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“Hey Sammy, remember the first time we ended up like this?”
Sam lifted his head off the dirty wall of their holding cell. His hands were handcuffed, so were his brother’s. They sat huddled together on a single folding bed, more out of need for comfort rather than lack of space. A few steps away is an open toilet, although the entire floor smelled vaguely like urine and disinfectant. Still, it was the FBI agent’s words that really brought down the mood.
“What?” drawled Sam, attempting to keep his emotions down. “The last time we were thoroughly fucked?”
Dean snorted. He turned to look at Sam, his only brother, with gleaming eyes and a smirk. Sam knew this routine. This was Dean’s big brother routine. When shit hits the fan, Dean starts clowning to help his baby brother lighten up. At times, it worked. But not when they’re staring down at a life sentence in a maximum-security prison—apart. And for Dean, the life sentence would be just for a couple of months until the real punishment happens: an eternity in Hell.
“Dean, I’m not—”
“Come on, man! You forgot? That was a top ten favourite memory for me.”
“I don’t know,” huffed Sam, rolling his eyes. “That stupid Tulpa case back in New Jersey? The one where you, me and Dad—”
Suddenly, Dean shifted and leaned closer to Sam, their faces mere inches apart. Even in the dim lighting of the holding cell, Sam could see how green his brother’s eyes were. Then, like a traitor, his own eyes quickly flicked down to his brother’s moist lips. Sam squirmed quietly.
“No, think way back,” said Dean slowly. “The first time we were locked in a holding cell together in some small backwater town. The very first.”
Sam opened his mouth, trying to tell Dean off because he was very distracting and not helpful at all when it suddenly hit him.
Sam first remembered the clammy heat sticking to their small bodies and the ever-present whine of mosquitoes surrounding them. Sam remembered their skinny legs running and hiding in the dark, approaching a big pool of water. Sam could almost hear the sound of sloshing pond water and the squelch of mud. Sam remembered watching Dean bravely wading into the pond, his eyes glinting in the moonlight and waving him in.
“Louisiana,” said Sam, breaking into a smile. “That crawfish farm.”
“Bingo! Seriously, Sam, I can’t believe you forget that.”
“Oh my god, I can’t believe we did that. You could’ve drowned!”
“We were so dumb.”
“The dumbest.”
“And Dad was so mad!” they said in unison before dissolving into wheezing giggles.
It was the longest summer Sam and Dean had ever experienced, or at least it felt like it. What was supposed to be a simple salt-and-burn job for John evolved into a weeks-long hunt breaking a family curse to boot. The boys were stranded with an old friend of John’s whose house was as old and decrepit as the man himself. The friend was said to be a capable hunter but he was not a good babysitter. After days of feeding them canned pasta and keeping them cooped up inside despite the heatwave, the boys were bouncing off the walls.
“I can’t believe you dragged me out there—in the middle of the night—to steal crawfish! You were, what, 15? We didn’t even know how to catch those things.”
Sam shook his head out of awe and disbelief. He remembered they both carried their weapon of choice: a butterfly net and a deep-frying pan. Neither had any real experience with any forms of fishing.
“14 actually,” said Dean, looking both smug and affronted at the same time. “And what do you mean ‘I dragged you’? You practically jumped out of your pants when I told you about the farm. And, as I recall, you said you would kill to eat something that wasn’t Spaghetti-o’s.”
“Oh right, so it was my fault then?” said Sam with a grin, dimples on display. “I was ten, Dean.”
“You were pretty convincing. And that was before I knew you had demon blood in you.”
Sam shoved at his brother, causing Dean to laugh even harder.
“Oh shut up, I was just following you. My big brother. The one with all the plans. You could’ve said no.”
“Oh please, did you forget how you were like at that age? You were a tyrant! What Sammy wants, Sammy gets.”
Dean had lasted only a few minutes in the pond before both of the boys heard the cock of a shotgun behind them. They turned around to see a lone angry man at the other end of the barrel with a snarling Rottweiler by his feet. Everything happened so quickly. A swift ride at the backseat of a police car later and then, they found themselves ushered into a holding cell. The only other occupant of the holding cell was the town drunk, snoring away at a nearby bench. Sam and Dean held hands throughout the entire ordeal, the soaked hems of Dean’s pants dripping water all over the floor. If they were hankering for boiled crawfish earlier, the desire had long left them.
“But seriously, who would pull a gun on a bunch of kids though?”
“Well, crawfish farmers in Louisiana, I guess,” Sam shrugged. “Apparently, crawfish is a big fucking deal in the Bayou. They even have specific laws just on them".
