She was perfect.
Long, curvy legs, tight ass, great eyes, and her face wasn’t anything to scoff at, either. She leaned on the bar, grinning past the straw of her cosmopolitan, and asked Dean if he wanted to go back to hers.
“I’d love to,” he started, taking a pull off his beer, “but I have plans. Maybe some other time.”
She looked disappointed but she played it off well, clacking away in her baby pink heels. He let himself stare as she walked away, but he didn’t go after her like she might have hoped he would.
No, he really did have plans.
He threw himself onto the bed, Sam rocking violently with the sudden addition of his weight. His eyes were barely open and he was already chastising Dean.
“You always have to make an entrance,” Dean heard as he flopped over onto his brother, grinning like he’d done something to be proud of. It wasn’t easy rejecting a gorgeous girl, even when he had this to come home to.
“C’mon, you love it.”
Sam scoffed and threw an arm around Dean. “You don’t reek. How come you only get hammered when you take me to the bar?”
He looked up at his brother, his sad little puppy dog eyes that he always seemed to use to his advantage, and this time was no exception.
Dean shrugged.
“Still feels like I’m taking you out on our first date and I have to drink to drown my nerves. You don’t know how stressful it is taking you out in public when it seems like everyone’s trying to give you their number. No chance in hell I’m competing with a hot doctor with a sports car or some kinky lady CEO.”
Sam smiled gently, his eyebrows knitting together. He trailed his hand up Dean’s back until he reached the back of his head, stroking his shaved nape with care.
“It’s only you, Dean. It’ll only ever be you.”
Sam kissed his forehead and watched him as his eyelids drooped shut. His shallow breathing put Dean at ease, his own personal white noise machine with affirmation cards attached.
Dean wasn’t good enough for him. He still gawked at girls in bars and considered meeting guys in alleys, even with Sammy’s devotion to him. He felt broken; that even with a perfect thing in his arms he could still want for more. Dean didn’t want to call himself bisexual because that’d give the whole community a bad name—not to mention that if he was suddenly made the Chairman of Bisexuality it would be hard to explain to the public why his sexuality had nothing to do with him boinking his brother. That was a separate issue entirely, and one that he wasn’t going to be addressing for the foreseeable future.
His hand wandered up until he was touching Sam’s hair, and his face was quickly buried into Sam’s neck. He needed this: his stability, his comfort, his him. Dean didn’t know who he’d be without Sammy. Probably a closet case rotting away in the suburbs with a depressed wife and apathetic kid.
Dean’s jealousy wasn’t healthy. Dean’s inability to keep his eyes on the person he’d committed himself to wasn’t healthy. Dean Winchester wasn’t healthy, but at least he felt right tangled in Sam’s arms.