Archive of Our Own

  Jake would have much preferred to leave the office with minimal attention on himself. But in a town where everyone knew everything about everybody, that was kind of hard. 

  "Enjoy your holidays!"

  "Say ‘hi’ to Trace for me."

  "Happy anniversary, Jake!"

  Once Jake was finally out, with small smiles and waves to all his colleagues, he couldn’t help breathe a sigh of relief. He loved these guys, he really did, but sometimes, the lack of anonymity got stifling. If Tracy hadn’t wanted to stay here, he would have left for the city a long time ago.

  As he got into his car, he snuck a look at his watch and breathed out in relief. He was going to be home on time. Good thing too, because he still had to pack (and so did Tracy, he’d bet) and if he didn’t get a good sleep before the flight… Well. Tracy and he needed this vacation to sort themselves out together. He’d rather not spend any portion of it jetlagged.

   As he took the turn near the park, his headlights fell on another car idling in the corner. There was a woman standing beside it, holding her thumb out.

  Jake rolled to a stop. "Hi," he greeted warmly. "Stuck?"

  The woman flushed in embarrassment. "Uh, yeah. I’m trying to get to a relative’s house. She lives just on the outskirts of town and…" She waved a hand at her car.

  Jake frowned. "Well, other side of town is not that far, technically. But on foot…" He gnawed on his lower lip, eyeing his watch. It wasn't that far a drive. He could probably take this woman to her destination and still make it home in time for an early dinner. He sighed. "If it’s alright with you, I can take you where you need to go," he offered. "And you can get your car towed in the morning- nothing will happen to it out here, not in this town."

  The woman gave him a pleased smile. "Oh, would you really? Thank you, that… That would be really helpful." She got into the car and held out her hand, shaking inky black hair out of her face with a smile. "I’m Penny."

  Jake shook her hand. Sudden dizziness took him, everything going blurry except her, and he blinked hard to focus. "Jake," he mumbled. "Uh, I’ll just text my wife, let her know I’m running late and…"

  She didn’t let go of him. Jake stared down at their joint hands, his thoughts feeling slow and muggy. Her palm was cold, making goosebumps travel up his arm. He dragged his eyes up to her face. "Penny," he said slowly. "What’s…?"

  Her eyes were a bright blue, so bright they seemed to glow. She gave him a smile, still shy and a little embarrassment in the way she fiddled with the ends of her scarf. Then she leaned into his space. Their lips connected and Jake’s thoughts went blank.

  " Happy anniversary!"

  Tracy laughed. "Thanks, Ash," she said. "How's London treating you?"

  " Oh, it's good ," Ashley confirmed. " But, come on, it's your first anniversary! Any special plans? "

  Tracy blushed. "We're boarding a plane in seven hours," she said, cradling the phone over her shoulder to peek through the curtains, just in time to see a grey car pull into their driveway. "Yep, Jake's here. I gotta go! We haven't even started packing!"

  Ashley's laugh was full of teasing. " Well, don't let me get in the way! Have fun, Trace! "

  "Bye, Ash." She put the phone down and felt her smile fade. Jake and her had been awfully distant lately. It was only their first year of marriage, but they’d been dating for nearly two years before and… Well, maybe this vacation would be exactly what they needed.

  As she started pulling clothes from her wardrobe, stuffing them into an open suitcase, she heard the front door opening. Despite herself, she smiled. "Hey," she called, louder so her voice would carry. "How was work? You want me to pack for you while you make dinner, or other way around?"

  There was no answer. Tracy frowned in concern. "Jake?" She called again. Still no answer. Abandoning the packing, she walked out into the hall. There he was, in the kitchen, still in his work clothes, his back to her.

  Tracy’s frown deepened. "What, you’re so tired that you can’t answer me, but not so much that you can’t fix yourself a drink?"

  Jake turned. 

  A frisson of fear raced down her spine as she gave a small gasp, stepping back.

  Jake was holding a knife. His eyes were bloodshot, but… 

  "I can't help it," he whispered. "It's the only way."

  Tracy’s breaths were coming faster. She felt faint, as she stumbled away from him.  "Only- only way to what?" She dared to ask.

  "To be with her," he murmured. "I want to be with her."

  "No, don’t," she whimpered. "Jake, snap out of it, please, please, NO!"

  A quick burning sensation across her stomach and she stopped screaming.

  Dean couldn’t honestly say he was surprised to find Sam nowhere in the bunker when he woke up. Ever since the run-in with Lucifer and his new henchwoman Anael- Sister Jo- whatever- he’d been subdued, throwing himself into running and research. He’d even gone on one of his no-meat binges again and had taken to wearing a hoodie all the time.

  Even if Dean could somehow overlook the Apocalypse, the mindless killing of innocent people, and the general evilness, he would still hate Lucifer more than anyone just for putting that look on Sam’s face.

  Dean downed his coffee quickly, contemplatively staring at Sam’s laptop left on the table. Maybe he should find a case. Something simple and easy, something that would get Sam’s head back in the game, maybe distract him from Lucifer and mom and Jack… 

  "Dean."

  He jumped out of his reverie. "Damn it, Cas," he growled. "We’ve been over this; don’t sneak up on me like that."

  "Sorry," Cas said, so blandly that Dean wondered if he was being Punk’ed by their resident angel. "Where is Sam?"

  "Out for a run. Getting fresh air, seeing the sunrise and all that jazz." He went around Cas and sat at the table, pulling the laptop closer. In the distance, they heard the echo of the bunker door closing. "And he’s back," Dean commented. "He’s going for a shower first, he’ll be here in a few minutes."

  "I have nothing to say personally to him." Cas hovered by him for a second, then he slid in across instead. "How are you both doing?"

  Dean thought about his weeks-long depression over mom being missing, over Cas and Crowley’s deaths, his misplaced anger at Jack, his worry for Sam...Then he shrugged. "I’m fine, actually." He rolled his eyes when he saw Sam’s desktop was the Men of Letters emblem. Dork , he thought affectionately.

  "Why are you smiling?" Cas asked.

  Dean schooled his features immediately. "Nothing. So, you got any new leads on that spell?" He asked.

  "To create a rift? No," Cas sighed. "I’ve been searching, but…"

  Dean just hummed, eyes fixed on the screen as he searched for something that might be up their alley. If Cas had found something, then Sam wouldn’t be spending so many nights on that same thing.

  "You’re looking for a case?" Cas asked. "Is that wise? With Lucifer out there?"

  "It’ll be better than staying cooped up inside," Dean countered. "Besides, Sam hates being coddled and that’s exactly how he’ll see it if we try to keep him from going out."

  "I know." 

  "Yeah. Anyway, he needs this."

  "Who needs what?"

  Dean started, looking up. Sam strode into the kitchen, hair dark from his shower and wearing- yep, Dean’s white hoodie, never mind the fact that the sleeves were a little short for his gorilla arms. He made a beeline for the fridge, head tipping back as he downed half a bottle of water. Then he looked back at them. 

  "Who needs what?" He asked again. 

  Dean dragged his gaze from the hollow between Sam’s collarbones, up the length of his throat, past his wet lips, to his eyes. "We," he corrected himself. "We need a case."

  Sam nodded thoughtfully, grabbing his frozen yogurt. 

  Dean frowned, trying not to seem too concerned. "Dude, I'm making pancakes in a few minutes."

  "Not that hungry," Sam mumbled and slid in next to him. 

  Now, Dean liked Sam in his hoodie- little more than he should- but right now, it hung loose on him in a way that wasn’t healthy. He shot Cas a look to say See what I mean? 

  Cas rolled his eyes, but dutifully said, "I believe you are both suffering from cabin fever and need an outing."

  If Sam noticed the silent conversation, he didn't say anything, fully focused on his breakfast. 

  Dean turned back to the laptop.

   Cattle mutilations - best to stay away from demons for a while, lest Lucifer had been in Hell recently. 

   Hearts ripped out - werewolves took too much effort, to be honest, and Dean wanted something easy for now. 

   Five men missing - No, that was too easy. He’d ask Jody to put Claire on it.

   Two people killed by respective spouses over a period of three weeks- Oh. 

  "Here, look at this." Dean turned the screen towards Sam. 

  Sam leaned into his space, radiating heat and the flowery smell of his shampoo that Dean stole as often as he could. "What are you thinking?" Sam asked. "Siren?"

  "Fits, right?" Dean skimmed the article, ignoring the dryness of his mouth. "I mean, neither of the murderers have any motivation, they can barely remember what happened up to and during the murder, and both couples had seemed happy."

  Sam hummed. "Yeah, but… Sirens are predominantly female, despite whatever shape they might take, and they target men. But one of these murderers is a woman."

  "Okay, then this one plays for both teams, who cares?"

  Sam just gave him an unimpressed look, but the corners of his mouth twitched up and that counted as a win. "I don't know, Dean. We need to keep looking-"

  "Sammy, come on," Dean wheedled. "This is a milk run!"

  "No, don't." Sam shook his head. "Don't jinx it. Everytime you say that, the case goes bad."

  Dean held his hands up in surrender. "Alright. So? Harrison, Michigan- it's a lake town, we can make a vacation out of it."

  "A vacation. In a lake-town." He sounded unsure, hesitant in the way he sometimes got that Dean could never hope to comprehend the reason behind, though it didn’t stop him from wondering if Sam was just balking at the idea of a vacation with him.

  No, that couldn’t be right; they’d taken weeks off before, holing up somewhere and ignoring all news for as long as they could.

  "Hey." Dean tucked his insecurities away and peered at Sam carefully, noting the tiredness there. "We need this, man. Come on."

  Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah, you're right." He cast a glance at Cas. "Cas, you wanna come too?"

   Oh, hell, no! Dean liked spending time with Cas just fine. But Sam would never relax fully if there was a third person present. "Or… Cas could stay back and continue your research."

  Cas looked between the two of them. He must have seen the glare that Dean was trying to tone down, because he smiled at Sam gently and said, "I agree with Dean. The two of you need some time to yourselves. I will stay here- ‘hold the fort’, as you call it. And I can mind the phones, should you require me to." He looked mildly excited at the prospect.

