Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Asylum ❯ Slowly ( Chapter 14 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

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Asylum
Supernatural, AU
Dean/Sam

Summary: For the past few years, Dean Winchester has been a resident of various mental health facilities and has gained quite a reputation since being forcibly admitted. Abandoned by his father who had previously been a patient himself, the only thing keeping him going is the thought of his brother.

*Disclaimer* I do not own anything. Except maybe the occasional OC. Supernatural is property of Eric Kripke and others.
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Ch. 14: Slowly  

Desire was a hard knot in Sam's stomach by the time they made it back to their room. He knew his face was flushed with it as Dean walked him backwards to the bed, as they removed their shirts. Anxiety was also riding him when he was given room to think, but as Dean's mouth rejoined his, it paled in the face of desire.

There was no spoken agreement, they just both knew somehow that this was going to happen. Dean's hands slid up his body, over the muscles of his sides, over his ribs, then back down again, touching everywhere and making him throb with need. They lingered upon the waistband of his pants, pulling down on it teasingly, and stroking his hips with dexterous fingers.

His heart thudded in his chest, anticipation mounting.

Dean slid a hand behind his head then, running it though his hair and clenching a fist in it as he slid within Sam's mouth with an intuitive tongue.

He'd never tasted kisses this hot, or felt such desperate longing.

He wondered if he'd be going to hell for this.

He ached to be touched. And hell be damned, it had to be Dean. Nothing else would do. Nothing else could come close. He moaned into Dean's mouth as firm hands slid over his ass and squeezed, grinding their hips together. Sam copied the motion, feeling pleasure spiraling within his gut with increasing intensity. Their breathing was ragged as they clung to each other roughly, fingers digging in and grasping as they moved.

Dean forewent the bed, backing him up against the wall with a solid thud and thrusting against him.

Sam's eyes rolled back in his head as pleasure started to punch through him, exquisitely painful. He could feel his entire body flushing hot, and knowing that it was Dean's hard length against his stomach, Dean's mouth playing at his throat... it was turning him on even more. Like that should even be possible.

He groaned as his body suddenly tensed up, starting to tremor, and he gripped his brother's shoulders as his back began to arch. Dean's skin was damp with a fine sheen of sweat under his hands, and that, too, was unbearably sexy to him just then. Sam shuddered violently against him as he lost control, catching a flash of the most erotically lust-filled eyes he'd ever seen before Dean's mouth crashed against his, swallowing his sounds of pleasure.

Dean's body tensed against his as he was still riding the aftershocks, head still swimming with the feel of them.

“Fuck,” Dean swore as he came, bruised lips barely leaving his to utter the word.

His head fell upon Sam's shoulder, then, as he caught his breath. As they both did.

“I don't suppose,” Sam said, still winded, “things might be a little awkward after this?” It was kind of meant as a joke. He was still high on the euphoric haze that had settled on him.

“Only if you let it,” Dean responded. “And that's not funny.”

Sam laughed and slid to the floor, feeling pleasantly worn out. “Kinda was.”

“Idiot,” Dean relented, sliding down next to him and leaning his head against the wall. “Man, I could really go for a beer right about now. How `bout you?”

“Sure. But the rain check you give me had better be good for a while.” He tilted his head to look at Dean. “I don't see us making it to a pub anytime soon.” Actually, being in an asylum was not as bad as Sam thought it would be, at least, not so far. Being stuck in a building, unable to leave, was still something that took some getting used to, though.

“True,” Dean sighed. “I'm willing to move that to the top of my `When I Get Out of Here' list, though, if you're game.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam yawned. Suddenly he felt exhausted. Good, but exhausted.

“Sammy?” Dean said uncertainly after a long pause. “We ok?” He didn't sound tired at all.

“I'll let you know in the morning,” Sam said gravely, still in a joking mood.

“Ass,” Dean said, shouldering his arm. “I was being serious.”

