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Sam is still surfing on the Web when Dean comes back with their dinner. Dean shakes his head. His brother says he is completing his knowledge on satyrs, just “in case they have to deal with one later”. He’s been doing that awfully often lately. Ever since Christmas and their first time together, actually. Dean is not stupid; he knows that it’s a twisted way to forget for a moment that it’s their last year together. It doesn’t make it less frustrating, especially since all Dean wants since that night is to kiss him, fuck him, touch him in anyway he can. But Sam barely spoke to him, let alone touched him. Tonight will be better, Dean thinks – hopes – as he taps the wooden table for good luck.
He settles everything on the motel table and tries to make it as nice as possible. He manages to fold napkins into two little boats between their glasses – an old trick his Dad had showed him because “that’s the only sure way to woo a woman, son!” – and arranges the different dishes around it.
“Dinner’s served!” he announces proudly when he is done. He admires his table. Yeah, it’s going to be a good night.
But Sam barely glances at him when he answers. “Dig in, I’m not really hungry,” he throws at him over the clicking of his keyboard.
Dean has prepared himself for this reaction, obviously, but he can’t deny that it hurts nonetheless. He tries not to let it show; he doesn’t want his brother to pity him, he just wants to eat with him.
“Come on, Sam, you love Chinese food!”
Sam takes a last look at his laptop then sighs and stands up. Dean sighs as well and sits. It might be a little tense at the beginning but they can spend a good evening, he’s sure of it. He becomes less sure when Sam serves himself a plate right in front of him and goes back to his computer without a word or a look at him.
“He’s going to come back and eat with me,” Dean thinks. “He has to. He will.”
But Sam doesn’t. He sits back in his armchair and scribbles on his notepad, plate of food soon forgotten. Dean nibbles his own food. He’s not hungry anymore; he is pissed and sad but he doesn’t want to start a fight either. He is rather tempted to go to the first bar he can find and drink himself into oblivion. But fuck, no, he’s not going to give up on this. This is his brother for goodness’ sake!
He gets up and slowly walks towards him. Sam wants to bury himself into research? Fine. Then Dean will talk about research, no problem with that.
“So, how’s it going?”
“Uh good.”
“Well tell me!” Dean asks in the most joyful voice he can make up right now. It’s not very convincing but it doesn’t matter, since Sam barely listens to him. “What do we know about satyrs that we didn’t know before?”
“Hum…I wrote everything down here if you want,” Sam answers with a nod to a heap of paper on the coffee table in front of him.
“Alright.” Dean reaches out but instead of taking Sam’s notes, he closes his laptop. “Enough.”
For the first time in days, Sam looks at him. “Dean!” he shouts out. He tries to seem pissed off but Dean can see right through it. His brother is far from being angry at him. There’s only pain in his eyes.
He goes behind the armchair and puts his hands on his brother’s shoulders. They have never been so tensed. He stars to knead them, in spite of Sam’s protests.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you a massage.”
“But Dean…” Sam gestures frantically towards his laptop.
“Come on Sam, it’s New Year’s Eve!” Dean bends to have his mouth brushing his brother’s ear. “Don’t you wanna have a little…fun?” he whispers, sliding his hands under Sam’s shirt until they graze his nipples. He smiles when he feels Sam’s body shudder, but his brother moves away from Dean’s touch and puts his head in his hands.
“I can’t, Dee, I can’t.”
Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. It really wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. But he kneels in front of Sam nonetheless, with one forearm across his brother’s thighs.
“Okay. Tell me. You can’t what?”
“I can’t celebrate the beginning of the year during which you’re going to die, Dean! How can you expect me to do that?”
“Of course, Sam, I don’t expect that from you! I just…” Dean searches for his words. “It’s not about celebrating. This is my last New Year’s Eve. I just wanted to spend it with you. I thought we could have a good time and maybe…You know, we – uh… we never did that thing from Christmas again…” he adds with a self-conscious smile.
Sam doesn’t answer. Worse, he looks away. It’s alright, Dean has also prepared himself for this conversation.
“Sammy, if you regret it, if you think it was a drunken mistake, you can say it. I won’t be mad,” he simply says with an awkward pat on Sam’s knee.
“No Dean, it’s not that. I don’t regret what happened.” There’s a “but” coming, Dean can feel it, but relief still washes over him. “But it just makes things harder than they already were. We’ll get addicted to this, this situation, and then what? I’m gonna have to let you go? I didn’t think I could do it before that and now I think I’m just going to lose my damn mind!”
“Alright. For once I’m gonna ask you to do something for me, ‘kay? Let’s say it’s my…early birthday present.”
“Your birthday’s at the end of January, Dean.”
“That’s why I said early, nerd. Anyway, never mind. Can you stop thinking for one minute about how I’m gonna die? Hey, look at me.” He waits for his brother to meet and hold his gaze before carrying on. “I’m still alive; and I want to live the shit out of every moment I can. Especially moments with you. ‘Cause that’s what makes me feel alive.”
Dean can see Sam trying to put all his negative thoughts away and concentrating on the good. Something changes in his eyes and the hint of a smile appears on his face. Not quite there yet, but that’s a start. Dean strokes his brother’s cheek affectionately and stands up to reheat their food, but Sam pulls him by his sleeve so that he finds himself straddling his brother in the armchair. He will never cease to surprise him.
“So?”
“I’ll try. I promise.”
“Good.”
“Kiss me?”
Dean gladly obliges.