  Sam looked faintly suspicious, but let it go. "Alright." He looked back at Dean, softening slightly. "Let’s check it out."

  "I’m Agent Maclay," Dean introduced himself, showing off the FBI badge. "This is my partner, Agent Rosenberg."

  Sam nodded distractedly, too busy examining the body.

  The coroner, Aisha Singh- a short woman with an intimidating gaze- looked between them with a furrowed brow. "Little late, aren’t you?" She commented, a slight huskiness to her voice. "I expected someone to arrive right after the second case."

  "Yeah, well, head office doesn't see a pattern in less than three." Dean smiled apologetically.

  "What can you tell us about this body?" Sam asked, lifting his gaze from the third and newest victim.

  "Tracy Robinson," Dr Singh supplied, breath catching over the name. "Her husband, Jake, called it in. They were both found in the kitchen of their home. Tracy suffered from multiple stab wounds to the stomach and chest. She’d bled out long before anything could have been done to save her."

  "Are there any similarities to the other two cases?" Dean asked.

  She shook her head. "None of the vics have anything in common," she denied. "And their respective partners- well, they all tell the same story of meeting a gorgeous somebody, being in some sort of trance, and then the next thing they know, they’re standing over a dead body." She stuttered to a stop, brown eyes suddenly shiny. 

  "Anything in their blood work?" Sam asked gently after a pause. "Drugs or… Oxytocin?"

  Dr Singh frowned slightly, blinking fast to regain her composure. "Oxytocin?" She repeated. "The love hormone?"

  Sam nodded. "We’ve had a similar case before," he told her. "The perps were all found with impossibly high levels of oxytocin in their blood. We think this might be the same thing."

  Dr Singh shook her head slowly. "Well, Dr Cameron- he has the night shift- he took care of the last two cases, so I haven’t seen those reports. But Jake and Tracy’s will be ready by evening. I can take a look at all of them then and give you a call if I find anything."

  "That would be great, thank you. Also, can we have a sample of Jake Robinson's blood, please?"

  That earned them more weird looks, but she agreed and left them with a firm handshake. Sam turned back to Tracy Robinson’s body.

  "Well, she was surprisingly shaken up," Dean mused. "Considering her job."

  "It’s a small town, Dean, everybody knows everybody," Sam said. "She must have been close to one of the victims, probably this one." He bent over the desk, reading carefully over the preliminary reports.

  Dean hummed. He stared at Sam idly, never quite able to look away when he was distracted, too busy focusing on something else. So, it took him a second to register that Sam had asked a question. 

  "Hmm? What?" 

  Sam rolled his eyes on instinct. "Why didn’t you want Cas to come with us?"

  "Oh." Dean shifted awkwardly. "I, you know, just- we haven't taken a minute to ourselves since Jack was born, you know? Just thought we could take a break."

  "Look, Dean, I know what you're trying to do." Sam straightened, staring Dean down. 

  Dean stayed frozen, irrational trepidation filling him. "You do?"

  "Yeah." Sam nodded. "You think I'm still shaken up after Lucifer, and you're trying to get my mind off it."

  "Yeah, well…" Dean figured there was no point in denying it. "You are shaken up!" He accused. 

  "I know I am," Sam agreed. "What I'm saying is, you don't need to go to all this trouble just to distract me, man."

  "What trouble did I go to?" Dean questioned, genuinely confused. 

  Sam hesitated for a second. "You like having Cas around," he murmured. "You get worried when he's not with us."

  Dean almost laughed. He stopped himself in time, rubbing a hand down his face to hide his amusement and rolling his eyes instead. "I worry about him because sometimes, he's still the same brand of gullible he's always been. Leviathan, Metatron, the Anti-freaking-Christ… Any of this ringing a bell?" Dean shook his head in exasperation. "Anyway, how much trouble can he get into in the Bunker?"

  Sam's mouth twisted in thought, like there was something more he wanted to say. Then he shrugged. "Well, we can wait for the reports or talk to the perps right now."

  "Perps," Dean voted.

  "Mr Robinson, we'd like to talk to you about last night." The look of venom that earned Dean was a very familiar one. 

  "What more do you want to talk about?" Robinson asked. Despite the anger he was evidently trying to muster up, his red-rimmed eyes barely lifted. "I’ve already been over this with the police and the lawyers."

  "Mr Robinson," Sam said softly. "We’re just trying to help. We understand it’s difficult, but you might remember something more if you talk about it again."

  The man lifted his cuffed hands to rub at his temples. "We have our- had our anniversary next week. We were supposed to be on a flight this morning. I was coming home from work. And I…" He swallowed, looking up at them. "This is going to sound crazy."

  "Hey, that’s our specialty," Dean reassured lightly. "Just go on."

  "I was coming home from work. There was this woman," Robinson whispered. "Her car had broken down. She needed to get to the other side of the town."

  Dean nudged Sam’s foot under the table. This was different from the last few siren cases they’d handled.

  "I stopped to give her a ride. She sat in the car and…"

  Sam leaned forward. "And?" He prompted.

  A dry sob escaped Robinson. "I don’t know what came over me," he lamented. "I just… All of a sudden, all I wanted was…" He pressed his lips together tightly, head bowing as his shoulders shook with restrained tears.

  Sam sighed, leaning back and exchanging a look with Dean. This was all they really needed to know, blood work or not.

  "And then she said, she asked, if I ever thought about killing my wife." He took a deep shuddering breath. "She said, that if I did something for her, then I could see her again. That all I had to do was… Was kill… Kill Tracy." He closed his eyes, shaking. "How could I do that? I loved Tracy, I… We'd been a bit distant for a few months, but… But I loved her. And that woman… I'd never seen her before. There was nothing there but… Crazy attraction."

  Dean felt a stab of pity. "Mr Robinson," he started. "Can you tell us anything about that woman? Name, description, what she wore?"

  The man shook his head. "She called herself Penny. I didn’t get a last name," he muttered. "We didn’t exactly chat."

  "What did she look like?" Sam asked.

  Robinson sighed, head tipping back in remembrance. "Uh, average height- around 5’7, maybe. Short black hair, really fair skin. Blue eyes, I think, it's a little hazy now. And…"

  "What?"

  Robinson frowned, the first expression he wore that wasn’t grief. "She was… Really beautiful. Like, in that drive-you-crazy-with-lust way. But… Now that I think about it, it seemed… Plastic. Fake."

  "Anything else? Anything weird, or something that stood out?"

  Robinson shrugged, looking tired again. "Uh, she wore a scarf. A blue one. That was kinda weird, I guess. Not really the weather for it."

  "But no strange marks on her? No tattoos?" Dean raised both eyebrows. "Did you happen to see her reflection at some point maybe?"

  It was actually a stupid question- the blank look he received was confirmation.

  It was too late for a proper lunch by the time they'd finished talking to all the murderers- Dean hated calling them that. It wasn't their fault they'd been duped by a supernatural asshole. 

  So, they stayed in their room, Dean munching on his jerky and Sam with his trail mix. 

  "So, they've all got the same story," Dean said, reaching over to pick out the M&Ms from Sam's trail mix. "Just like the coroner said."

  "Jake Robinson met the siren on the road," Sam narrated from the files. "Alicia Casteñeda met her at a parent-teacher conference. And David Bryce met her… At his cousin’s wedding."

  "Classy," Dean commented. "Where have I heard the name Bryce?"

  Sam shifted his attention to his laptop, clicking a few keys. "Uh, they’re one of the founding families. They own a brewery. The wedding was between Nancy Bryce- only child- and Robert Jones- heir to a bigger business out of town. It was a marriage of convenience, apparently."

  "Okay." Dean stared up at the ceiling. "Anyway. All of them had hot sex with the same stranger, then went home and killed their partners."

  Sam pursed his lips unhappily. "How are we going to find her?" He asked. "Everyone's given the same description and name, but everyone's encounter happened at totally different places- there's no pattern."

  "And you know what else?" Dean frowned. "Usually, the siren appears specifically as the vic's deepest desires- you know, the one thing they need the most. But this one… Everyone's describing her as lust-inducing, nothing deeper. And everyone saw black hair, blue eyes?"

  Sam shrugged helplessly. "Maybe this is just how this one operates, maybe she doesn't bother changing her appearance, just her personality, and the venom would do the rest of the work for her anyway. We get these weird ones sometimes. Remember that wraith? She liked her brains full of crazy."

  "And the succubus who liked to go after redheads only." Dean nodded. "You know, all these people admitted to some sort of trouble in paradise. Maybe that's how she's choosing her targets." He shot Sam a look. "Don't think we qualify as bait anymore."

  Sam's little smile was badly hidden. "No, don't think so." His eyes were soft as he looked up from the file. "Unless you wanna put on a show, maybe draw her out."

  The idea was tempting, Dean thought; having Sam pretend to be in love with him, even if it was a troubled relationship, but… "Don't think we've got the time for that. She might have already picked her next victim."

  Sam hummed in agreement, eyes dropping away. "Well… You wanna split up? It's a small town, shouldn't take more than a few hours to comb through for a Penny. Even a siren’s gotta be holed up somewhere. If we talk to people, someone might have seen her."

  Dean hesitated. "You really think it's a good idea to split up?" He asked quietly, thinking about the first siren they'd faced years ago. Since then, they’d taken to avoiding splitting up while hunting a monster that specialised in mind games.

  Sam didn't answer immediately. "We'll each have a bronze dagger, we've got Robinson's blood- it was taken almost as soon as he was brought in, so it'll still have siren's venom." He smiled reassuringly. "Besides, you said it yourself- we don't fit her profile."

  Nothing for it then, Dean supposed. He voiced his agreement and went to steal a few more M&Ms. This time, Sam slapped his hand away. 

  "You can't live on chocolate and meat, Dean," he scolded. 

  Dean raised an eyebrow. "Fine." He waved his packet of jerky. "Trade?"

  Sam blinked. "A- what?"

  "You can't live on rabbit food, Sam," Dean shot back, badly mimicking Sam's voice. 

  "It's like you don't know that vegetarians exist," Sam grumbled, but accepted, switching their snacks around. 

  Dean widened his eyes mockingly. "Vegetarians exist? I thought they were a myth!"

  Sam shook his head. “You’re an idiot.”