“I thought we’d get off with a warning, at least. Rednecks, man.”
But even the threat of being shot or the experience of being locked up with the worst criminals in town could not put the fear of God in them like their father could. They prayed that it was their babysitter who would come to bail them out. But when they heard his footsteps against the concrete floor, having memorised John’s pattern from years of sleeping while waiting on their father to return, they were torn between feeling relieved and afraid. Their emotions settled on fear when John appeared before them, a foreboding figure that was silently seething but who was also their ticket out of there. Sam remembered eyeing his father’s glinting belt buckle.
“Man, I couldn’t sit properly for a week!” Dean chuckled. “The old man really knew how to swing that belt.”
“Yeah, but he saved our asses though. He always knew what to do,” said Sam slowly, the present reality sinking in. “But now…”
Dean sighed and looked at his brother with a mixture of frustration and affection in his eyes.
“Oh, come on, Sammy. We’ll figure our way out—”
“How, Dean?” Sam snapped, the emotions he’d been trying to push down bubbling over. “Even Dad never had to deal with the real FBI! Who do we have out there that could save our skin? Bobby? Ellen?”
Sam’s words lingered in the following silence, reminding them further of how lonely they were in the world. Dean slumped back against the wall. He was out of tricks. They were thoroughly fucked.
“You know, that’s not even the worse part,” said Sam, his voice betraying a slight tremble. “The worst part is that we still haven’t figured out how to get you out of that demon deal.”
Dean winced.
“I’m not afraid of being in prison, Dean. I’d do the time. Hell, I might even deserve some of it in the eyes of the law,” said Sam. Then, his voice began to break, “But I can’t—I can’t live with the thought that one day I’d wake up and you’re not there anymore—”
“Sammy.”
“And I couldn’t even be there with you! We’d be apart, like Henriksen said! We’re already running out of time and now, this ?”
“Sam.”
“Dean, I just don’t—"
“Kiss me.”
Sam’s head snapped up, his rant died in his mouth. He stared at his brother as though seeing him for the first time. Dean took this time to inspect his hands as though he didn’t ask Sam to do something that he had always wanted, that he didn’t dream to say out loud. Dean’s voice was so quiet that Sam was half-convinced that he imagined it or misheard him. Yet, the blush spreading across Dean’s cheeks told a different story.
“What?” breathed Sam.
Dean was silent at first, then he lifted his gaze to meet Sam’s. He looked almost shy. “You heard me. I said, kiss me.”
Sam couldn’t move, didn’t dare to move. His mouth went dry while his heart felt like it was pounding its way out of his body. This wasn’t a big brother routine. Nothing from his entire shared childhood with Dean prepared him for this.
“Don’t joke about this,” was all Sam could muster to say.
Dean nodded with a bitter smile. “Alright, I see. What Sammy wants, Sammy gets, huh? So, what, Sammy, I can’t have—”
Dean couldn’t finish his sentence because his little brother had lurched forward and covered Dean’s mouth with his.
Suddenly, Sam forgot where he was. He could be in Louisiana, Kansas or Narnia for all he cared. Sam let himself melt against the warmth of his brother’s lips—Dean’s lips were as soft as he had always imagined—and felt his own brother’s body falling against his. Their handcuffed hands struggled to touch one another, grasping what little they could of the other’s clothing. He could feel Dean smiling against his lips and Sam had a fleeting thought about how cruel it was to discover how addicted he was already to the taste of Dean when they had so little time left.
Sam leaned back cautiously, unsure of what to expect. Dean’s eyes were still closed but the smile lingered, his face as pink as his lips.
“So, what do you think …” Sam began. “Top ten favourite memory?”
Dean opened his eyes and grinned wider, making Sam’s heart skip a beat. The two men shared a giggle together, both flushed with relief and joy.
“C’mere,” said Dean, licking his lips. “I think we can make it a top three.”
Sam leaned forward eagerly when they both heard it. Somebody clearing their throat.
They had an audience.
FBI Agent Henriksen stood outside the holding cell, his jaw slack with his lips slightly parted in stunned silence. All his witty banters had deserted him. Standing next to him was the sheriff, his face making impressive acrobatics with his facial expressions. Sam wondered if the FBI will be adding incest charges on top of their already long laundry list of crimes.
The awkward silence stretched on until Dean, bolstered by the kiss, simply leaned back and smirked at Henriksen.
“What? I told you the Bonnie and Clyde part was true.”