“Yeah, me too,” he murmured, sleep musing his words. “But I'm sure it's fine.”

“You gonna sleep right here?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“On the floor?”

“Mm.”

Dean sighed and Sam felt him sling his arm over his shoulders and drag him to his feet. “No, you're not. There's a perfectly good bed less than three feet away. Never knew you were so goddamn lazy, Sammy.”

Dean lowered his body onto the bed, rolled him into it, then threw the sheet over him.

“Where you going?” Sam asked sleepily as Dean went to his own bed.

“To sleep where I can't be killed, in case you get a hair up your ass by the time you wake up.”

Sam's eyes rolled reflexively, even though his eyes were closed. “Don't be stupid. Come back over here.” He waited a moment but heard no movement. “Dean,” he called impatiently, craning his head towards the other bed. “If you don't, I promise to beat the shit out of you and make you miss breakfast.”

“Sonuvabitch,” he heard Dean mutter under his breath. “You would, wouldn't you?”

“Yes.”

“Fine,” Dean said, his bed creaking as he got up. He flopped down next to Sam, making sure to do it hard enough to bounce the mattress. “Happy?”

“Don't be a dick,” Sam mumbled, tossing an arm over his waist. Dean's lean body was warm and comfortable against his, and felt right. Pleasure eddied languidly within him. “G'night,” he murmured before sleep took him.

“`Night,” Dean said, settling against him.

It was a fragile sort of contentment that stole over Dean, and wonder - that what had happened had just happened, that remnants of pleasure were still warming him and that Sam was sleeping peacefully at his side. His wavy, light brown hair was scattered messily over his forehead, longer now than it had been when he first came here, and Sam's arm curled around his waist possessively in sleep, almost like a little kid with his favorite toy. Endearing.

It was all much more comfortable than it should have been. Dean figured it still had time to blow up by morning. For now though, he'd just try to pretend everything was fine.

---

The next morning, Dean got up early, a little restless. He guessed he was a little on edge and didn't think he wanted to linger in bed, waiting to gauge Sam's frame of mind, up close and personal. They'd gone slowly into this - not going nearly as far as they might have with each other - but in case things went south, he wanted a little distance.

Besides, even if things didn't go completely in the hole, mornings after were kind of awkward for him. There were always expectations. Some people wanted to lay about forever, `cuddling' and such, or having quasi-romantic, kissy pillowtalk. He wasn't one for that sort of thing. He had no idea if Sam was, but his brother was more of a touchy-feely type, so it was possible... Dean had a half irrational fear, picturing it playing out like that in his head, and thought he might lose respect for Sam if something like that happened.

Sam stirred, catching sight of him pacing with bleary eyes. He promptly dropped his head back on the pillow with a groan. “Should I even ask what you're doing?”

“Nope.”

He was already found out, so he resumed pacing. He wondered what time it was but couldn't be bothered to check the clock. He was also hungry as hell, but he wouldn't be going in to the mess hall without Sam, so eating hadn't mattered until his brother woke up. And how awkward might this breakfast be?

He realized suddenly that he was terrified.

Properly terrified of the consequences of what had happened between them.

He heard rustling and looked back over at Sam who was getting up and pulling on a shirt.

He'd already done the same, not wanting to traipse about half naked, in light of recent events. If anything, right now he was obsessed with damage control. He thought he'd wanted things to change between them, but now he was afraid of what those changes might entail. Now he wondered if he would regret what had happened. What if things just weren't the same anymore? What if he and Sam didn't act like they used to?

“Come on, let's go,” Sam said, breaking the circling of his thoughts.

“Where?”

“You're hungry, right?” His grey eyes had an assessing look in their gaze. “So if you're finished bugging out, maybe we could grab a bite to eat.”

Dean frowned at him. “I'm not bugging out.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, putting on some shoes. “You are.”

Dean chewed on that and found he had nothing he could really say. “Well, even if I was, could you blame me?”

“Technically? Since you started it? Yeah, I could.”