  The sun was just setting when they split up. Sam went towards the town, Dean towards the lake- both on foot because in a town this size, with all its alleys and dead ends, they were bound to miss something from the car. 

  As soon as Dean was finished talking to as many married couples as he could find, he found himself walking along the pier. He couldn't help it- he'd always been drawn to the water. Seas, lakes, rivers. There was no explanation to it, but his ideal vacation included the beach and Sammy. 

  He stared over the edge into the water for a few seconds, trying to catch sight of his own shadowy reflection. Then he turned around to face the row of houses he’d just been in. They were pretty far apart from each other, small and quaint, with sloping roofs and wooden porches that faced the sunset, the insides just as comfortable and homely.

  Despite the years that had passed since Lisa, Dean couldn’t help a slight pang of longing as he stared at those houses, trying to imagine living inside one. Except, of course, it was no longer Lisa he saw with himself, hadn’t been for some time now.

  His phone rang.

  With a deep breath, Dean turned and sat on the edge of the pier, resisting the urge to go for an impromptu swim. "Sammy."

  " Hey ," Sam greeted. " So, I talked to everyone I could on this side of the town- not that there were a lot. "

  "Small town," Dean reminded. "Anyone see anything?"

  " No ."

  "Same here." Dean sighed. "So, what now?"

  " I don’t know ," Sam said, sounding like he was frowning. " Maybe… I could call Cas and ask him to look for some sort of tracking spell? "

  "You think there’s a spell that specific?" Dean questioned.

  Sam was quiet for a second. " I know there’s a spell specifically to find Tricksters. So, yeah, maybe there’s something for sirens too. "

  Dean was careful not to reply to the part about the Trickster. It had been nearly a decade and Sam still couldn’t listen to Asia without tensing up. He’d never been willing to divulge all the details of what had gone down in Broward County, but Dean wasn’t in a position to judge, considering he still had to reach out sometimes and place his hand on the small of Sam’s back, just to assure himself that there was no blood and no knife wound.

  "Yeah, okay," he spoke into the phone. "See you at the motel."

  He stayed there for a few minutes more, staring down at the water. Then he got to his feet, wincing at the stiffness that came from sitting on a wooden platform, and turned to walk back the way he'd come. 

  There was a woman standing at the beginning of the pier. She was looking at him with a raised eyebrow. 

  "Don't see a lot of people here around this time," she said, like an observation. 

  Dean put on a wide smile. "What can I say, I like being unexpected."

  The woman rolled her eyes, running a hand through her dark hair. "You visiting or passing through? Don’t think I’ve seen you here before."

  Dean shrugged. "Just passing through, me and my brother." No point in bringing up their FBI cover right now. Sometimes, being yourself worked just fine in getting people to open up, especially in casual settings. "Probably gonna leave soon, what with all the murders happening."

  "Oh, yeah." The woman nodded sympathetically, making her hair ripple along the sides of her face. It was a little mesmerizing to watch. "Such a tragedy."

  Dean peered at her closely. Something in her voice seemed… Off. "You know anything about them? The victims, the perps- anything?"

  A perfect eyebrow rose. "Not a thing, handsome," she purred, playing with the ends of her scarf. "Why, am I under suspicion?"

  Dean blinked. That was an invitation in her voice. Why was he questioning her again? "Um, right, okay," he stammered. "I just meant, I mean…"

  She smirked and Dean’s mind went a little fuzzy. "Relax," she laughed. "Just teasing." She walked closer to him, hand reaching out to skim along his jaw.

  Dean could feel his heart beating faster. Dumbfounded, he stared down at her arm, eyes travelling slowly up the paleness of her skin, to the graceful curve of her neck, up to her glowing blue eyes and-

   Hold the fuck up!  

  The woman’s smile seemed different all of a sudden- cruel and triumphant. "I’m Penny," she murmured.

  Dean swallowed. "Uh-huh." He held her waist with one hand, the way she obviously wanted him to. His other hand drifted towards his own jacket.

  She laughed, low and enticing. "Kinda waiting for a name here," she whispered. The setting sun behind Dean illuminated her face and it looked almost plastic. Fake, as Jake Robinson had so aptly described.

  Dean took a shallow breath, as if about to reply. Then he whipped the bronze dagger out, swiping fast.

  The siren was faster. She jerked back before he could slice her throat, eyes still glowing, but angry now, an enraged screech escaping her. "You little-" Her snarl broke off into a language he couldn’t place, but Dean was pretty sure she was swearing at him.

  "You picked the wrong guy to bat eyelashes at, lady," he taunted, lifting the blade up.

  The siren laughed, a shrill sound. And Dean realized that he hadn’t missed her. His dagger had cut through her skin, if only barely. There was blood beading over her throat, dripping down to her collarbones and shirt. But… But she seemed completely unaffected… And the blood was gold.

  She disappeared, without warning.

  Dean whirled around on the spot a few times, waiting to see if she decided to attack him from behind or something. When nothing happened, he decided to keep the dagger up his sleeve and started walking back the way he’d come.

  When he arrived at the motel, constantly looking over his shoulder for the monster, Sam was already there and it was almost night.

  "Hey," Sam greeted, giving him a cursory glance. "I picked up dinner on the way. And, also, we’ve… Uh. What’s wrong?" His brow furrowed in concern, as Dean drew the curtains quickly.

  "We’ve got a problem," Dean announced, turning to face Sam.

  Sam leaned back from his laptop. "Yeah, that’s what I was about to say. You first."

  "I ran into Penny."

  Sam was tense immediately, gaze sharpening and roving over his form more thoroughly. He got to his feet, arms relaxed and feet braced. "Dean?"

  Dean waved his hand at him in a vaguely soothing motion. "No, dude, relax, she didn’t get me."

  Sam raised an eyebrow, but didn’t back down all the way. "Yeah?"

  "Yeah, I don’t know how either." Dean shook his head. "But here’s the thing: she’s not a siren."

  Sam frowned.

  Dean held up his blade, tossing to Sam. He caught it, finally relaxing and sitting back down. Dean took up the other chair. 

  "She tried to work her mojo on me," Dean started. "But I noticed her eyes were glowing and… I don’t know, maybe it shocked me out of it? Anyway, she told me her name, and I played along for a minute, then I cut her with that." He pointed at the bronze dagger.

  Sam nodded slowly. "And it didn’t work, did it?" He asked, almost knowingly.

  "Bingo. We’re hunting something totally different here." Dean shed his jacket off and reached for the cartons of takeaway. "Ooh, Chinese. You do love me."

  He froze. Peeking up through his lashes, he found Sam pointedly not looking at him, a small and almost nervous laugh escaping him.

  Dean swallowed. It was rare for him to slip up so badly. "Anyway… What’s the problem you were gonna talk about?"

  Sam took a deep breath. "I got a call from Dr Singh," he said. "She got the bloodwork from the Robinson’s and the night shift coroner provided the ones of the last two cases."

  Dean hummed through his mouthful. "What, no love hormone?"

  "No oxytocin, no," Sam murmured absently. "Dean, what else was there about the monster?"

  Dean gestured towards his throat. "Blood was gold. When I cut her. And she spoke in a weird language that I couldn’t place."

  Sam’s eyes lit up. "Golden blood?" He asked. "That’s… Ichor. Blood of the immortals, according to Greek and Roman lore."

  Dean frowned. "Okay, well, whatever she said definitely wasn’t in Latin. So let’s go with Greek."

  "Still doesn’t really narrow it down though," Sam pointed out. "In Greek lore, it wasn’t just the gods who had ichor, it was also the Titans, the giants… All together, there are thousands of possibilities."

  Dean sighed. "I don’t suppose it could be just one of the main twelve? The Olympians? Couldn’t we have it easy just this once?"

  Sam tilted his head to the side in consideration. "Well… It could be Aphrodite. Goddess of love and beauty. Some of her stories portray her as a meddler in human affairs." He sounded doubtful. "But that could be said for all of them."

  "Who else could it be?"

  "Uh… She had a partner, Eros. He was the god of desire. Lust. But he never had a female form."

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, both in silent contemplation.

  Then Dean kicked Sam’s foot. "Let’s sleep on it. Maybe you’ll think of something in the morning."

  Sam sighed and started eating his own dinner. "Hopefully."

  Mia frowned down at Maggie. The young Lab was reluctant to move forward all of a sudden, tugging back on the leash and growling at the path forward. "Baby, what’s the matter?" She cooed, concerned.

  The dog’s growl turned into a whimper and huge brown eyes blinked up at her, pleadingly.

  Sarah, her longtime running partner, jogged in place for a minute before slowing to a stop. "Is she okay?"

  "I don’t know." Mia knelt on the pavement, stroking her fur, trying to soothe her. "Mags," she said softly. "Okay, no run today. We’ll just tell Papa not to wait for us and then we’ll go back home, okay?" 

  Maggie gave a small bark. Mia got to her feet again. Jim always took a walk in the park at this time. They usually met at the intersection and went back home together. 

  "You run without me today," she told Sarah. "I’ll take Mags home, she’s obviously in a mood." She pulled her phone out, dialled her husband’s number. It rang and rang and… Rang. Mia felt her brow furrow in concern. This was usually a very safe town, small as it was, but with all the recent murders… Something about this place she’d spent her whole life in had been making her uneasy for some time now.

  Sarah cocked her head at her. "What’s wrong?"

   Don’t be silly, Mia scolded herself. Jim probably just forgot his phone back home. "He’s not picking up the phone." She palmed the phone moodily. "Sarah, could you take Maggie back home with you? I’ll go to the park."

  Sarah paused in the act of taking Maggie’s leash. "Alone?"

  Mia laughed a little. "It’s not even completely dark yet. It’s just the park, I’ll be fine."

  Sarah’s dark eyes were full of worry. "Mia, come on, I know you know about…" She cast a hesitant glance around them. "About all the deaths. It’s not like you’ve been living under a rock."

  "Don’t be silly," Mia started to say.

  "Humor me," her friend begged.

  Mia stared at her. "You can’t seriously be warning me from my husband," she muttered. "For goodness’ sake, it’s Jim. He couldn’t kill a spider. He’s too scared of them."

