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“You want to do what?” Dean demands.
“Disney World, Dean,” Sam says patiently. “I know you’ve heard of it.” They’ve just finished working a case in Greenville, South Carolina, him and Dean and Jack; it’d been a straightforward salt-and-burn and they’d returned to the motel straight after to shower off the grave dirt and the soot. Sam had taken the first shower and Dean’s just finished his; Jack’s in the room just down the corridor presumably doing the same.
“Why, Sam,” Dean says, standing in the middle of the room and scrubbing at his wet hair vigorously with the thin motel towel.
“Jack mentioned that he really likes Star Wars,” Sam says tentatively. “I thought it’d be, uh, something he’d enjoy?” He peeks up at Dean from where he’s sitting on the edge of one of the narrow beds.
“It’s ninety degrees out,” Dean says grumpily. “It’s gonna be a hundred degrees in Orlando.”
“Yeah, but,” Sam says, letting just a little hint of pleading creep into his voice, “we never got to celebrate Jack’s first birthday ‘cause of, y’know, all the other stuff that was going on. Maybe we could take a short break and spend a few days there, just the three of us?”
There’s a short silence as Dean finishes toweling his hair dry. “Don’t people book this kind of thing months in advance?” he asks after a pause.
Sensing imminent capitulation, Sam grins up at his brother and takes out his laptop with a flourish. “Leave it to me.”
“There’s no talking you out of this, is there,” Dean says dryly.
“You don’t mind?” Sam says hopefully.
Dean heaves a loud, put-upon sigh, but there’s a small smile curving his lips. “The things I do for you, Sammy.”
“I know,” Sam says, and the thing is, he really does. Dean’s spent both their entire lives making sure that he’s always right there, being everything Sam ever wants and needs. The past few months without him, seeing Dean but knowing that it wasn’t really him, that Michael had locked his brother somewhere deep in his own mind, had been torture; Sam hadn’t felt right until the day, three weeks ago now, that Dean had collapsed in his arms, weak and dazed but himself again both in body and in mind, finally wholly Sam’s again.
Sam lets his smile soften, keeps his expression open as he looks up at Dean. It feels…strange, a little uncomfortable almost, after years spent shoving his feelings down, keeping them locked away – he’s a Winchester after all, it’s a family specialty – to leave himself so unguarded, but this is Dean. Dean, whom Sam has belonged to since the day he was born, who curled protectively around Sam to chase the nightmares away when they were young, who’s spent thirty-odd years putting band-aids on bruised knees and stitching up knife gashes and bandaging bullet wounds, who unhesitatingly traded his life for Sam’s.
Whom Sam has wanted for years, in ways he’s uncomfortably aware are not ways he should want his brother.
Anyway.
Sam’s still feeling kind of vulnerable, raw around the edges after coming so close to losing Dean yet again, so he relaxes, lets his brother see all the warmth and affection and love he feels. “I know, Dean,” he says again.
Dean clears his throat and turns away, but not before Sam gets a quick glimpse of the flush on his brother’s cheeks, how Dean’s small smile goes soft and pleased. “Better go make those bookings then, huh?”
***
They reach Disney World in the early afternoon two days later. Jack’s been bouncing excitedly around in the backseat of the Impala ever since they told him where they were headed, and Dean looks like he’s ready to brain himself on the steering wheel, so it’s with a tiny sigh of relief that Sam gets out of the car, grabs his and Dean’s duffles and goes to check into their rooms. Jack trots alongside him clutching his own duffle and looking absolutely thrilled – Sam has to stifle a laugh at his expression – leaving Dean to park the Impala and coo over her until he’s satisfied she’ll make it three whole days without him.
Checking into their hotel rooms – Sam and Dean sharing a room, Jack in the room right next to them – and picking up their Magic Bands to purchase items and check into rides at the park goes seamlessly, so by the time Dean finishes communing with his car and joins them, they’re ready to head to the park.
Dean makes some kind of token complaint about how hot it is out, but it’s not like Sam isn’t perfectly aware that Dean has watched every single Disney movie ever made – some of them multiple times – so he pays Dean’s complaining exactly zero attention and firmly hauls his brother onto the shuttle bus that brings them to the Magic Kingdom.
***
Jack loves the Space Mountain rollercoaster. Really, really loves it. They go on the rollercoaster three times in a row before Dean puts his foot down, sends a beaming Jack on the next ride by himself and drags Sam off to a nearby pavilion where he’s spotted some kind of fancy hot dog stand.
Dean’s eyes light up as he looks over the large printed menu hanging over the counter.
“Turkey legs!” He drags Sam over to stand in line. “C’mon, Sammy, we gotta.”
Sam makes a face. “Fifteen dollar turkey legs, Dean.”
“You’re the one who wanted to come to Disney World. ‘Sides, we’ve got plenty of cash from that last round of pool before we got here.” Dean turns and stares Sam down. “Turkey legs, Sam.”
