Chapter Text
“Hey, I think I got a case, but it’s a bit of a trip,” Dean said from his place at the table, his laptop showing a bunch of news articles, some police reports, and witness statements.
“How far is ‘a bit of a trip’?” Sam replied with his mouth partially full of lunch.
“Uh, London.”
Sam’s eyebrows furrow, “like, London London? British ‘ello govne’r wa’er bot’le London?”
Dean looks slightly offended then chuckles, “I would say don’t say that ever again but I was thinking the same thing and just wasn’t going to say it.”
Sam laughs, “Alright, so what the hell is going on there?”
“I’m not sure, there’s this woman who was reported missing by her employer after she seemingly disappeared after a showing. Her name is Alison Thompson, she’s a real estate agent.
“Thing is, the showing was supposed to be canceled because the clients couldn’t make it. But Alison’s car was found at the house; we’ve got multiple neighbors saying they saw her go in but no one able to say she came out.
“On top of that, it doesn’t look like she was the first case of weird house disappearance. I’ve got 3 other missing person cases in the last year in the London metro area that match our weirdo’s M.O. All real estate agents, last seen at houses with canceled showings. We’ve got, uh, Kendra Collins from Stratford, Bree Roberts from Brixton, and Helen Richardson from Chiswick.”
Sam sits across from Dean, processing the possible case he’s proposing. “That does sound like it could be our kind of thing, but why London? How did you even hear about this?”
Dean clears his throat, “Oh, uh, I owe someone a favor.”
“Who do you know in London who you could possibly owe a favor? Who do you know in London, period?” Sam asks, genuinely wracking his brain for possible candidates. Hunters rarely leave their home country, at least US hunters that is. Plus, as far as Sam knew, Dean definitely hadn’t been to the UK.
Dean had been hoping to avoid this question, since he couldn’t come up with a good lie and could already see how he wasn’t going to live it down. He leans back in his seat, looking down at the ground or his hands or the table, anything other than Sam’s eyes.
He lets out a kind of strangled chuckle and begins to explain, “so, uh, Cas may or may not be the first guy I ever, uh-”
As he further explains, a shit-eating grin begins to slowly grow across Sam’s face, holding in every single affirming-yet-teasing joke that comes to mind.
Dean continues stumbling his way through the explanation, knowing that -despite never actually coming out to his brother- he thinks no different of Dean for swinging both ways, “His name is Tim, I met him at a bar a couple of years ago, one of the times we weren’t talkin’. I was drunk as hell, and he is one handsome son of a-”
Dean catches a glimpse of his brother’s gleeful face and feels even more self-conscious, “Ah, ahem, anyway, he saved my hide after my drunk ass stumbled into a vamp nest. So afterwards, we exchanged info in case either of us…needed anything. I owe him. He works at this place called…oh what is it…the Mag-”
Sam excitedly cuts him off and nearly jumps out of his seat, “The Magnus Institute?! Oh my god! Th-that place is like the British version of Men of Letters! It’s a huge collection of people’s alleged experiences with the supernatural, a-and they’ve got a plethora of artifacts that supposedly have magic capabilities.”
“One of the few times I’m grateful for a nerd brother,” Dean chuckles to himself and starts to get up to go start packing when Sam’s anti-pun resolve begins to fail and he blurts “can’t let you go all bi yourself now, can I?”
He felt really proud of himself for that one, though if only for getting Dean to turn the brightest shade of red. Dean may not admit it, but Sam knows his disaster bisexual brother still has a fair amount of internalized homophobia to work through (courtesy of their father).
“Dude, one: that was terrible, and two: I will punch you if you make another bi pun.”