  Sarah sighed, closing her eyes. "When you put it like that…"

  Mia smiled, even through her own goosebumps. "Seriously, don’t worry. Hell, I’ll call you as soon as I find him, okay?"

  "You’d better." Sarah took the leash, wrapping it around her fingers absently.

  "And I’ll pick up Maggie from you later, okay?" She began jogging in the direction of the park. "See you!"

  "Bye!"

  Neither of them paid heed to the way Maggie whined sadly, looking back in Mia’s direction even as she allowed Sarah to lead her away.

  Next morning started with a phone call from Dr Singh. There had been another body.

  "Mia Campbell," Dr Singh muttered. She looked even more drawn today, kohl-rimmed eyes red from crying, lips chapped and trembling at intervals. "Same as the others. Husband called it." She glanced down at the file in her hand. "I ran their bloodwork fast. Figured you might want it."

  Sam and Dean exchanged glances. They’d gotten the same story from James ‘Jim’ Campbell, said husband. It had matched up exactly with what the other perps had told them.

  "Dr Singh," Sam said kindly. "We know this must be hard for you. You can leave the room if you want. We’ll take it from here."

  The coroner nodded gratefully. But as she handed the files to Sam, her eyes blazed. "These are my friends, Agents. You need to find who’s responsible for this."

  Sam hesitated, exchanging a glance with Dean. "We’ll do our best," he murmured.

  As soon as she was gone, Sam frowned down at the toxin report. "No oxytocin in this one either."

  "Well, we already knew that," Dean pointed out.

  Sam shot him a half-hearted glare. "I told you not to call it a milk run," he scolded mildly.

  "Whatever." Dean threw his hand up. "Campbell said he met her in the park, somewhere around early evening, which would be…" He did a brief mental calculation. "Right after I met her, I guess?"

  "Uh-huh." Sam stared at the bashed in face of the victim.

  Dean swayed on his feet, thinking. "Who was the first victim? The guy at the wedding?"

  "David Bryce," Sam recalled. "Wanna go talk to the family?"

  "Not like we got any other leads." Dean tried not to sigh. Interviewing a bunch of stuck-up rich dudes? Awesome.

  "If you've seen a woman of this description, then we need you to tell us."

  David Bryce's widowed mother, Rebecca, dressed comfortably in loose jeans and an old wool sweater, grey hair neatly pinned back, shook her head with an air of perpetual sadness. "My son talked about her in his confession," she mumbled. "I've never seen her. Not even at the wedding."

  "Did David act suspicious before the murder? Dazed, twitchy, confused?"

  Thomas Bryce, the elderly bachelor, youngest of three, shrugged, grey eyes sharp as he met Sam and Dean's gazes. "He was a little tipsy. Most of us were- it was a wedding party, after all. But nothing more."

  "Is there any way we could talk to the newlyweds? Nancy and Robert Jones?"

  Nancy's mom, Clara, was the kind of elegant that meant she'd been gorgeous in her younger days. Her lined face was drawn in worry and apprehension as she looked between them. "They’re in New York, with Robert’s family. You might be able to get them on the phone. But otherwise…" She hesitated. 

  Dean narrowed his eyes. "What?"

  Clara took a deep breath. "Nancy and David had grown up close. But… When we called to inform her of the… Tragedy…" She swallowed. "She seemed to not really care."

  As she left, Sam turned to Dean. "You think Nancy did something before she left? Summoned something, maybe?"

  Dean just hummed, refusing to turn towards Sam. The couch they were sitting on was a tight fit, keeping their sides pressed together. This close, he could feel the tense muscles of Sam's leg, and every breath he took was saturated with that stupid girly shampoo and gun oil. It was an effort to just keep his hands clasped together and not touch. 

  "Dean?" Sam's voice was too close to his ear, a little concerned. 

  Dean cleared his throat and fiddled with his phone. He didn't need to look at Sam, couldn't deal with a close-up of his long since memorized features on top of everything else. "We've still got Bryce Senior to talk to," he reminded, glad his voice was steady. "Let's put Nancy on hold till then."

  Right on cue, their final interviewee walked in: Jonathan Bryce, the patriarch of the family. He sat opposite them warily, almost stoic but for the nervous way his eyes darted between them.

  Dean felt his hackles rise instantly. This was a man who was hiding something. Next to him, Sam straightened too.

  "I know the woman you’re talking about," Jonathan said without preamble. "She was my guest at the wedding. Foreigner. Why would you be asking about her?"

  Dean blinked, surprised. He hadn’t expected it to be that easy. "Because, every single person who’s murdered their spouse in this town," he said firmly. "Mentioned meeting her right before."

  Jonathan shifted, swallowing.

  Sam tilted his head, voice gentling as he said, "You said she was foreign. Greece?"

  After a second, he nodded. "It… It’s hard to explain, agents…"

  "Let me guess," Dean interrupted bluntly, rolling his eyes. "You had something you needed to get done, but it seemed impossible, so you took a deal, or worked a spell, or made a wish. End result was that you got some sort of monster to do your dirty work and-" he fixed the elderly man with a glare. "-I’m betting you lost control somehow."

  It was a calculated gamble and sure enough, Jonathan looked horrified. "How do you-?" He stammered. "You’re not FBI. Are you?"

  Sam muttered reprimandingly, "Dean."

  But Jonathan was closing his eyes, head bowing to face the floor as if in shame. "Her name is Peitho," he mumbled. "Goddess of seduction."

  Dean shook his head while Sam ran a hand through his hair, repeating the name to himself.

  "She was prayed to in the olden times at times of arranging marriages and…" Sam frowned. "Your brewery… It’s not doing well, is it? Or… It wasn’t doing well."

  Jonathan nodded. "The Jones are old family friends. Robert had taken a liking to Nancy and his father made me the proposition of a business marriage. I know it’s frowned upon, technically, but…" He spread his hands in a defeated gesture. "I was desperate. And both our families have always valued the old-fashioned ways."

  Dean thought about what Sam had just said about Peitho. "Wait, so…" He blinked, unsure whether to be appalled, disgusted, shocked, or all of the above. "You summoned some D-list goddess to fix up your daughter with a man she didn’t want to marry? To save your business?"

  Bryce Sr. had the good grace to look ashamed, not meeting either of their eyes. "My family is originally from Greece, having changed their name after arriving in the States many generations ago. Many of their old secrets and beliefs are lost, but my great-aunt was fascinated by our roots. She believed they could still be put into practice, but was wise to never actually do it." He sighed. "That didn’t stop her from telling us stories about it. I’d forgotten most of it as an adult, but when Nancy expressed a reluctance towards the marriage… I was just going through my great-aunt’s old things- she’d only passed a year ago. Among the things I found, there was a prayer for Aphrodite-" He paused, looking at them with a furrowed brow. "I suppose you already know who she is." He sounded resigned.

  "Everybody does. Goddess of love, oldest Olympian, blah blah blah." Dean waved his hand in a ‘go on’ gesture.

  Bryce shrugged at that. "Well, it worked. She appeared. I told her what I wanted- after I got over the shock- and she…" He paused, as if collecting his thoughts. "She said she would send her daughter, Peitho, to help me- she gave me a cloak, said that as long as I was in possession of it, Peitho would be under my control."

  Dean exhaled heavily through his nose. "Man, now would be the time to tell us you’ve still got the cloak."

  Silence.

  Sam gave a much more restrained sigh. "So, she did what you wanted- fixing up Nancy and Robert- then she stole her cloak from you. And now she’s going crazy all over town?"

  "That sums it up," Bryce agreed in a worried murmur.

  They sat across from each other as they always did: Sam picking at his food with one hand and scrolling through his laptop on the other, Dean attacking his lunch with relish and winking at one of the other patrons of the diner.

  "One day, Dean," Sam said absently, without taking his eyes off his screen. "You’ll flirt with the wrong person and get us thrown out of town before solving the case."

  Dean scoffed. "Sammy, when you’ve almost slept with a succubus and nearly got seduced by an elf, flirting with, like, I don’t know, the pastor’s daughter doesn’t really feel all that dangerous anymore."

  "Might still get us kicked outta town," Sam pointed out. “For the tenth time.”

  "Like that’s ever stopped us."

  Sam hummed.

  Dean used his extra fork to poke at Sam’s right hand. "Eat, man, you need to feed that gigantor body of yours," he chided, ignoring the glare he received. "You pass out on me, I’ll have to be the one carrying your ass everywhere." His own plate was clean and he poked Sam again.

  This time, Sam caught Dean’s hand with his left, keeping a firm hold, but started paying attention to his salad. "Okay, so get this," he started. "Peitho was prayed to for marriages, right? But she was also called upon during negotiation, peace treaties… Deals, basically."

  "So, this kind of arranged marriage was right up her alley," Dean surmised.

  "Right." Sam nodded. "But she was also a bit of a wild card, like most gods are."

  Dean bit back a smile at the thinly veiled snark towards Chuck.

  "Sometimes, if she was…" Sam paused, thoughtful eyes fixed on Dean as he searched for a word. "... Displeased with humans, she’d start making a mess of things. She’d sabotage the deal she was originally supposed to sanction, or…" He shrugged.

  "Turn people into crazy, murderous adulterers?" Dean tried.

  Sam nodded. "Yeah. She went after the people who were hiding secrets from their partners." He resumed eating. "So, Jake Robinson told us he wasn’t happy living in this town and was only staying because it was what his wife wanted. Alicia Casteñeda, according to her sister, wasn’t in love with her husband; she was into women."

  "So David Bryce and James Campbell must have had some secrets too, they just aren’t telling us," Dean mused. "I guess it doesn’t really matter." He frowned. "Why’d she come after me? I’m not married."

  Sam paused, forkful of lettuce paused near his lips. "Um, well…" He looked slightly flustered. "Technically, you’re… Well, we… We’re…"

  Dean felt his breath escape him in a short puff. "What?"

  Sam took a deep breath. "Remember the last Trial? The, uh… In the church?"

  His mouth dried up. "Yeah." As if he could ever forget: the defeated break in Sam’s voice, the hurt and fear in his eyes, how weightless he’d felt in Dean’s arms.

