Chapter Text
It’d been over two months since the shifter, and Sam had talked to Dr. Flor a couple times since, focusing on his brother. Dr. Flor specialized in the issues college students typically faced, and was spending her spare time researching how to help Sam with what she thought he was going through.
She didn’t know the half of it, but Sam was able to fill their sporadic sessions without mentioning what exactly he and his brother were doing, or his psychic visions. The one time he ran out of material, he was able to duck out early by claiming he was low on minutes. He still had to pay full price for that appointment, but it was worth it.
Honestly, nothing had happened hunting-wise that Sam wasn’t used to. Fixing his relationship with his brother… that was harder. They were getting closer, partly due to Dr. Flor’s advice, but also due to time. If Dean knew about these phone calls, or the voicemails Sam had started leaving their father, it’d be a different story. That had started around Christmas, and became a habit soon after Sam decided John wasn’t even listening.
At first, Sam thought Dean would be a bigger obstacle to his phone calls. But thankfully, Dean had been giving Sam space, and not just for phone calls anymore. Sometimes he went to bars. Other times, like now, he was calling someone in private. Sam assumed it was another one of John’s contacts.
“They’re not just dating, they’ve been married for years!” Marcel said.
“I don’t think we saw the same show.” Dean said. He and Marcel often had to take turns talking about their lives, because there was no easy connection between ‘variable shift schedules’, and ‘fighting ‘supervillains’’. When they talked about the shows they had in common, they were on the same page. Mostly.
“They meet up just to talk more than anyone else, eyefuck each other every time they’re on screen, and, oh yeah, Garak was just hanging out in Bashir’s room while he was sleeping!” Marcel had long since given up on convincing Dean that Kirk and Spock were a couple, but this should be obvious, dammit!
Dean looked around, the parking lot was deserted. He relaxed, but made sure not to speak too loudly. “So, they hang out. Doesn’t mean they’re a couple. They don’t even kiss.”
“That’s because the producer wouldn’t let them!”
“Exactly. It didn’t happen.” Dean didn’t mind having this dumb argument again. It never went anywhere, but was low-stakes, and predictable. And he figured if Marcel minded, he’d stop bringing it up.
“But they- they have a weekly lunch date! For God’s sake, do they have to fuck on screen to convince you?” Sometimes Marcel thought Dean was missing it on purpose.
Dean thought about that for a moment, and smiled. “I mean… it wouldn’t hurt.”
Marcel burst out laughing, loud enough his neighbors could definitely hear. At least Dean was calling at a reasonable hour this time. Still giggling, he said. “Yeah. Still can’t believe we got ghost sex, but not even a kiss between Garak and Bashir. But still, they come pretty damn close in Our Man Bashir.”
“I don’t see it.”
“You know what? You’re right. We didn’t see the same show. That’s fine. Just means next time I see you, we’ll have to watch the real Deep Space Nine.”
Dean laughed. “Really? That’s what you want to do the next time you see me?”
“Well, just the ones with Bashir and Garak. We’ll still have time to bang.” Like Marcel was going to give that up.
Dean scoffed. “You’ve already got a list of Bashir and Garak episodes, don’t you?”
“Asks the guy who knows all the specifications for every part of a car decades older then he is.” Marcel pointed out lightheartedly.
“Yeah, how else am I gonna take care of it?”
“That’s what mechanics are for.”
“I’m not trusting a stranger with my car.”
Marcel bit his lip. “So, when do you think you can come over?”
“I still don’t know. We still don’t know what’s going on, and besides, I’d have to take Sam up there, and that’d be hard to explain to him. He’s getting better, but I can’t risk it just yet.”
“Right, of course. I’ll talk to you later, Nightwing.” Marcel lived in the same town Dean’s brother did, right up until his girlfriend was murdered.
As usual, Dean scoffed at the dorky nickname. “Yeah, later.”
That was a more promising non-answer than before, but as of a month ago, this was now the longest Marcel had gone without seeing Dean since he solved those murders over two years ago. The bottle of whiskey Marcel bought for him was just gathering dust.