Laughing helplessly, Sam capitulates and lets Dean drag him to the end of the line curving around the corner of the stand. If he’s completely honest with himself, he’d wanted this vacation for himself and Dean as much as for Jack; they’ve all barely had any downtime for months, stretched thin and exhausted both physically and emotionally, and it’s a reward all its own to see two of the people he cares about most in the world like this, smiling and uncomplicatedly happy and not worrying, for once, about who – or what – their next fight is going to be.
As they join the back of the long line for the hot dog stand, though, Sam can’t help but fret a little about Jack. He’s only a little over a year old, after all; no matter that he’s one of the most powerful beings in existence, he’s still innocent in so many ways.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have let Jack go on the ride alone,” he mutters, fidgeting.
Dean rolls his eyes. “He’ll be fine, Sammy.”
The woman in front of them, balancing a baby on her hip, turns around and smiles at them. She’s pretty, dressed in a tank top and shorts, with long, dark hair tied back in a ponytail. “I couldn’t help overhearing you,” she says. “Is it your son’s first time alone on the rides?”
Sam blinks at her. She thinks that – oh. Oh. He glances quickly over at Dean, who looks as taken aback as he feels, and hopes that his blush isn’t too obvious. “Uh,” he stutters. “He’s not – we aren’t, uh.”
“Sure is,” Dean drawls, coming to Sam’s rescue. “He’s really excited about it, too. Sammy’s just a worrywart.”
The woman laughs, turning to Sam. “I felt like that when my oldest started going on the rides alone, too,” she confides. “He just turned seven this year, so it’s the first year he’s allowed to ride alone.” She pats Sam on the arm reassuringly. “The staff here are great about watching out for the kids, so you really needn’t worry.”
“Thanks,” Sam says with a sheepish smile, and ignores Dean smirking next to him.
“I’m Peggy, by the way,” their new friend says, holding out her free hand.
“How old is your son?” Peggy asks after they’ve introduced themselves, and Sam opens his mouth to reply, before realizing that “eighteen months” doesn’t quite make sense if they’re letting their “son” go on the rides alone.
“Uh – ” he says instead, and shoots a pleading look at Dean, just as the baby on Peggy’s hip starts to wail.
“Hey, now,” Dean says, sparing Sam the barest hint of a smirk before turning back to grin easily at the baby. “You’re in the happiest place on earth, so give us a big smile, okay?”
To Sam’s surprise and Peggy’s amusement, the little girl immediately stops crying, shoving three of her fingers into her mouth and staring at Dean with huge eyes. Dean looks so pleased with himself that Sam can’t help but laugh as they finally reach the front of the line and Peggy turns around to order her food.
***
They’re walking back toward the Space Mountain ride, Dean happily clutching a turkey leg in one hand and Sam carrying two hot dogs, Dean grinning and pointing out the Disney Princess Elsa taking photos with a crowd of excited children – ha! Sam always knew that Elsa was Dean’s favorite Disney Princess, and this proves it – when it happens.
Dean’s just wandering along by Sam’s side, being his usual self – meaning that he’s taking a huge bite of turkey while waving his free hand around and animatedly talking about something or other, and Sam looks over at his brother and is suddenly hit by a tidal wave of affection, and he thinks, God, I really want to kiss him.
Maybe it’s because they’re both relaxed and happy, or because Sam’s finished one hot dog and is satisfied and a little drowsy from the heat, and maybe even a little bit because of how Peggy had assumed earlier that he and Dean were…together, and Dean hadn’t denied it; but instead of pushing the thought away like he usually does, he leans down and presses his lips to Dean’s.
And sure, Sam’s thought about kissing Dean many times. Of all the ways he’s imagined it actually happening, though, this wasn’t one of them: sweltering in ninety-five degree heat in the middle of Disney World, t-shirt damp with sweat and sticking uncomfortably to his back, Jack lost somewhere deep in the bowels of the Space Mountain rollercoaster and Dean by his side ignoring Sam in favor of the gigantic turkey leg he’s holding in one hand.
For one heart-stopping moment, Dean’s kissing him back, tilting his head so that their mouths slot together perfectly, lips warm and wet on Sam’s. Then suddenly, Dean’s scrambling backward so fast, limbs flailing, that he almost drops his turkey leg.
When Sam finally dares to drag his eyes up to look at his brother, Dean is staring at him, mouth open, all huge green eyes and poleaxed expression. He licks his lips and Sam flushes, ducking his head a little and clearing his throat.
“What,” begins Dean. His eyes are a little wild. “What was that about?”
“Uh,” says Sam. “Uh, I – ” he stops, floundering.
Dean’s expression shutters, and he looks away, mouth turning down.