  "Right. Well…" Sam shifted uneasily. "It was… Accidentally similar to an old marriage ritual." He wasn’t meeting Dean’s eyes. "It’s called handfasting. I only saw the connection last night when you told me you’d met her. Basically, you tie a piece of fabric around each other’s hands, say your vows, and all you need is one witness."

  Dean stared at Sam’s bowed head, then at his empty plate. He’d used an old ragged scarf that night, had tied it around Sam’s hand to stem the bleeding cut on his palm. He’d made a promise, even if he’d broken it the next day in a desperate bid to save Sam’s life. And their witness… Crowley had probably retained enough consciousness to count as one.

  He cleared his throat. "So, what you’re saying is, we’ve been married for about five years now?" He forced a laugh. "Well, fuck. If I’d known, I might have actually put a ring on it."

  Sam sighed. "Shut up."

  "No, seriously!" Dean insisted. "And a tattoo, something like, ‘Property of Dean Winchester’, or-"

  "Dean."

  "Or…" He held up a finger. "I hear collars are all the rage nowadays."

  "Dean!" Sam snapped. "I said it’s a marriage, not ownership." His voice was tight. "And it’s…" He pursed his lips, looking almost unhappy. "It’s not a real marriage. Just a technicality, since it wasn’t the intention." He took another deep breath, like he was trying to ground himself. "It’s not… Not real," he repeated.

  He sounded upset. Dean’s heart twisted, with guilt as well as pain. "Relax, Sammy," he muttered, hoping he didn’t sound bitter. "Just ‘cause it’s good enough for Peitho, doesn’t mean I’m about to jump your bones. Or into your bed."

  Sam closed his eyes, keeping them that way for a long time. "Look, the important question here is why she couldn’t affect you," he said. He tilted his head at Dean, curious.

  Dean rolled his eyes. "Well, obviously, I’m a little too experienced to be seduced by a goddess who wasn’t even trying that hard probably."

  Sam didn’t deign to reply, just stared. Dean quieted automatically, leer softening under the careful intensity of that multicoloured gaze.

  "There’s gotta be a reason you broke the pattern," Sam murmured. "And… Why would she come after you in the first place?" His eyes narrowed. "Tell me you don’t have a secret and she just made a mistake."

  "She just made a mistake," Dean said softly.

  Sam opened his mouth, probably to call him out on the lie.

  But a new voice spoke up. "Goddesses don’t make mistakes."

  Both of them jumped, tensing.

  The newcomer was a woman, fairly tall, scarf tied over her head, large sunglasses perched on her nose. Delicate pink lips were curved in amusement. She raised an eyebrow at their table.

  With a guilty skip of his heart, Dean realized that his hand was still in Sam’s, their fingers having interlinked at some point without them noticing. Not missing a beat, both of them pulled away.

  "Lady-" Dean opened his mouth to demand who she was.

  But the stranger slid in gracefully, sitting next to Sam, and took off her scarf and sunglasses.

  Dean’s words died in his throat.

  The woman’s hair was dark brown, cut to her shoulders and curling softly around her face, adding a youthful sweetness to it. Her eyes looked green at first, but as he stared, the colours seemed to shift, blue and gold and brown joining the mix. She had moles, he realized, which definitely- almost definitely- hadn’t been there a second before. Her smile grew, growing fond, and he could see that she had dimples.

  "Jess?" Sam’s voice was a confused whisper and it made Dean wince.

  The woman’s head tilted to look at Sam. For just a second, her brown hair looked blonde- but that had to be the sunlight, right? "Is that who you see?" She asked, sounding genuinely interested. "Are you sure?"

  Sam’s eyes widened, flicking to Dean and back, too quick to decipher the expression in them. "No," he admitted, sounding awed and a little afraid. A little sad. "No, it’s not." Caution took a turn, making him lean a little away from her. "You’re a goddess."

  "Very good." The woman nodded. She had a faint accent, familiar only because Dean had heard it the day before, he realized. Despite the fact that she was dressed like any regular person- jeans, a plaid shirt and a denim jacket- there was no mistaking the regal air that marked her as supposedly divine. And the way she looked, the way her face had changed, like she was aligning herself to his definition of ‘beautiful’ , the way Sam saw someone who resembled Jess, while Dean saw… 

  "Aphrodite," he guessed, finally finding his voice. "Right?"

  "Right." She looked pleased. "And I believe you two are in a spot of trouble."

  Sam relaxed infinitesimally. "Peitho," he stated flatly. "She’s your daughter, isn’t she?"

  The goddess shrugged lightly. Though her features were just as supernaturally perfect as Peitho’s had been, Aphrodite looked more genuine, more realistic. And that only made her look more beautiful, though it was possible that Dean was biased.

  "In a way, she is, indeed," Aphrodite agreed. 

  "So, are you here to stop us or…?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "Because we’ll find a way to kill you too if we have to."

  Aphrodite turned to him. "Will you now?" She asked, softly, sweetly. Her eyes flared white.

  Dean felt his head spin, vision blurring as his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. 

  "Dean?" Sam’s voice was dim.

  Visions flashed through his mind, quick but unmistakable: Sam walking away with a bag slung over his shoulder, Sam with his lips and chin stained with demon blood, Sam flinching away from Dean and still bleeding from all the needles that had been stuck in his head, Sam with his arms glowing and wanting to die… 

  And through it all, there was a hollow pit in Dean’s stomach, a sob threatening to break out, chest burning with an aching needwantpleasemorenosorryforever -

 "DEAN!"

  Everything stopped. 

  Trembling, Dean opened his eyes, only to have to blink back unexplainable tears. Sam was half out of his seat, leaning over the table and gripping his shoulder. Dean looked up, freezing at the proximity. 

  "Dean, hey! Hey. You with me?" Sam asked, worry making his words rough.

  "Sam…" Dean cleared his throat and lightly shoved Sam off. "I’m fine."

  Aphrodite inspected him calmly and a frisson of fear raced up Dean’s spine.

  "My apologies," she offered. "I haven’t been around humans in a long time  and sarcasm wasn’t invented until 800 AD. I didn’t realize you only meant a warning and not disrespect. Of course it would be your duty to try and vanquish me should I prove a foe." There was respect in her words, which was what shook Dean out of his shock.

  "Okay," was all he could say.

  "What did you do to him?’ Sam demanded.

  "Sam," Dean interrupted. 

  Sam looked him over, like he was trying to find signs of damage. His lips thinned, but he stayed quiet.

  "In any case," Aphrodite sighed. "I am not here to stop you. But to offer advice."

  "Oh, we’re so grateful," Sam muttered.

  That only earned him a look of fond humor. "Peitho is acting out. Not because she was displeased with humans, but because she felt that I coerced her into helping Jonathan Bryce."

  "But isn’t that her job?" Sam asked.

  She snorted, surprisingly un-godlike. "Belated teen-eternity rebellion," she explained with a roll of her eyes. "She thinks she should be doing something more than matchmaking. But I ordered her to help that family and now she’s taking her frustration out by ruining the lives of everyone else, since Nancy and Robert are untouchable because of my orders."

  "Okay." Sam nodded along slowly. "So, how do we stop her?"

  Dean took a second to be grateful to Sam for trying to monopolize Aphrodite’s attention.

  "Burn the cloak, of course," Aphrodite said simply.

  Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

  "Uh, you mean, the cloak that she stole and hid who knows where?" Dean questioned.

  "Yes." She nodded earnestly. "It’s her anchor to this world. Burn it and she’ll be back in Olympus, so she must be keeping it on her person, possibly disguised as something else. I would do it myself, but she’s expending quite a bit of energy to hide from me."

  "So how do we find her?"

  "Oh, she’ll come for you next." She pointed to Sam. "She couldn’t get your brother, so she’ll set her sights on someone close. But don’t worry." She smiled in what was probably supposed to be reassurance. "You won’t be affected either, although I suggest you avoid proximity all the same- she wouldn’t take kindly to being resisted twice so few days." She glanced at her watch. "I really must be going now. Ares rarely comes down to earth these years- nothing for him to do, you see, that couldn’t be handled from a distance- and it’s a little risky for us to meet in Olympus." She got to her feet. "Best of luck, boys."

  Dean blinked. "Woah, woah, wait, wait just a second." He hesitated at her furrowed brow.

  "Why won’t I be affected?" Sam took over. "Why wasn’t Dean affected?"

  The mild impatience faded away into incredulousness. "Because you’re both in love, of course," she stated, like it was obvious. "Real, true, world-changing love. It’s very rare and very powerful which is why Peitho can’t affect someone like you two. And I might not be able to tell who you’re in love with, but I can feel it in both of you. You need to have more faith in your worth even if they don’t feel the same way," she told Dean, with an air of admonishment. "And you-" she turned back to Sam. "-need to stop being afraid and go after what you want." She shook her head. "It might end well, it might end bad, but you won’t know if you don’t try. And now I’m really going to be late." She gave them a small wave. "I hope it works out."

  She didn’t disappear, just strolled out the diner like any regular human.

  The drive back to the motel was done in a silence that felt like a thick blanket- heavy and suffocating. Dean couldn’t bring himself to look at Sam. Yet, he knew, instinctively, that Sam wasn’t looking at him either.

  Dean couldn’t tell what was throwing him off more- that Sam was in love with someone and Dean had no clue, or that Sam was now aware that Dean was in love and would undoubtedly work out exactly who with.

  He wanted to ask, so badly. He wanted a name, wanted the details, wanted to know the how-and-when-and-why, wanted to know how long he had before Sam felt the need to choose between Dean and some nameless woman. Fuck, was it even a woman? He knew Sam’s taste varied, even if he didn’t advertise it. Whereas, for Dean, there had only ever been one man.

  There was a part of him- larger and louder than he was proud to admit- darker than he ever wanted to be- that wanted to say or do whatever it took to keep Sam with him.

  But another part of him was terrified for an entirely different reason- would Sam figure out Dean’s secret? It couldn’t take him long to work it out. How would he react? Disgust, pity, guilt? Anger, betrayal? Or- worst of all- fear? Dean didn’t even know how long he’d been hiding it, had no idea when exactly he’d started feeling this way. And it didn’t matter anymore. Smart as he was, Sam would figure it out, sooner or later. Dean wasn’t sure which he’d prefer.