“Oh, so it's my fault things happened?” Shit. He was feeling defensive. “You're mad now?”

Sam tossed him a leveling look. “You want me to be mad? You want me to tell you how messed up this is, and how it's all your fault and that you've ruined my life?”

Dean blinked at him, shaking his head as the words hitting him like sucker punches. It was everything he was afraid of, being sarcastically thrown back in his face. “Well, no, I...”

“Look, let's just eat, and if you feel the need to talk about this later, fine.”

Dean frowned harder. “Fine.” Sam was making him sound like a freaking girl. “Bitch,” he added after a moment.

“Jerk,” Sam tossed out over his shoulder as he left the room.

---

“Looks like it's not too crowded here at this time,” Sam said, looking around the cafeteria as he drank some coffee.

“Mn,” Dean said, across from him, taking a huge bite of pancakes and home fries. He was in a much better mood now, seeing that they could bicker like before. Nothing seemed wholly amiss in the way they dealt with each other, and that was a load off. The only difference then, was this new dimension that may have been instituted in their relationship. But there was no telling if it would stick or if they would be passing it off as something to forget about.

Dean swallowed his mouthful of food and said, “Aren't you going to eat anything?”

“Maybe later. I just wanted coffee.”

Sam had faint circles under his eyes. He wondered if he did too. They hadn't slept long. Hell, they hadn't even been in the room more than a few hours after coming back from the expedition to the basement tunnels.

“Winchesterrr,” a familiar voice said in greeting, and Garth slid onto the bench next to him. He looked a little less twitchy than normal, a cup of coffee held tightly in his hand that was already half empty. It was likely his third. His hair was still a crazy ginger-colored cloud about his head, making him look like a mad scientist. “Heard you were in Solitary till last night.”

“Yeah. Fun stuff.” Dean shrugged it off and resumed eating, not bothering to correct him that he'd gotten out of Solitary earlier than Intel claimed. He wondered why Garth just happened to be here right now when he wanted to be alone with Sam and try and get a handle on things. Though it wasn't completely unusual that the man was here at this hour. Sometimes Garth came into the mess hall early; occasionally they'd even eat together. He guessed that today it was just his bad luck.

“You look tired,” Garth observed.

“So does Campbell,” Jared observed in turn, sliding onto the bench next to Sam, across from Dean, a loaded tray in his hands. He fancied himself a bodybuilder and could sure eat like one.

Dean felt the room closing in on him as the other bookend arrived. Garth by himself might not have been too much trouble, bet get at least two members of the card circle together and they easily got each other going. He already knew what was coming, the guys had been ribbing him over Sam for some time now. “Guys, I'd kinda like to eat alone, if you don't mind,” he said brusquely, then took a swig of coffee, radiating, Go the fuck away.

Jared looked at Garth, and Garth looked at Jared.

“You don't look so alone to me.” Jared turned to Sam and casually looked him over. “You're Sam, right? The roommate?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam said, looking like he was wondering what might have been said about him as he shook Jared's offered hand.

“Nice to meet you, finally,” the weightlifter said in a tone that implied all sorts of things. He smiled at Sam in a friendly manner as if unaware of his growing unease.

“Knock it off,” Dean said, spearing some crispy potatoes on his fork and shoveling them into his mouth. They were good this morning. Nice and spicy. “You know I didn't say shit about anything,” he said around the food. Jared was just having some fun messing with Sam's head.

“Yeah, your entire m.o. is not saying shit about much of anything,” Jared agreed, settling his attention back to his tray. “But I can't help noticing how tired you both look,” he continued in mock concern, buttering a piece of toast from his mountain of food. “Wild night?”

To Sam's credit, he didn't choke, even though he'd been taking what looked to be a hefty swig of coffee at that precise moment. “Yeah,” Dean said with a smile, “Kept him up all night while boning one hot ass nurse who was sent in to take care of me. Who said Solitary doesn't come with some perks?”

