Dean stared at the screen of Sam’s laptop and cocked an eyebrow. He couldn’t believe this; people actually not only read about their lives but were posting opinions on it? He scrolled down the page, looking at some of the fan reviews for some of Chuck’s books. Most of them were one sentence statements about wanting to read the next installment, criticisms of the “over-used tropes,” or “loving Dean forever.” He had to smile at that last one. “Did you read these?”
Sam’s face twitched into an awkward smile and he scratched the back of his head. “Yeah.”
Hmm. Something had Sammy’s panties in a twist. Probably some fan said something about him being hot or something and it was making Sam embarrassed, the friggin’ prude. He looked down the page a little further. Or maybe that’s it. “Samwithgravy1?”
Sam’s cheeks flushed. “Shut up.”
Dean smirked. Sam’s superfan ran some page called “morethanbrothers.net.” Huh. Must be some fansite about their lives as hunters – these people were really into the series. He wondered what was on it. Well, maybe he’d check it out later. First he wanted to look around this site a little more.
Beside each member’s name was a few stats—number of posts, mostly—and a description. Reading them, he had to smother a fit of laughter. “There’s ‘Sam girls’ and ‘Dean girls’ and…” when he got to the description of the next member, he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “…what’s a ‘slash fan’?”
Sam crossed his arms, looked at the ceiling, and was silent for a moment. Oh, this was going to be good. “As in…” he paused again, “Sam-slash-Dean. Together.”
To-what? “As in together-together?” He glanced back up at the link to “morethanbrothers.net,” a horrible new suspicion growing in his mind. Oh no, no, no no. Could there – was there a whole site dedicated to that?
Sam uncrossed his arms and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah.”
“They do know we’re brothers.” Please say no, please say no, please say no…
One hand came out of its pocket and moved back to scratch at his neck. “Doesn’t seem to matter.”
“Oh that, well, that’s just sick.” Dean slammed the laptop shut and slid it across the table.
There was a moment of silence in the motel room. When Sam spoke, his voice was flat. “It’s sick?”
“Yes! Of course it’s sick; bunch of friggin’ perverts using our lives for entertainment like that… I mean…” he got up from the table and hurried to the fridge; he needed a beer, “this is our…” he made a vague and awkward gesture between them with his free hand, “we do what we do, but they go ahead and use it to – to…” popping the top off the beer with his ring, he took a deep pull, “it’s not right.”
“So…” Sam’s voice was hesitant. “It’s their using it that bothers you. Not… what we do. What we have.”
Oh, shit. It would figure that Sam would pick now to break out the estrogen. Dean sighed internally. “Look. Sammy.” He spread his arms. “This isn’t what either of us were planning—it’s sure as hell not what Mom and Dad would’ve wanted for us. But it’s what we got. And it—it works, for us.”
“So it doesn’t bother you,” Sam said, as though to confirm.
Dean put on his best smile. “’Course not.”