  But for now, at least, Sam was too much in shock. So Dean decided it was best to keep his mouth shut.

  "Why don’t they feel the same way?" Damn it.

  Sam took a deep shuddering breath. But his voice was steady when he answered, "Because they’re in love with someone else." He didn’t turn to look at Dean, just tilted his head slightly. "Why are you afraid?"

  Dean swallowed. Moral hangups? That wasn’t really a thing anymore. Legal issues? Also not a concern. He could just lie, right? "Because I don't wanna lose what I do have." Damn it again.

  Sam didn’t say anything more. Dean wondered if he should start counting their time together.

  When they reached, Dean took first shower, by virtue of simply shrugging his jacket off and closing the bathroom door.

  Under the scalding hot water, Dean tried to think about Sam, about what he should say to make this situation even a little better. His mind rebelled at that automatically. He tried to think about anything else- the case, Jack and mom, Lucifer, Apocalypse World, Jennifer Aniston’s rack- but his brain was a bitch that couldn’t behave and his thoughts remained stagnant.

  Before he realized it, his forehead was pressed against the cold tiles of the wall, tears dripping down his face, as warm as his skin and indistinguishable from the shower water. Little whimpers were stumbling over his lips, his chest feeling like it was trying to cave in on itself.

  When he stepped back out, completely dressed, Sam was at the table, staring at the laptop blankly. He glanced at Dean once, then did a subtle double take.

  Dean could guess that his eyes were bloodshot. His knuckles were red from biting into them to stifle his sobs. But as long as there were no tear tracks on his cheeks and his breath was steady, Sam didn’t have any grounds to call him out on without bringing up the stuff they didn’t want to talk about.

  "Shower’s free," he said stiffly.

  Sam looked away, getting to his feet. "Couldn’t find much on Peitho," he said, gesturing at the laptop.

  "I’ll keep looking. Go."

  Sam stepped past him, to get to the bed where his duffel was. They brushed against each other and Dean flinched. He didn’t miss the way Sam stiffened too. Both of them hurried away to opposite ends of the room.

  They couldn’t go on like this, Dean realized. If they didn’t clear the air as much as they could, there was a high chance they’d mess up on the hunt.

  "Samm-" He cut himself off before completing the nickname. "Sam."

  Sam paused, then resumed picking fresh clothes out, albeit slower to indicate he was listening.

  "Man, we can’t… We can’t let this affect us this way," Dean tried to reason. "It’s just… We need to work this out." His voice was hoarse.

  Sam turned two incredulously raised eyebrows at him. "You want us to talk about this?"

  Dean took a deep breath. "No. I’m not saying we should share all the details, okay? I mean I want to know yours, I’ll admit that. But I don’t want to tell you mine and I’m trying to avoid double standards here, so just… Work with me?"

  Sam clenched his jaw. His hand was in a fist, so tight that there were veins popping out over his forearms. "I don’t think there’s anything I want to tell you about this," he said brusquely.

  Dean couldn’t pretend he wasn’t a little hurt at that. Then again, last time Sam had been in love, Dean had played such a cruel trick on him. "Fair," he admitted in a strangled voice. "Are you gonna… Is it…?" He bowed his head, ran a hand down his face, suddenly feeling tired.

  "Dean." Sam’s face had softened when he looked back up. "I’m not… Going anywhere." He shook his head. "I’m not leaving you. I don’t want to."

  Relief hit him like a punch to the chest. "Yeah, um…" He cleared his throat. "Good. Me neither. Just, you know… Just so you know."

  Sam’s smile was tight, faint. He turned towards the bathroom, then paused again. "Can I ask something now?" He asked quietly. "What did she look like to you? Aphrodite."

  Dean hadn’t been ready for that question. His mind cast desperately for a reply, knowing that Sam had reached the same conclusion of how the love goddess’ ever-changing appearance worked. Peitho was the first thing that came to him. "Black hair and blue eyes," he lied, somber enough to create an illusion of truth. "You saw someone who looked like Jess?"

  He couldn’t see Sam’s face, just the sudden slump of his shoulders. "Yeah, Dean," he said, sounding a little bitter. "Someone who looked like Jess." He stepped into the bathroom, closing the door. And locked it.

  Dean stared at the laptop, somewhat feeling better. Sam believed his lie about what Aphrodite looked like. And he wasn’t leaving. He should probably be offended on Sam’s behalf that the object of his affections didn’t feel the same way, but the relief of it was too great.

  And the rest of it… Sam was in love with someone, yes. And Dean wanted him to be happy, obviously. But Sam wanted to stay with him and, despite himself, Dean believed it. After everything they’d been through, he couldn’t not. So as long as Dean kept up his lie, everything was fine. Just one lie, to maintain the balance they’d found with each other after so many years of secrets and betrayals.

  Mind cleared a little, he idly scrolled through a few more websites. Sam was right, there wasn’t much on Peitho. She just wasn’t well-known enough.

  Closing it, he called Cas instead.

   "Dean."

  "Hey. How’s the research going?" Dean asked. "Found anything?"

   "Not yet." The angel sounded frustrated.

  "Right, well, got a favour to ask. We need you to find a tracking spell for gods. The more specific, the better."

   "You want me to abandon the search for Jack and your mother in favour of helping you with your case?" Cas deadpanned.

  Dean rolled his eyes. "No, no, man, no one’s abandoning anything, alright? It’s just…" He glanced at the closed bathroom door. "This case. We need it over with as soon as we can."

  There was a slight pause. "Dean. Is everything alright?" 

  "Yeah. Well, no, I mean… We’ll be fine, Cas," Dean tried to assure. He wasn't sure he was doing a great job of it. 

  But Cas didn’t ask further. "Which god are you looking for?"

  "Peitho," Dean pronounced slowly. "Greek goddess. She was in charge of matchmaking."

   "That sounds obscure. Are you sure there is a ritual for her?"

  "We don’t know, but let’s see. Sam’s got most of the archives organized at least, so if there is something, it shouldn’t take long to find. Just look in the Greek section."

   "Yes, Dean, I am aware of how the libraries are organized," Cas said, sounding like he was going to great efforts not to be exasperated. He wasn't doing a good job of it.

  “Yeah, alright, Cas, don’t get bitchy,” Dean muttered. “Call us if you find anything.”

  He ended the call just as Sam finally stepped out of the shower. He looked fine, more composed than Dean himself had been. He wasn’t meeting Dean’s eyes, though.

  “Find anything?” He asked.

  “No, like you said, there’s not a lot on her.” Dean leaned back in his chair, trying not to watch as Sam got ready for bed. “But I called Cas instead, told him to dig through the lore at the bunker. Maybe something’ll turn up for him.”

  “Cas, huh?” Sam sounded stiff.

  Dean looked at him oddly. “Yeah? S’not like he was getting anywhere on the rift problem.”

  Sam nodded listlessly.

  “Beer?” Dean offered, only because he suddenly felt the urge to keep Sam awake, keep him talking for just a few minutes more, like if they fell asleep now, they’d wake up as strangers.

  Sam paused, but only for a second. “Don’t think that’s a good idea. We need to stay sharp tomorrow.”

  “Sam…”

  “G’night, Dean.”

  They didn’t wake up as strangers. Instead, Dean overslept, and Sam smacked his stomach with a pillow.

  “God fucking damn it, Sam, fuck off!” Dean growled, voice raspy and eyes squirting against the too-bright sun.

  Sam rolled his eyes, throwing a pile of clothes at his bare chest. “Cas sent the spell to summon Peitho,” he spoke fast. “Get dressed, we need to get her before she picks her next victim.”

  Dean hummed, letting his eyes droop as Sam turned to something else. “Aphro said the victim might be you,” he offered.

 He could feel the glare Sam threw at him. “It’s Aphrodite . She’s one of the oldest and most powerful- and most underestimated- gods in the Greek pantheon. Please, don’t give her a nickname.”

  Dean opened his eyes again, fixed Sam with a blank stare. “Aphro.”

  Sam shot him a withering look, then pointed to the clothes. “Get dressed and take a look at the spell. I’ll bring breakfast.”

  “Why can’t we eat out?” Dean asked.

  “Because I said so,” Sam answered easily. “See you in twenty minutes.”

  The door closed and Dean sighed. Suddenly, he felt so very alone.

  Ten minutes later, he was reading the spell and its instructions incredulously. It couldn’t be that simple. Could it? Twelve candles arranged in the shape of the Greek letter Omega, an incantation in Ancient Greek, and fire lit to the blood of “a man untouched by and immune to Peitho’s charms,” mixed with a few witchy herbs.

  “Looks too easy, doesn’t it?”

  Dean looked up as Sam entered the room. “You’re early,” Dean commented, glancing at his watch.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, do you want me to go back out and come back again in ten more minutes?” Sam snarked.

  Dean blinked. Sam being sarcastic and biting was rare, but not out of the ordinary. The coldness in his tone, on the other hand… “Okay, what side of whose bed did you wake up in?” He shot back, masking his concern.

  Sam closed his eyes, rubbing at his temple. “Sorry.” He muttered after a few seconds. “Didn’t sleep too great.”

  Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek, watching carefully as Sam handed him his breakfast and a cup of black coffee. “You wanna catch a nap now?” He offered. 

  Sam shook his head. “No. It’s not just last night, I haven’t really slept well since…” He trailed off, licking his lips nervously. “Since Lucifer.”

  Dean felt a pang of regret, irrational as it was. He’d brought Sam on this case in the hopes that it would get his mind off the Devil, but instead, it had turned into a clusterfuck.

  Sam must have read his thoughts on his face, because he was quick to reassure, “But I’m fine, Dean. I don’t even really feel tired. Besides-” He shrugged. “-we’ll be done with Peitho today and on our way home soon. I’ll sleep better in the car.”

  “Alright,” Dean relented. “Come on, we should figure this out then.”

  Sam took the chair opposite him. Knees knocked together under the table and both of them froze for a second, then deliberately relaxed. 

  “So, yeah, uh…” Dean cleared his throat. “Like you said: too easy.”

  “Good thing Aphrodite confirmed her mojo won’t work on me,” Sam said. “So, my blood will do.”