“Too bad it was all in your head,” Garth said, snickering a little. “No one would let a hot nurse anywhere near you.” His mouth was twitching into a smile as he drained his coffee mug. “Not with your track record.”

“Sounds like you have quite a reputation, Dean,” Sam said with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Kid,” Garth said, “you got no idea.”

Dean inwardly cringed. He didn't really regret anything he'd done, but he also didn't fancy the thought of Sam seeing this side of him.

Getting laid as frequently as possible and with as many partners as he could coerce into it had been an outlet for him in this place, a way of feeling wanted when everything around him was so jacked up and unreal. Sex felt real. It felt like being alive, and it did a damn good job of making a person feel cared for, even if for a little while. He guessed he sort of thought that way about it even before coming to the crazy house.

Looking at it through the rose-tinted lenses of Sam's more rigid morality, however...

...he didn't feel proud of it. He wanted to sweep it aside and not allow it to be scrutinized. He didn't want to be judged for it, and he was afraid Sam would look down on him because of it.  

“The stories I could tell you...” Garth was saying.

“Nobody wants to hear that shit over breakfast, man, come on,” Dean said, sincerely hoping he dropped it. He focused as best as he could on eating and not looking over at Sam in order to gauge his reaction to all this. His appetite was becoming tenuous.

“I dunno,” Sam said lazily, “I think I might.” Dean glanced up at him and Sam was resting his chin on his hand, regarding him with a placid expression he couldn't read. The subject might be pissing him off or just catching his interest and Dean wouldn't have been able to tell. “You're right,” he continued to the table's other occupants, “Dean doesn't say much about himself at all.”

“Get used to it, Campbell,” Jared said good-naturedly between mouthfuls of toast. “He's one secretive bastard. And he cheats at cards.”

“I do not, you all just suck.”

“Did somebody say `SUCK'?” Pokey asked, manifesting out of nowhere and adding to Dean's aggravation. “Hey Garth, Jared,” he nodded as he sat down with a bowl of cereal and stared at Sam.

“Uh, hi,” Sam said to him, probably hoping to break the tension. “I'm Sa--”

“Sam,” Pokey finished his sentence. “I know. I'm Lew--”

“His name's Pokey,” Dean cut in. “Don't let him tell you any different. He's a goddamned liar.”

“I don't lie,” Pokey said indignantly, putting his glass of orange juice back down before he'd taken take a sip.

“You're doing it right now,” Garth hummed.

“Fuckers,” Pokey muttered.

“Where's Garnet?” Jared asked him.

“Dunno,” Pokey started in on his cereal. “He was gone when I woke up.” He crunched through the cornflakes for a minute, looking thoughtful, his eyes drifting back over to Sam and regarding him with an appraising gaze. “You eat already, Campbell? Or are you just trying to watch your girlish figure?”

Dean tensed, hoping Sam didn't take the jibe too badly. He seemed to have a sore spot for `girl' comments like that. Usually it was about his hair, but sometimes not.

Sam tipped his coffee back, finishing it off, and Dean could see his jaw was slightly set. “I'm out of coffee,” he said, getting up.

Dean finished the dregs of his coffee off and said, “Me, too.” He took his empty mug and followed Sam back to the corner at the end of the food line that had coffee stuff set up for them. “Hey, what's up?” he said as he caught up to him.

“Nothing.”

Sam pulled the lever on the dispenser, pouring coffee into the plain little white ceramic mug.

“Sammy,” Dean insisted, “what is it?”

“Nothing, Dean,” he responded in an irritated voice.

“Well, it can't be nothing if you're acting bitchy,” Dean reasoned, nodding his head at all of Sam.

Pissed off grey eyes flashed at him. “You may think you're trying to help, but you're really not.”

Dean shrugged and put his own mug under the nozzle, filling it up. “Just thought maybe what that little shit said got to you.”

