Next Time We'll Go to the Met

It’s not like Sam doesn’t know. He’s known for a long time, ever since he found what he thought was Dean’s porn stash and it turned out to be a collection of Ballet for Beginners instructional videos. Dean occasionally gets turned on by unusual stuff, but the simple videos are nothing except a muscular middle-aged woman in an empty dance studio teaching very basic ballet steps, so it’s unlikely jerkoff material even for Dean. From there, pieces started coming together. It didn’t take Sam long to figure it out.

So, yeah, Sam’s known for a while. The reason he hasn’t said anything is that he’s exercising tact. Even at the best of times, Dean has very delicate self-esteem, plus defense mechanisms that make nuclear missiles look like popguns; frankly, the situation is an absolute minefield. Sam is confident, though. He’s navigated his share of minefields over the years. He has a plan.

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The two remaining thugs stopped dead in their tracks. Immediately they turned to face the attacker and lowered the pistols. They recognised him from previous unfortunate encounters. “B-Bruce… Nice to see ya mate” the smallest of the two let out a nervous chuckle and gulped. The child wriggled out of the grip of the larger one. She stared up at her rescuer before bolting off in the opposite direction. She would of thanked him but fear clouded her mind and all she wanted to do was get away as fast as she could.