  “So would mine.”

  “Might not; you’re immune, but you’re not untouched. She did try to get to you.”

  Dean frowned at that. “Alright. So, the cloak. That’s the catch here.”

  Sam nodded along. “Aphrodite said she’d have it on herself.”

  Dean scrunched his nose up. “Think people might have noticed someone walking around with a cloak.”

  “Not unless she’s disguised it,” Sam muttered.

  Dean leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “Well, unless Peitho just stands still and lets us do a full-body check-” His words ground to a halt and he blinked, recalling the goddess who’d appeared to him at the pier. “Son of a bitch,” he breathed out, leaning forward again.

  “What?”

  “She was wearing a scarf,” Dean said slowly. “A blue scarf. And Robinson said the same thing.”

  It took a second, but realization lit up Sam’s eyes. “I bet if we asked the others, they’d give the same description.” 

  “It’s weak,” Dean cautioned. “But…”

  “It’s something,” Sam finished for him.

  They shared a quick smile across the table. Their legs were pressed together from knees to ankles now. Neither of them moved away.

  They found an abandoned cabin on another side of the lake, isolated from the rest of the town.

  They worked in silence. Sam was preparing the bowl on the rotten-wood countertop, muttering under his breath as he mixed the herbs. Dean painstakingly arranged twelve candles at equal distances in the shape of a capital Omega, then connected them with chalk lines on the wooden floors.

  He snuck a peek out the window. They’d decided to work in the evening and by now, there was only a sliver of the sun visible at the horizon, with a few stars beginning to show. It really was peaceful out here, Dean reflected. Hell, if the cabin could just be fixed up a little- electricity, the windows, and the front porch- then it would make for a pretty nice vacation spot. There was only one bedroom, of course, but they were used to sharing at Rufus’ old place too.

  “Dean, could you give me the thyme?” Sam spoke up, breaking the silence. “And, I swear to god, if the next words out of your mouth are I’m not wearing my watch , I will stab you in the knee.”

  Dean snickered as he caught the mock scowl on Sam’s face and crossed over to the corner where they’d dumped the supply bags. He found the thyme and handed it to Sam, then stayed there, watching.

  Sam had a candle lit to be able to see and Dean couldn’t help but track the shadows and amber light playing across his features. It made his eyes glow and his lips look more red than pink. And if Sam noticed him staring, he decided not to call him out.

  “Okay, almost done.” Sam flicked out his blade and, with the deftness of someone long accustomed to the act, sliced it across the skin of his palm. He barely reacted- nothing more than a sharp inhale- and just squeezed his hand into a fist, letting the blood drip into the bowl, almost black in the candlelight. 

  Setting the knife down, he reached for his pocket, then frowned. “Shit, my scarf- I think I left it in my other jacket.”

  “I got it.” Dean pulled out the long piece of cloth from his own jacket, tugging Sam’s arm with a gentle grip and carefully placing the fabric over the open wound. As he tied it, an overwhelming sense of deja vu washed over him. He risked a glance up and, sure enough, Sam was staring at their hands too, biting his lip like he was deep in thought.

   Old marriage ritual… Handfasting… A piece of fabric…

  Dean swallowed and looked back down, finishing the impromptu bandaging as quickly as possible without causing pain. When Sam spoke again, he almost jumped out of his skin.

  “You know it’s okay to want something for yourself, right?”

  Dean stared, trying to catch up. “What?”

  Sam shrugged stiffly. “You asked me why it wouldn’t work out for me with… Whoever I… You know. And I didn’t ask the same to you, but, I’m assuming, from what Aphrodite said, that you think you don’t, you know, deserve them, or something.”

  Dean shook his head a little numbly. “What are you saying?”

  Sam looked at him properly. “I’m saying you’re wrong. What Aphrodite said- you deserve to be happy, and you deserve to be loved.”

  Dean started to pull away, but Sam twisted his hand, fingers curling around Dean’s wrist. Dean hated himself a little more for not even fighting the firm grip.

  “Is it Cas?”

  Dean froze, heart suddenly beating so fast he felt like he was going to be sick. “What?” He whispered.

  Sam looked stricken. “I wasn’t sure, at first, thought it was just as likely to be a woman. But, then you told me what Aphrodite looks like to you and… Just tell me if it’s him, please.”

  Dean couldn’t help it- he laughed, mean and a little hysterical. “Enough with the fucking questions, Sam.”

  “Dean-”

  “I said , that’s enough .” He finally broke Sam’s hold and turned away, grabbing their weapons and tossing a lighter and a matchbox to Sam. “We’ve got a job to do. Summon that bitch so we can send her packing to mommy.”

  For a moment, it looked like Sam wanted to argue. Then he gave a short nod. With a flick of his fingers, he struck the match. He held it aloft as he chanted, voice steady and confident, then dropped it into the bowl.

  The flames that leapt up were a vivid blue. Both of them scrambled away, daggers in hand- insurance, even if they wouldn’t actually be any help- and a lighter each.

  When the flames died down, there stood the woman who’d appeared to Dean on the pier two days ago.

  She was still dressed as a human- black jeans that clung to the shape of her legs, the dark brown jacket, hair left open, and, of course, the blue scarf that could be the solution to their problem. Her eyes weren’t glowing at the moment. She looked almost human.

  “You,” she declared accusingly, pointing a delicate-looking finger at Dean.

  Dean spread his arms winningly. “Me,” he agreed. “Your impossible crush, right here.”

  Peitho clicked her tongue in mock sympathy. “I would have left you alone. But you called me here. Now I’ll have to kill you.”

  “Your mother spoke to us,” Sam said, stepping forward a little.

  Dean shifted immediately, keeping them level.

  “She’s tasked us with sending you back to Olympus,” Sam went on. “So, you understand that we can’t actually afford to fail her.”

  Peitho hummed, disinterestedly, “Oh, yes, she’s got a terrible temper sometimes.”

  “Well, you had to get yours from somewhere,” Dean reasoned. “Does ichor have DNA, Sammy?”

  Sam slanted a stern look at him, but didn’t answer.

  Peitho glanced down at the chalk lines. “You boys do understand…” She spoke slowly, condescendingly, as if they were children. “That this won’t actually hold me.” She gestured at the chalk lines on the floor.

  “Oh, we know,” Sam assured her in his quietly confident way. “But we’ll worry about that one.”

  She gave a little shrug, lips curving in a tantalizing smirk. “As you wish.” Her eyes flared with a blue glow.

  Dean felt the air get pushed out of him as he was slammed into the wall, head snapping back to hit it hard. Through the blinding dark spots in his vision, he could make out Sam on the floor, struggling to get to his feet, just as Peitho reached him.

  “Samuel Winchester, isn’t it?” She purred, gripping his chin almost gently, forcing him to look up at her from his knees.

  Dean pushed off the wall, heading for the lighter he’d dropped. He barely made it a step before Peitho, without turning away from Sam, flicked her fingers in his direction.

  His vision blurred, blue burning at the edges, as pain seared through his heart.

  “Dean!” Sam cried out, voice choking with concern.

  “Shh.” Peitho’s voice echoed in Dean’s ears. “Just watch him, Samuel. You’ll be killing him yourself in a few minutes.”

  Dean gasped, trying to breathe through the way it felt like someone was squeezing his heart until all the blood dripped out. It was agonizing, a lot like what Aphrodite had done to him in the diner, but… But just a pale imitation of it.

  With that thought, Dean wrenched his eyes open.

  Peitho was gripping Sam’s chin with one hand, keeping his eyes level with her own. “Did you know,” she was saying. “That when I work my magic on someone, I can look into their hearts? I can see their deepest desires, the ones they try to hide under shame and guilt. All it takes is one kiss…” Her grin was wicked. “Would you like to know your brother’s?”

  Sam struggled in her magical grasp. “Why don’t you just try to find out mine instead?”

  Peitho laughed, sounding pleased. “Well. I always do enjoy the brave ones more.” Without warning, she kissed him, fingertips digging into his jaw as Sam squeezed his eyes shut, face scrunching up in pain and disgust.

  Dean was on the ground and he wasn’t worried about being killed by Sam- Aphrdite had been sure that he was immune too. But he was worried about Peitho catching on to that fact and what she might do to Sam out of anger.

  Sam seemed to have the same thought, because just as Dean’s hand closed around his lighter, he went limp in Peitho’s grip, not quite kissing back, but not fighting her either, as if submitting to her magic.

  But Peitho pulled back then, a confused tilt of her brow. “What are you-” Rage took over her perfect features. She snarled something in Greek and pushed Sam away.

  He fell back on the ground, trying to catch his breath and sit up. Dean was almost there- almost- but the goddess whirled around, twisting her hand. Dean felt his body lock in place and then, quick as a flash, pain flashed in his chest. Only this time, it was physical and he realized Peitho was holding a bronze blade, the tip of it dripping Dean’s blood.

  “I’ve seen some marvellously twisted love stories in my time,” she said in a low dark voice. “But you two… You win by a mile.” She leaned closer, eyes still glowing, angrier now.

  Over her shoulder, Dean saw Sam get up, creeping quietly towards them. He nodded slightly and Dean lowered his eyes, finding the ends of Peitho’s scarf dangling between them.

  Peitho’s lips brushed against his ear, in a parody of a lover’s caress. “Falling in love with your own brother?” She taunted, her dagger digging into his chest. “And he doesn’t even know, but then again, if you knew how he felt-”

  Sam was there, yanking the goddess back by her shoulders, just as Dean grabbed the tassels of her scarf.

  Peitho cursed as she was ripped away from him and Dean fumbled with the scarf in one hand, the lighter in the other. One flick of the thumb and the silk fabric caught on fire.

 Just in time, as Peitho easily freed herself from Sam.

  Dean quickly dropped it and, as it burned, Peitho’s form flickered, hunching into herself with her face screwed up in irritation. She screamed, more in shock than actual pain.

  “ Adios , bitch,” Dean muttered and Sam let out a short breath of relief as Peitho disappeared, with a last look of hate at them.

  The silence seemed unnatural.

  “You think Aphrodite’s gonna ground her?” Dean wondered.

  Sam’s laugh was a weak sound. “Who knows? Personally, I’d be okay if we never met either of them ever again.”