“Were these the `friends' you mentioned?” Sam asked shortly, splashing some creamer into his coffee.

“Yeah. Like I said, take them with a grain of salt.” Dean poured some milk into his. “They're not bad guys.”

Sam stalled at the counter, stirring his java with one of those pointless little plastic straws and giving them a little more time before they returned to the table. “They weren't making up that other stuff either, were they? About you and your exploits?”

Dean frowned and leaned on the counter, staring at the milk and coffee swirling slowly together in his mug. “It isn't as bad as it sounds.”

“I fail to see how it could be better than it sounds.”

“Sam,” Dean started in a terse tone, looking up at him. He quickly felt at a loss of what to say. Sam's grey eyes seemed reserved, maybe a little anxious. “Look, it's got nothing to do with you. All right?”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said under his breath as he looked away.

“Sammy,” he said shortly, his voice hushed so others nearby couldn't hear so easily. “You're different, you always have been.” He made Sam meet his eyes, and tried to get through to him. “You're my brother. I need you.”

Again, the quality of Sam's expression escaped him as they looked at each other, though it was intense. Perturbed? Relieved? Dammit, he couldn't tell. He never used to have this sort of trouble. He used to be able to read Sammy like a book.

Something struck him then. “Sam, you're not jealous, are you?”

“What?” Sam made an irritated face and looked away, busying himself with adding some sugar to his coffee. “Don't be stupid.”

“Oh, thank god that's all it is,” Dean said with relief at Sam's reaction. He was back on more familiar ground, now - Sam's evasion techniques were transparent like water.

“I said, that's not--” Sam hissed under his breath.

“Then why are you starting to blush?” he said drolly, with a lift of his eyebrows.

“I'm not,” Sam denied, shoving him with his shoulder. They were taking too long at the coffee station. It was bound to elicit notice. “Where did you get such an over-inflated ego from?”

“I could show you,” Dean said suggestively, “but I doubt you'd want a roomful of witnesses.” As expected, he watched the color on Sam's face become more vivid with his teasing.

“Jerk,” Sam said, eyes flashing at him.

“Bitch,” Dean drawled with a charming smile. He could see he was getting to Sam - their eyes were doing that interlocking thing and everything outside of the two of them was starting to fade into the background.

He really wanted to press his lips against that sullen mouth, and feel it open up for him again. It was such a rush each time it had happened. And last night, especially... god, the way Sam had kissed him when he'd finally given up on fighting this thing between them... it was so hot and he couldn't get it out of his head.

“Dean,” Sam said, not for the first time, gaining his attention. His voice sounded slightly rough. “Maybe you shouldn't look at me like that in public.”

“Like what?” he asked, just to see how Sam would put it. His eyes flicked up to Sam's and his eyes looked dark.

“Like you're thinking of throwing me up against the counter, the way you threw me up against the wall last night.”

“If there was no one here,” Dean said in a slightly husky voice, pinning Sam with his eyes, “would you let me?” He was becoming utterly fascinated with Sam again, his reactions and the expressions he was making. It was bringing back the tight, thrumming ache that Sam so easily inspired, which they'd laid to rest not so long ago.

Sam looked away, licking his lips. “I don't know. Maybe.”

“I could be done with breakfast,” he suggested, desire twining through him insistently. “If you wanna go back to the room?”

“Dean,” Sam sounded torn, but Dean loved the way he said his name. “You really think that's a good idea?” He motioned to their table with his eyes. All three of their companions were watching them with interest.

“Aw, nosey bastards,” Dean said under his breath. They'd be all over him if they left now. He'd be hearing about it for weeks.

“And not just them,” Sam said in a quiet, earnest voice, grabbing his attention. “We have to work this out before it goes any further, don't you think?”

Dean ran his hand through his hair, exercising some self-control. “Yeah, you're right.” He was massively jumping the gun, wanting to jump Sam again before they even made sure they were okay with what had happened so far. “Sorry.”

