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“Alright Sammy, listen up! I got something to tell you and I ain’t gonna beat around the bush.” Dean grabbed a remote off the coffee table and switched off the television. A static click sounded before plunging the room into silence.
“Uh,” Sam articulated. “Okay.”
Dean took a deep breath and scratched the back of his neck.
“Alright so, you know how you’re always getting on my case about being, uh…”
“Bossy? Short? Emotionally bankrupt?”
Dean rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, the last one. That I don’t talk about my feelings enough, or whatever Dr. Phil crap you read about between perms.”
It was Sam’s turn to roll his eyes.
“Well, I’ve decided to, um. Share,” Dean said haltingly. “Something.” He cringed. Sam sat silently with a neutral expression. Dean sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.
“Okay I really like girls, right? Diner waitresses, bar babes, anything I can get my hands on, I’m like…” He clicked his tongue and threw a double thumbs-up.
“Putting the disturbing use of the word ‘thing’ to describe women aside for a moment, yes, I do know what you mean. And?”
Dean tugged at the skin of his throat, then paced up and down the living room once. Sam watched him, but said nothing. Dean clapped his hands over his face and sighed loudly. When he pulled them away, he looked at Sam with a tight expression.
“Okay, so, I’m into hot chicks. Right. Well, there’s this-- You see, I met someone who, uh… Doesn’t exactly fit that description, in kind of a way. Like…” Dean made a hand gesture as if indicating something spherical, then raised his palms and mimed the movement of a balancing scale.
“Dean I have no idea what you’re getting at. Is she… Large?” Sam guessed with a scrunched-up face. Dean slapped both hands to his own face rather hard.
“Uh, asymmetrical? Unattract-- Okay, Dean, I have no idea what you mean! Can you just use words like a grown-up?”
“Damn it Sam, it’s not-- Uh, just-- Uh. Ah, fuck. Why did I do this?”
“…Okay,” Sam said, pulling the vowel sounds slowly. “Can you describe her to me? Maybe start with whatever isn’t the problem here? Tell me the nice things about her so I can stop guessing the worst?”
Dean still looked miserable, but nodded anyway.
“Uh, describe the nice things. I can do that. Uh. Very…” He licked his lips. “Compassionate. Nice. Kind of a dork, to be honest but I’m kinda starting to dig the nerd thing. Oh, and what a terrible cook. I mean that’s not really a good thing but it’s kind of endearing I guess.”
“Wow,” Sam interjected. “Cooking. Should I be renting a tux?”
“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean said as he began pacing the room. “Anyway, uh. Got blue-- aah that’s stupid, that doesn’t matter. Whatever. Uhh. No fashion sense at all. Kind of a weirdo.” Sam made a face but let Dean continue.
“Definitely not happy about all the cat hair on his clothes all the ti--“ Sam’s mouth dropped open and Dean’s face blanched.
“Oh. Oh my God!” Sam exclaimed.
Dean wilted on the spot, realizing his slip-up. He looked as though he contemplated launching himself from the third-story window.
“No, I don’t mean it like a bad ‘Oh my God,’ it’s--“
Dean put his head against a wall, apparently anguished.
“Dean, it’s okay. It’s actually better than okay, it’s great! It’s great that you’re telling me! And, and that you found this guy that you like so much, it’s great news!”
“Sammy,” Dean groaned. “Stop being so supportive, damn it.”
Sam laughed and got up from the couch and rushed over to trap Dean in a bear hug.
“I’ll never stop, even though you made it so damn difficult. You’re terrible at charades, dude.”