  “Agreed.” Dean winced, pressing a hand to his sternum. It came away with blood smeared on his fingertips.

  Sam noticed and reached for him immediately, making quick work of the jacket and shirt. “Sit,” he instructed. “I brought the first aid kit with us.”

  Dean lowered himself to the floor, legs stretched to the side. Sam sat down too and the antiseptic stung on Dean’s skin. 

  “Come on, s’barely a scratch,” he muttered.

  “I know,” Sam said. “But it’s a long one and I don’t trust your pain scale.”

  “You think I trust yours?” Dean shot back, but mostly in good nature, because Sam’s hand felt good on his bare shoulder, almost cupping his neck, and it was worth the way Dean’s heart sped up pathetically fast at the innocent touch.

  “Dean?” Sam sounded so sad.

  Dean opened his eyes. “Yeah?”

  Sam’s face was too close, his eyes too bright. “You know we need to talk.”

  “No, we don’t,” Dean said immediately. “I don’t ask you, you don’t ask me.”

  “Dean, my situation is completely different,” Sam tried. “You- if it is Cas, then-”

  “Sam, drop it!” Dean snapped, though his voice was trembling. Pulling away from him, he got to his feet, retrieving his shirt. The bandage pulled and he fought not to react to the sting. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

  Their last night at the motel was spent in silence. Dean had nightmares- confusing flashes of the visions that Aphrodite had shown him, memories of Sam walking away from him, choosing something else other than him. He woke up a few times, hurting and grieving, only to find Sam stirring too, caught between consciousness and his own nightmares.

  The next morning, they packed up their stuff in silence too. Dean tried- and failed- not to sneak glances as Sam got on the phone with Jonathan Bryce, letting him know the job was done.

  Even the drive home was silent. For ten hours, Dean only removed his hands from the steering wheel twice. He still stole glances at Sam, impossibly curled up in the shotgun seat. Sam wasn’t aware of the scrutiny, or maybe he refused to acknowledge it, and spent the whole time with his temple resting against the window. The only conversation they had were one-word questions, one hum for the affirmative, two hums for the negative.

  Dean thought that maybe it would all be over soon. They would reach home, go to their separate rooms to lick their wounds, mourn the could-have-beens of their respective love lives and lament the fact that they were still keeping secrets from each other. Then Sam would make a lengthy speech about respecting Dean’s silence and Dean would reply in kind. A day or so of awkwardness and then they’d be back to normal.

  Perfect.

  If only.

  “I don’t understand you.” Sam’s voice is quiet, but it seems to echo.

  Dean tossed his bag on the floor. “Our whole lives, and now you decide you don’t actually get me?” He said dryly. “That’s kinda hurtful, man.”

  “Dean,” Sam pleaded.

  Dean couldn’t look at him without something aching, so he turned away, resting his clenched fists on the lit up map table.

  “Please, I’m just…” Sam seemed to swallow. “Look, I’m just saying… If it’s Cas-”

  “It doesn’t matter who it is,” Dean insisted, glaring at the little orange blob that was Singapore. “And it ain’t Cas, so…” He shrugged.

  “Dean…”

  “Let it go, come on.” Dean pushed off the table, reaching for his bag, movements stiff and stilted, as he fought the urge to scream or run. “I need a shower.”

  “Dean.”

  “Goddamnit, Sam!” Dean yelled, dropping the bag and whirling around on Sam in one smooth go. “What do you want from me?”

  Sam flinched at the outburst, but stood his ground. “The truth,” he whispered, in that tone that meant he already knew he was regretting it.

  Dean laughed harshly. “The truth?” He sneered, feeling a cruelty he hadn’t experienced in so long, a desire to hurt Sam for pushing him. “Truth about how I’ve only ever wanted just one person my whole life, even before I knew what it meant, and it happened to be someone I can never even tell about this? Truth about how I know I’ll never have him, so I go out and do everything I can to forget it? Or about how sick and screwed up I am to do everything I possibly can, even the worst things, just to keep him with me?” 

  With every sentence, he stalked closer to Sam, fury and pain feeding his words without thought. He was toe to toe with him, looking up at him, and his vision was blurred with angry tears.

  “Truth is, if I told him how I felt,” Dean continued in a hot whisper. “Then he would leave and I’ve lost him too many times already and I can’t do it again, I can’t live with him gone, and I don’t want to keep him prisoner either. Truth is that I don’t know what would kill me faster- seeing him leave, or seeing him afraid of me… Or seeing him hate me.”

  There. No way Sam wouldn’t have figured it out. It was all in the open- Dean’s withered little heart cracked open and laid bare for Sammy. Make it or break it.

  Sam looked lost, mouth dropped open in an almost perfect ‘O’ , staring at Dean, like…

  Like he was… 

  Dean turned away, slowly walking to his bedroom. He wasn’t really surprised when Sam followed him inside, closing the door. Dean paid him no heed, shucking off his jacket and flannel, then sitting on the bed.

  Sam leaned against the desk, staring at the ground blankly; his whole worldview had just shifted.

  “Is it really that hard to believe?” Dean couldn’t stop himself from asking. Somehow, he felt the need to defend himself, his words. “You’re all I ever had, for so long. Even when I thought I wanted something else, it just kept coming right back around to you.”

  Sam nodded, slowly, eyes fixed on the carpet for a long time. When he looked up, he looked tired, but there was something else there too, something in his eyes that Dean couldn’t quite identify.

  “Sammy?” Dean’s voice was barely a whisper now.

  “Dean, you weren’t…” Sam let out a short breath through his teeth, like he was gathering courage. “You weren’t alone in that.” The words left him in a rush and he frowned mildly, running a hand through his hair. “Dean, you just… I thought I was sick. I didn’t even know when it started, I just…”

  “Don’t do that!” Dean snarled, getting to his feet. This time, it was hurt propelling him. “Don’t you dare tell me that you feel the same, Sammy, that’s not-” He choked up, trying to think past the sense of betrayal. “You can’t do that to me, you can’t- please.”

  “What?” Sam asked, standing too, shoulders hunched in like he was preparing for a blow.

  “I don’t know if I can believe it,” Dean told him. And yet, wasn’t it what he’d told Sam so long ago? Hadn’t it been the one thing that had kept him going in the last few years, ever since the Mark? Stone number one. When the walls were coming down, all they had was each other. There was no room for distrust. And the walls were definitely coming down right now.

  “Dean, you’re… I…” Sam sounded helpless, as if the words were stuck in his throat. He took a few steps forward, unsure, shuffling in place. “Me too,” he finally said, so soft, as if he wasn’t sure whether he wanted it to be heard. “I wouldn’t lie about this, I wouldn’t do that to you.” He stared at Dean beseechingly, eyes wide and earnest and-

   (Then again, if you knew how he felt…)

  -and something like hope in the short, shallow breath he took that Dean could almost feel, warming up the space between them that had somehow gotten really small.

  After the weekend they’d just had, Dean figured he could blame it on delirium if it went south. He raised his hand to curl it around the back of Sam’s neck, pulling him down and leaning up to meet him halfway.

  Sam’s lips were chapped and raw from nervous biting. There was a sharp intake of breath as Dean soothed the sting with a tentative swipe, before daring to press closer. Sam pulled away, and Dean almost panicked, but then he was suddenly cupping Dean’s face, pulling him into another kiss and this was rougher, thorough in a way that made Dean’s knees buckle at the sting of Sam’s teeth.

  He clutched at Sam’s shoulders, forcing him to walk back until he was leaning against the wall, and Dean was on his toes a little, trying to get to more, trying to lick away the taste of stale coffee and beer from Sam’s mouth and replace it with his own. Until Sam moved down to his jaw, placing a bite right below his ear and Dean made a small sound of shock at the dull throb.

  The first touch of Sam’s fingers sneaking under his t-shirt and pressing into the small of his back had Dean breaking away this time, head falling back a bit as he gasped for breath. Sam stilled, though he didn’t move or let go.

  Dean closed his eyes. His heart was beating at a mile a minute, he could feel the flush creeping up his neck and his pulse was hammering throughout his body. A warm hand cradled his cheek and he leaned into it without thinking, nuzzling into the calloused palm. Sam was one long line of heat and muscle pressed up against him and there was no way Dean could miss the hitched breath. He swayed closer, almost unconsciously, until his forehead was resting against Sam’s collarbones.

  “If you don’t mean it-” Fuck, was this was what Dean sounded like? Broken and begging? “-then tell me now. Last chance, man. ‘Cause I can’t… Please.” 

  Sam’s hand slid up his back, soothing. A warm kiss was placed gently to his hairline. “Dean, look at me, please.”

  Dean shook his head, staying where he was, content to breathe in the familiar road-shampoo-paper scent.

  Sam wasn’t standing for that. He cupped Dean’s head, easily forcing him back so their eyes could meet.

  Sam had a look of absolute awe on his face, wonderstruck as he stroked his thumb over the corner of Dean’s eye, down his cheek, then traced the shape of his lower lip.

  Dean painstakingly took a deep breath. “Aphrodite,” he said in a low voice. “She… She looked like you. I mean… I saw you. Not… anyone else, just you.” He tried for a laugh, but it just sounded hysterical. “Sorry for lying?”

  Sam nodded in small, rapid movements. “I saw you too,” he confessed. There was a short pause. “I love you,” he said quietly. “Just so we’re clear. And I mean it. I love you.”

  Something cracked inside of Dean, some translucent wall that he could now see through, like looking back on their years and seeing every moment- Sam abandoning dad’s trail to rush to Dean’s aid, Sam trusting Ruby to help him save Dean, Sam willing to die because he thought it would make Dean proud, Sam recklessly unleashing the Darkness to keep Dean with him, and so many other instances- through brand new eyes.

  Sam loved him. Sam was in love with him.

  “You love me,” he repeated.

  Sam hummed, nudging their noses together in a playful gesture that made Dean’s heart sing.

  He didn’t say it back, could see the tiny grin on Sam’s face that meant he could practically read Dean’s mind right now.

  So he just laughed, light and soft, only a little disbelieving, blinking away the last of his unshed tears, and leaned back in to taste that smile against his own.