Okay, it's not like he thought the idea of Dean and Cas finally just giving in to their epic romance and making out would make his life easy or anything --Sam's optimistic, sure, but not that optimistic-- but he at least thought it might make things a little easier, if only because he would no longer have to deal with the thick, UST-laden air between his brother and his brother's ex-angel in between all the other parts of his life that consist solely of fighting, killing, eating greasy food, and passing through numerous terrifying small towns where he is pretty sure the town charters still say it's okay to marry your sister.
The thing is, sitting between them (or across from them, or alongside them, or anywhere within ten feet of them) back before they had been a thing, for lack of better word, had been frustrating. Sam had bravely fought off the manful urge to grab the backs of both their heads and smoosh their faces together on more than several occasions, particularly whenever one of their eye-fucking contests got to the point where it made families with small children uncomfortable or tempted rednecks to grab pitchforks and form posses. At the time, the logical, rational, self-preservationist part of Sam's brain had thought that it was one of their (admittedly) many problems that could easily be fixed if only Dean would man up and Cas would educate himself a little more thoroughly on what it meant to be human and what these tingly feelings in his pants were. At the time, Sam had been convinced that if only Dean and Cas would get together, it would save a good chunk of whatever remains of his sanity, post-Hell.
Sam now knows better.
Sam now knows that Dean and Cas making out really doesn't help make anything easier at all. In true Winchester fashion, it really only makes his life harder.
Because before, it had been a frustrating, but acceptable case of "I know you like him, I know he likes you," for Sam.
Now, it's an enormous clusterfuck of "I know you know I know you like him and I know he knows that I know you know he likes you back," and somehow, that has not stopped the staring contests at all. In fact, it has just made the staring contests impossibly heavier between them, makes them feel even more laden with innuendo than they'd ever been before. For Sam.
Sam thinks it might be the part of the whole thing that is now "I know you know that I know what you are thinking right now and I know you both know that you don't care that I know," that makes it the worst.
In any case, the eye-fucking continues, except now, at the end of the day, Sam also knows that it will lead to actual fucking, which his brain does not need on top of all the fighting and the killing they always have to do.
Such is his life.
Tonight, he sits awkwardly to the side of the two lovebirds in their crappy diner booth as they look soulfully at each other across the table. Dean does something obscene with his peperoncino. Possibly unconsciously, but also possibly not.
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FILL: Nothing Easy 1/2
Date: 2012-03-11 07:05 pm (UTC)The thing is, sitting between them (or across from them, or alongside them, or anywhere within ten feet of them) back before they had been a thing, for lack of better word, had been frustrating. Sam had bravely fought off the manful urge to grab the backs of both their heads and smoosh their faces together on more than several occasions, particularly whenever one of their eye-fucking contests got to the point where it made families with small children uncomfortable or tempted rednecks to grab pitchforks and form posses. At the time, the logical, rational, self-preservationist part of Sam's brain had thought that it was one of their (admittedly) many problems that could easily be fixed if only Dean would man up and Cas would educate himself a little more thoroughly on what it meant to be human and what these tingly feelings in his pants were. At the time, Sam had been convinced that if only Dean and Cas would get together, it would save a good chunk of whatever remains of his sanity, post-Hell.
Sam now knows better.
Sam now knows that Dean and Cas making out really doesn't help make anything easier at all. In true Winchester fashion, it really only makes his life harder.
Because before, it had been a frustrating, but acceptable case of "I know you like him, I know he likes you," for Sam.
Now, it's an enormous clusterfuck of "I know you know I know you like him and I know he knows that I know you know he likes you back," and somehow, that has not stopped the staring contests at all. In fact, it has just made the staring contests impossibly heavier between them, makes them feel even more laden with innuendo than they'd ever been before. For Sam.
Sam thinks it might be the part of the whole thing that is now "I know you know that I know what you are thinking right now and I know you both know that you don't care that I know," that makes it the worst.
In any case, the eye-fucking continues, except now, at the end of the day, Sam also knows that it will lead to actual fucking, which his brain does not need on top of all the fighting and the killing they always have to do.
Such is his life.
Tonight, he sits awkwardly to the side of the two lovebirds in their crappy diner booth as they look soulfully at each other across the table. Dean does something obscene with his peperoncino. Possibly unconsciously, but also possibly not.