“Look, go back to the table and I'll grab a bagel or something, okay?”

Yeah, it would be easier to handle the guys that way, if they didn't return together when he'd jumped up after Sam and they'd spent so long just `getting coffee'. “Sure. Grab me something extra, would ya?”

Sam shrugged and went to get in line. The cafeteria was starting to fill up fast.

Dean made his way back to the table, one of the guys subtly doing a catcall whistle at him.

“And you say you're not doing him,” Jared said, shaking his head as Dean took his seat. “You must be dealing with one serious case of U.S.T. then.”

“Says who?” Dean said dismissively. His food had gotten a little cold, but not too bad. Certainly quite edible still.

“Wait,” Pokey said in confusion, “what's `U.S.T.'?”

“Unresolved Sexual Tension,” Garnet supplied, announcing his arrival and sliding onto the bench next to Pokey. “Idiot.” The lean, 20-something biker looked around the table, with his normal, inexpressive face on. He was wearing a white tanktop, and his long black hair was wet and hung about his shoulders unbound. He was probably just back from the showers. “Who are we talking about? Dean and Campbell?”

Dean shot him an irritated look. “That was your first guess?”

Garnet shrugged and reached across the table in front of Pokey to steal the top pancake off of Dean's plate, diminished though it was.

“Dude!” Dean said, throwing his hands up and giving him a what the hell look. “What's with this pow-wow anyway?” He glanced around the table accusingly. “I never see all of you in here at once.”

“Don't be racist, man,” Garnet said, taking a bite of the pancake in his hand. “The white man's kept us down long enough.” He was actually joking, in his deadpan way.

“Shut up, thief,” Dean said indignantly, lamenting the loss of his hotcake.

“At least I'm not an Indian-giver,” Garnet said, dark eyes looking somewhat amused as he ate Dean's pancake, which was dripping a little maple syrup onto the table.

“That's because you gave him shit that wasn't yours, G,” Pokey said, still miffed over the loss of his alcohol.

“Stupid,” Garnet taunted his roommate. “Do you even know what the term means? It doesn't matter whose it was, but I'd have to take it back or want something in return.” The young man shook his head as Pokey spluttered, ribbing him further. “Did your mama drop you on the head as a kid or were you born this way?”

They quibbled back and forth a bit, obviously quite used to doing so.

“Oh, thank god,” Dean said as Sam returned to the table. He held his hand out for whatever Sam had decided to grab for him, which happened to be a plate of sausage links. “I'm gonna starve with these vultures around me.”

“You don't look like you're gonna starve to me,” Garnet commented, blithely stealing a link from the plate before Dean could set it down.

“Goddamnit, get your own food,” Dean said in exasperation.

“Too much trouble.”

“You can have this,” Sam offered, sliding the plate with his toasted, buttered bagel on it in front of the guy.

“Wow, thanks, man,” Garnet said with some enthusiasm. He took one half and pushed the plate back to Sam, intending him to eat the other half himself. “You are officially not on my shit list.” He glanced at him with tilted eyes. “You're nice, how can you stand being in a room with Winchester?”

“Practice?”

Garnet took a bit of bagel and considered that. “Must be a fast learner,” he said astutely. “You haven't been awake that long.”

Sam shrugged, wanting to smack himself for his slip up. He had to remember that no one knew they'd grown up together, or that they were family. Here, they had only known each other a short while. He'd have to be more careful around this long-haired guy. He was sharp.

“Name's Garnet,” the guy said by way of introduction. He looked part Native American, and sort of young, like they might be around the same age.

“Sam,” Sam said.

Garnet nodded sagely.

Sam gave him an assessing look. “Let me guess, you already knew that?”

“You're as sharp as you look,” he replied with a slight smile, some of his hair sliding over his shoulder as he bit into the bagel.

“Is there a reason, or does everyone just know about everything in this place?”

“Not everything,” Jared chimed in with a wave of his fork. “But it'd be hard not to notice someone who managed to get Dean here all wadded up.”

