The Beginning

The girl they were questioning—Dean was pretty sure her name was Charlie—shrugged a shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Jo and I were close, but only in through LARPing. I never asked her about her personal life and she never shared."

Dean did his best to smile sympathetically, but he wasn't sure he pulled it off. He was tired, there was a girl missing, probably dead, and she had essentially no friends who knew anything whatsoever about her real life. Charlie had been his last hope. "All right, well, if you think of anything, call me, OK?" He tried to hand her his card, but she just slid past him, dumping the crown she'd been playing with on his head.

"Sorry, but I don't think I will."

Dean sighed and Sam, who had tagged along because Dean had called asking for his help, chuckled.

"You can't always get what you want, Dean." He said.

Dean massaged his temples as they walked out. "Yeah, but once, just once, I'd like to take a case that wasn't…" he trailed off, uncertain of how to phrase what he was thinking.

"Weird?" Sam suggested. When Dean nodded, he laughed. "Look, Dean, if you don't want them to give you the wackadoodle cases, you shouldn't be so good at solving them."

They came up to their car, which they had parked at the edge of the LARPers camp and Dean pulled his door open with a little more force than necessary. "It not that I want to be good at them, it's just…I look at these people and I just know what it is. I just understand how their freaky little minds work."

Sam slid into the passenger seat, still chuckling. "Yeah, you do, don't you?"

"Oh, shut that prissy little mouth of yours, why don't you?" Dean snapped, turning up the radio as loud as he could as he pulled away.

After Dean had dropped Sam off at the motel they were staying at, he headed out for a drink. With the day he was having, he strongly felt he deserved it. Sam had declined. He had a girlfriend back in D.C. and he had wanted to Skype with her or something. Dean really didn't want to get into the mechanics of relationships with Sam.

Not that Dean didn't like the kid. Sam was a good agent, a few years back, when he'd first joined the program, he'd shadowed Dean, and the two had formed a close bond. Sam knew Dean wasn't straight, and he didn't care. He was one of the few people that Dean had ever met that wasn't bothered by sexual orientation and all the trouble that came with it. He seemed to understand that Dean wanted to just be Dean and not get muddled up with a defined by the kind of people he liked.

He ran through his texts to see if there was anything from anybody and reviewed notes from the case. Across the room, he could feel somebody staring at him. He glanced up, trying to see who would take interest in a guy in a rumpled suit with too much tension in his shoulders.

Sitting at the bar, a guy with a fruity orange drink with an honest-to-God umbrella in it smiled shyly and waved. He had dark hair, a beard that made him look like a rabbi, and kind laughing eyes. In short, he was kinda cute.

Dean swallowed and went back to work. It'd been a long time since he'd been hit on. God, not since college at least, and he wasn't quite sure how to respond. On one hand, he was on a case and he took his job very seriously. It seemed wildly inappropriate to start something when he had a greater purpose to fulfill. On the other hand…

He didn't even want to think about the other hand.

"Screw it," he muttered to himself. He gathered up his stuff an tried to muster a cool saunter over to staring, semi-cute boy.

"Can I, uh, help you with something" He asked. He coughed into his fist. He was nervous. His voice sounded weirdly husky.

The kid raised his eyebrows. "Are you Agent Singer? I saw you talking to Charlie earlier today."

Dean wanted to kick himself. Of course this kid was talking about the case, Why on earth would he be interested in Dean, of all people? Sure, the drink had been misleading, but to each their own. He coughed again, trying to cover up his blunder.

"Oh. Yeah of course. Why? Do you have information—"

"About Jo?" He finished. He leaned in closer. Dean couldn't help but notice he smelled a little bit like fresh oranges, which wasn't an altogether terrible smell. "Well I wouldn't say it's information, per se, but she and I totally hooked up one day during a tournament in the Queen's tent. She was hot. She wouldn't talk about herself at all, but Sweet Jesus, did she know her way around bed. I bet she had Daddy issues or something. Maybe that's a lead for ya."

Dean pinched his lips together. "Thanks. I'll, ah. I'll keep that in mind."

The kid leaned back, looking smug. "You have a good night," He called as Dean started walking away.

"You—"he started. His phone started buzzing in his pocket and in his blunder to pull it out and get out of there, he bumped into a table. Why could he never be as smooth as he wanted to be? "You have a—" Everyone was staring now. "Okay," he finished lamely in reply.

He couldn't get out of there fast enough. He could hear the damn kid laughing as he left the bar.

He pulled his phone out and saw it was Sam calling. He called him back as he started walking down the street. "Hey," He said. "Sorry, there was a...gay thing."

"A gay thing?" Sam replied. "Well that's much more interesting than what I was going to say. Do tell."

"It was nothing," Dean quickly amended. "There was a guy. I thought he was gay. He wasn't. He just knew that I was working in Jo's case and thought his experience with bedding her might prove to be helpful."

"Well that's…nice?"

Dean snorted. "I don't even know anymore, man. Anyways. What were you calling about?"

"I think I'm going to ask Jess to marry me." Sam said.

"Oh. Wow. That's…big news."

Sam sort of laughed. Dean could picture him running his hand through his mop of hair. "I know, but, I love her, Dean. I really do. We've been dating for two years now and I'm ready to take this step." His voice had a lot more conviction towards the end. Dean knew how Sam was. The more set and used to an idea Sam got, the more determined he became to see it through.

"Well, Sammy, congratulations."

"Don't call me 'Sammy'." Sam said automatically. "Do you really think she'll say yes?"

"I said 'congratulations', didn't I? Look, you said it yourself. You and Jess have been dating for ages now. You moved in together, what? Nine months ago?"

"It's been a year now, actually."

"Shoot, that long? Listen, Sammy. You're ready for this. I know you are and she's going to say yes because she loves you too."

"Thanks, Dean. Hey, listen, have you been OK lately? I know this case has you stressed out—"

"Sammy," Dean growled.

"—and I know you" he coughed awkwardly, "haven't exactly been seeing anyone lately. But I just wanted to say—"

Dean closed his eyes and stopped for a moment. As a general rule, he did his best to avoid talking about himself and his feelings. It was just for the best, usually. "Look, Sam, I'm fine. I mean, trust me. This life? You can't afford attachments. You just gotta…let go. The FBI is all work, no play. Isn't that what I told you when we met?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Sam said. "Just know that if you need to talk, I'm here for you, OK?"

"Yeah, OK." Dean grumbled. Sam was like a little brother to him. They'd been working a case once and Dean had literally pushed him out of the path of a bullet. If he had been talking to anyone else, he definitely would have hung up his phone by now.

"I love you, Dean," Sam said.

"Yeah, love you too, Little Brother," Dean said. And then he hung up, because this conversation was getting way too old.