the sam to my cas

Love Isn’t a Memory

“My name is Dean Winchester

Sam is my brother

Mary Winchester is my mom, and

Casti–Cas, is my best friend.”

Dean popped his eyebrows high and shuffled unsure.

“Yes, that’s right,” Cas urged.

“You,” Dean said throwing a finger between them. “You’re Cas?”

Cas nodded, “Yes.”

Dean looked back and a stark vulnerability in his face caught Cas between the ribs. The low room light lit him kindly; the crows feet around his eyes were showing. Cas liked those little smile lines, liked them more everyday.

Dean scrubbed his chin. “No, that can’t be right,” he mumbled.

“Why?”

“That can’t be all, I mean.” His jaw jumped as he worked a timid nibble into his bottom lip, “You an’ me.”

“All?” Cas frowned, tried to seek an answer in the filtered sunlight at the motel window before he gave up and shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Are we… only friends?”

Heat hit Cas’ face in a quick bloom. “Why do you ask that?”

Dean was fixed on Cas now, face thin and brow folded. He’d just struck a nerve, and he seemed to know it.

He felt the lapel of Cas’ coat, and briefly brushed a thumb down his tie. He shook his head like he was trying to knock something loose – or knock something away, and he grabbed Cas in those wide green eyes again. “Because I feel like… it’s more than that. I feel like I look at you, and…  I’m in love with you.”

Cas shied back. “Oh,” he puffed, blindsided.

It was incredible how easily an unguarded Dean Winchester managed to rip their lives open. Although, Dean had always been good at turning Castiel inside out.

I don’t know if we’re supposed to make a connection between these two lines, but I am pretty sure we are.

My name is Dean Winchester. I’m an Aquarius, I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach and frisky women.

My name is Dean Winchester. Sam Winchester is my brother, Mary Winchester is my mother, and Casti- Cas is my best friend.

In the first case, he’s saying things about himself that are irrelevant to the current situation, but that are still true. He’s an Aquarius, he enjoys watching sunsets although he rarely gets the chance to admire one without being worried about things that bump in the night, he wishes he could take a break and get a beach vacation, and he likes frisky women. But these attributes are not exhaustive of Dean’s personality, and we could interpret the sunset mention as a double-meaning remark, as ‘sunset lover’ used to be a code word for a queer man in cinema (and considering Cathryn Humphris wrote the episode, the chance it’s an accident are, like, 0,03%. Carver didn’t think it was an accident either, as he developed a connection between the relationship between Dean and Cas and sunsets in the imagery of his seasons).

“This is ridiculous,” Dean mutters as he rolls out his mat, side-eyeing the fuck out of his brother. His sweatpants are already sticking to his legs with the heat of the room, and for the first time in his life, he wishes he’d worn shorts. “I’m gonna suffocate,” he declares. “I’m gonna die doing hot yoga and it’s gonna be embarrassing.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Would you calm down?”

“Ha!” Dean scoffs. “Easy for you to say. Look at you, with your goddamn hippie man bun and your short shorts and—”

“—These are regular shorts, Dean—”

“And with your fuckin’ tank top you’re in your natural habitat! Jesus, Sam, you’re like the king of the motherfucking granolas!”

“And you’re being a little bitch,” Sam counters, getting himself set up and sitting, cross-legged, to center himself. He closes his eyes. “The physio said this is the best thing for your shoulder, so we’re here. Now shut your trap and take it like a man.”

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