Take Out The Gunman

18

"Kevin said Sam is a natural."

Dean started, sloshing the coffee in his cup slightly, as his best friend's voice reached him. He pulled his gaze from the large plate-glass window in front of him to glance over at Cas. 

"You're a damn ninja," he muttered; he hadn't heard the other man enter the kitchen. He smirked as he took in the other's appearance: Cas was dressed in pajama pants and a rumpled t-shirt, his hair sticking up in spikes all over his head. 

It had been almost two weeks since John Winchester's escape and the man's visit to the apartment. Internal Affairs had done a very brief investigation and had declared the incident – and Dean's shooting of the psychopath – self-defense immediately following the one hour question-session. 

The Detective and Sam had been staying with Cas since that night. They had attempted once to go back, but Sam had woken with nightmares (and Dean had, admittedly, had one of his own). The blood had been scrubbed from the floors and the walls, the physical evidence of that night gone, but the memories were still strong. One night at Cas's had turned into two, then a week, and now almost two weeks. He had mentioned just yesterday going back to the apartment but Cas had merely stared at him until he had let the subject drop.

He pulled a chair for the other man as Cas joined him at the table, cup of coffee in hand. They sat in compatible silence for a moment, staring out at the gardens: Sam was out in them with Cas's gardener, Kevin.

"How's he sleeping?"

"Better," Dean placed his coffee mug on the table in front of him, "He feels safe here. Hasn't been waking because of nightmares, not to my knowledge at least."

"And you?" the other man sipped his steaming coffee, blue gaze studying him, "How are you sleeping now?"

"Also better," Dean ran a hand through his hair as he shot his friend a sheepish smile, "I guess I feel safe here, too. Always have, with you." They stared at one another for a long moment before Cas chuckled and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Well, now it's awkward," Dean pushed away from the table so he could stand and stretch, "so my work here is done."

Dean found himself in the gardens several minutes later. He exchanged greetings with Kevin as he passed the gardener, but his focus was on Sam. His focus had been on Sam, he mused as he gravitated toward the younger man, since finding him chained to the bed in John Winchester's house all those weeks ago.

"Hey, Dean."

The smile cast in his direction had Dean's heart lurching in his chest. He swallowed hard, realization hitting him like a bullet, before returning the smile.

Cas was right. He was in love with Sam. He supposed he had known it all along, but admitting it to himself? That sure the hell had taken long enough.

"Hey Sammy. How's my boy this morning?" the words were out before he caught them; the grin which touched Sam's face made the slip worth it.

"Good," Sam stood from where he had been planting flowers and brushed his hands against his thighs, cleaning some of the dirt from them, "Kevin's showing me how to –"

Dean half-listened, his eyes riveted to Sam's face, as the other talked of flowers and Kevin. Most of his attention was on the way the younger man's eyes lit up when he smiled, the dimples in his cheeks, the energy emanating from him. He blinked, his attention pulled away from Sam's face, as Sam chuckled suddenly and asked,

"You're not listening to a word I'm saying, are you?"

"Not true, Sam," Dean shot the other a sheepish grin, "I heard you say something about flowers."

He met the other's hazel gaze as Sam laughed and stepped closer. Dean's heart threatened to stop altogether when Sam leaned forward suddenly and brushed his mouth against the Detective's. Sam pulled back, face flushing red and an embarrassed smile on his mouth.

"Sorry," the younger man apologized softly, "I've, um.. I've been wanting to do that for a while now. It – I shouldn't have, I'm sorry."

"No," he finally found his voice, cursing himself inwardly for remaining silent for even the short span that he had – he didn't want Sam feeling guilty over something he was more than happy with. It spoke of Sam's progress, his healing, that he had even allowed himself to kiss Dean. The Detective was aware of that, and he wasn't about to let it slip away because he was an idiot who couldn't find his words. "Don't apologize, Sammy. You never have to apologize for that."

He stepped closer to the other and caught Sam's arm, tugging him closer. He waited a moment, giving the other a chance to pull away; Sam didn't, and Dean closed the space between them. "I'm fine with it, I promise." He brushed his mouth against Sam's, voice dropping to a whisper as he finished, "You can kiss me any time you want."

Sam pressed close and murmured,
"I'm not sure I know how, so you might have to show me."
A low growl escaped Dean at the words, and the younger man grinned up at him, "Growly Dean. I like that."

Dean couldn't help the laugh that escaped him at the words, and he pulled the other into his arms for a hug.

Sam Wesson would be lucky if Dean ever let him out of his arms again.