationship. He creeps down the hallway with the mint and eucalyptus plants, feeling strangely like his footsteps are echoing in the quiet of the bunker. When he reaches the door to Dean and Castiel’s room, it’s slightly ajar, and Sam can hear the faint strains of “Love Is Here To Stay” playing from Dean’s record player. Worried he’s disturbing Dean sleeping or something, Sam peeks in, and what he sees lifts a heavy burden off his heart.
Dean and Castiel are wrapped together in the middle of the room, swaying slowly to the tune on the record. Castiel has his nose pressed into Dean’s shoulder, and their hands are clasped to Dean’s chest. Dean has his eyes closed, and Sam has rarely seen him look so blissfully happy.
In time the Rockies may tumble, Gibraltar may tumble, they’re only made of clay…
Castiel turns his head slightly to whisper something in Dean’s ear, and Dean chuckles, tilting his face so that Castiel’s nose nudges against his cheek, and Sam is almost embarrassed by how sappy they are, how childishly, sweetly in love. It’s such a harsh distinction from the Dean and Castiel who, just yesterday, Sam had seen nearly murder each other over what brand of orange juice to buy, and now here they are swaying in each other’s arms like nothing could tear them apart.
Our love is here to stay.
Smiling to himself, Sam backs away from the door. It makes sense, he supposes. They wouldn’t be Dean and Castiel if they weren’t taking every expectation of how they were supposed to behave and completely turning them around. They were never a pair to follow anyone else’s rules.
They’re filling up at a rest stop a few days later and Dean has decided to let Castiel try putting gas in the car. He’s supervising from a safe distance when Sam settles himself on the wall beside him.
“Everything good?” Sam asks.
Dean grunts an affirmation, not taking his eyes off of Castiel, who is looking at the gas pump like it’s going to bite him.
“So… you guys are… good?” Sam presses. “You’re happy?”
Dean’s lips tilt up into a smile and he finally looks at Sam, his eyes crinkling at the edges.
“Sammy,” he says. “He’s the fucking love of my life.”
His tone is jaunty, but his eyes are completely earnest, and Sam can tell when his brother is bullshitting him, and this isn’t one of those times.
“Good,” Sam says, nodding. “Good.”
Dean turns back to look at Castiel and the car, and immediately jumps up to march over to them.
“Cas, don’t just shove the nozzle into her like that, she’s a lady—”
Castiel scowls and Dean proceeds to gesticulate frantically with his hands and Sam doesn’t know how he missed it before, but it’s so obvious to him now. He smiles, pushes his hair out of his face, and chuckles.
They’re going to be all right.