Dean shook his head and rolled his eyes, indicating that was a load of crap. He continued to eat.

“Yeah, we had to suspend our card games on more than one occasion,” Garth said regretfully. “Cancelled on account of his temper, or his getting thrown into The Clink for one thing or another.”

Garnet snickered. “Good one, man.”

Garth nodded, looked pleased with himself.

“I don't get it!” Pokey said to Garnet in irritation. “Why don't you jump on him for using words wrong? We don't have a prison here.”

Garnet gave his roommate a long-suffering look. “Because the reference was a joke?” Pokey was still shaking his head looking angry. Garnet elaborated, “The Clink was a notorious prison in England back in the day, owned by the Bishop of Winchester?”

Pokey's expression soured further. “How do you even know things like that?! What the hell?”

Garnet shrugged. “I read?”

“All right, ladies,” Dean said, wiping his hands on his napkin and tossing it down. “I'll leave you to your knitting circle.” He rose to his feet. “I promised to show Campbell that poor excuse for a library we have.”

“Sure, eat and run,” Jared said, close to done with his own meal. He looked up at Sam. “If you get bored, come and check out the gym. You look like you work out from time to time.”

“I'll do that.” Sam nodded at them and followed Dean out of the cafeteria.

Jared watched them go, then rested his muscled arms on the table as he regarded each of his mates with a serious expression. “All right, men,” he announced, leaning forward, “place your bets.”

“You can't be serious,” Pokey protested. “We're really betting on this?”

“Two weeks,” Garth said. “If we're talking the full deal.”

“Pfft,” Garnet scoffed. “Two days. And it's obvious something happened already, so we're definitely talking the full deal.”

Jared whistled. “Two days, huh? Feeling conservative?” he joked.

Garnet shrugged. “Yeah, well I saw them up close when they were getting coffee. Seems practically a done deal to me.”

“Guys,” Pokey tried again. “This is Dean we're talking about. Joking aside, I really don't see him going for another dude.”

Garnet leaned back with a sigh, tilting his head to the ceiling. “Since you are the only one who can't see it, it's obvious that you're the one who needs to get a clue.”

“Just place your bet, Lewis,” Jared told him. “Otherwise you're really going to regret your losses.”

“No,” Pokey stressed. “I'm not betting on this.”

“Group rules say you can't pick and choose the bets,” the weightlifter reminded him. “You're either in or you're out.”

“Dammit,” the small man said, looking aggrieved. “Three... weeks?”

“I give it one week,” Jared said. “I agree with Garnet, but I also think Campbell's got a stubborn streak in him. Almost as big as the one Winchester's got.”

“Agreed,” Garth said. “But that's why I'm giving it two.”

“I'm telling you guys,” Garnet said, shaking his head. “They'll fold before then.”

“I am so unhappy about this conversation right now,” Pokey lamented.

“Shut up, Poke,” Garnet said amiably, “Or I'm going to start questioning which one of them you've got a crush on.”

“Hm,” Garth said, rubbing his stubble covered chin. “That would be a tricky one. Can't be Dean, unless Lewis likes having someone's boot up his ass.”

“Gah,” the small man said, holding his head in his hands. “Leave me out of this! I put in my bet.”

“You shoulda seen him staring at Campbell when he came in,” Jared added, joining the bandwagon.

“Because we're always giving Dean shit about having a thing for his roommate,” Lewis desperately tried to explain. “I was trying to see if I could see it.”

“Uh huh,” Jared razzed him. “Looked more like you had some drool running down your chin.”

Lewis turned 9 shades of red and spluttered angrily.

Garnet snickered. Pokey was hilarious when he got all indignant and lost the ability to talk in fully formed words. “You know,” he said to them all, catching their eyes with the intensity and flair of a house dealer, “a more challenging bet might be who would top.”

---
TBC

A/N: Chapter title from Infected Mushroom - “Slowly”