Chapter Text
Dean squeezed his eyes shut, face painfully contorted. “Brain freeze.” He shook his head and massaged his jaw with his left, right hand still holding the plastic cup with the cerulean liquid infused with smashed ice.
“Try it, Sammy. It’s worth it.”
They were sauntering over Lebanon’s annual harvest market, exactly the one Sam had strolled across alone last year and secretly bought the pair of rings Dean had later found in the trunk of the ‘56 Ford Thunderbird. And now the silvery piece of jewelry was flashing on his brother’s hand, awkwardly matching the bright blue liquid in the plastic cup. Sam should be used to the sight: before Hell Dean had always been wearing jewelry, but now it was special, because it was a symbol of their bond; together-together.
To his disappointment, Dean had not been very successful at the pie competition, the first place had gone to a lady who stressed out several times that most of the ingredients were handmade with love, or at least coming from her own garden – she kept bees, and, foremost chickens – “the fresh eggs make the dough so much more special”, she had said and Dean had flashed Sam his angriest glance. Sam had only grinned to himself and shrugged it away, congratulating Dean for the second prize, because seriously, that was a great achievement, wasn’t it? Dean had slowly nodded, plate with a slice of the winner’s pie in his hands. “It’s really good, I bet this ain’t just the eggs. There’s something else. Vanilla, maybe. Wanna try?”
Sam had given him his widest smirk and had squeezed his brother’s hand gently, then they had moved on to see the rest of the market.
It was already October, but the temperatures were still high enough to enjoy another icy treat, as Dean had enthusiastically phrased it when he had discovered the small sales booth with brightly colored beverages strung in the back – these kinds that made Sam’s skin crawl, not in a good way, just to be clear.
Sam almost rolled his eyes. “This could be radioactive. Or cursed. At least it’s gonna cost you a couple of brain cells.”
He grinned at Dean who still recovered from the first sip through the brightly pink straw.
“Not that these few would make a difference.” He chuckled at Dean’s angry expression, then his voice grew more serious.
“You know, this is a thing nine year old kids enjoy. The moment before they go hyperglycemic.”
“Nine year olds and me,” Dean corrected, and the grin he was flashing with the lines curved into the corners of his eyes clearly visible was enough for Sam’s expression to soften. These moments of pure joy had been rare for so many years, Dean denying himself so many good things he deserved for saving the world countless times, going to Hell and back, literally.
“Yeah, you enjoy your slushie,” Sam nodded, accompanied by a playful pat to the back of Dean’s head. They were not ready to kiss here, in public, their home – but it was as close as it could get: Sam and Dean wearing matching rings, doing ordinary things such as drinking slushies in bright daylight. Couple things, Sam thought, and it made him smile.
“Making up geeky stuff in your head, or what is the grin for?” Dean had obviously observed him. Not too long ago Sam would have blushed, lame excuse on the tip of his tongue, but with the world safe under Jack’s guard and Dean finally ready to allow himself all the good things he deserved, there was no reason for lies between them.
“I was just thinking,” Sam slowly said while grabbing Dean’s left hand and rubbing his thumb inside his palm, “what we might be doing later, after you’ve finished your culinary highlight. If your stomach allows further activities.” Dean’s fingers closed around Sam’s palm. “Does these activities include us getting naked?” He lowered his voice, icy breath against the shell of Sam’s ear.
“Possibly.”