“Look,” Sam tries again, desperately. “I just got you back. Again. And – ”
It’s apparently exactly the wrong thing to say, because Dean’s mouth tightens, instantly wary. “Is that what this is about?” he says. “Sam – ”
Sam shakes his head. “No, Dean,” he starts, but Dean cuts him off.
“This is a bad idea,” he says firmly. “Let’s just – just, it never happened, okay?”
Sam stares at him. Dean’s mouth is set in a grim line, and Sam knows that when his brother is in this kind of a mood, there’s no budging him.
“If that’s what you want,” he says quietly.
There’s no time for them to discuss it any further, anyway, because Jack shows up then, still beaming from ear to ear after his last ride. He wolfs down the hot dog that Sam brought for him, exclaiming in delight over the flavor, but it doesn’t take him long to pick up on the tension between Sam and Dean.
When Dean’s disappeared to go to the bathroom, Jack immediately turns to Sam, expression worried.
“Sam,” he says tentatively. “Did you and Dean have a fight?”
“Um,” says Sam. “Not really?” Is it a fight if you kissed your brother and he refuses to talk about it but you definitely felt him kiss you back? Was it just reflex, or could he possibly want this too?
He smiles weakly at Jack and pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, okay? It’s nothing. Dean and I, we’ll work it out.”
Jack still keeps casting small worried glances between Sam and Dean after Dean returns from the bathroom, but Sam is determined not to let his one moment of weakness ruin this trip for both Jack and Dean. He manages to distract Jack with cotton candy, the flavor and texture of which apparently blows Jack’s mind, and even coaxes a genuine grin out of Dean when he promises that they’ll visit the Star Wars store at Disney Springs.
And if it’s truly what Dean wants, then Sam’s going to let the whole kissing thing go. He really, really is…except Dean keeps looking over at Sam’s mouth, tiny flicks of his eyes that he seems to think Sam doesn’t notice, as if Dean isn’t aware that Sam’s always looking at him. And Dean doesn’t look repulsed, or angry, or any of the things Sam was afraid he would. Dean looks…wistful, almost sad, as if he was the one who’d kissed Sam instead and Sam had pushed him away.
He finally manages to corner Dean after Jack spots a face painting stand and happily sits down to get a stylized design of R2-D2 painted on his face. After the girl doing the face painting tells them that it’ll take her about twenty minutes and they can come back after, Sam patiently trails after Dean until they reach a relatively deserted area between a closed popcorn stand and one of the less popular rides, then he leans both arms against the side of the popcorn stand, trapping Dean between them, and says firmly, “Dean. Talk to me, man.”
Dean scowls up at him, squinting against the glare of the mid-afternoon sun. He looks like he’s seriously considering making a break for it.
“Dean,” says Sam pleadingly, and Dean sighs, but Sam’s perfectly willing to wait him out and they both know it.
“Look, Sam.” Dean says finally. He purses his lips, looking pained. “I know the thing with Michael – ” he pauses, grimaces. “Yeah, it really sucked for both you and me. I know that. But I’m back now. And I’m fine. What you – did just now…you don’t – you don’t have to do that for me, okay?”
“You thought I was doing it for you?” Sam says, voice rising. He feels slightly hysterical. “I’ve been wanting to do that for years!”
Dean frowns, looking at Sam searchingly for a long moment.
“Then why now?” he asks quietly.
“It’s just, I – ” Sam sighs, shoulders slumping. “I’ve almost lost you so many times. I don’t want to look back on everything one day and have this one regret, that I was never brave enough to do this. I’ve wanted this for so long, and,” he pauses, a thought occurring to him. “Wait – so you do want this!”
“I never said that,” Dean hedges, and finally, finally, Sam gets it.
“You’re an idiot,” he says with exasperated affection, and as Dean frowns up at him indignantly, he leans forward, touching their foreheads together. “Fuck, Dean. It’s okay for you to want something for yourself, ‘kay? I’m thirty-five years old. I haven’t been a child for a long time, and I know my own mind. You didn’t influence me into wanting this, or whatever it is that you’re worrying about. I’ve wanted this – wanted you – for years, and if you want this – us – too…”
He brings a hand up to gently cup Dean’s jaw. “Do you trust me?”
Dean’s voice is hoarse, and he looks terrifyingly, painfully vulnerable in that moment. “You know I do, Sammy.”
“Then let us both have this,” Sam whispers against Dean’s lips, and kisses him.
Dean’s mouth is hot and wet and fucking perfect, and when he parts his lips, sucking on Sam’s tongue, Sam feels a moan rumble in his chest, low and desperate. Dean kisses like he was made for it, made for Sam, sweet and dirty and when he presses up against Sam, their whole bodies lining up perfectly like two puzzle pieces, the only thing Sam can think about is that he very badly wants to tear Dean’s clothes off right fucking now.
Sam breaks the kiss with some difficulty, panting for breath, and Dean looks as wrecked as he feels, eyes just the thinnest ring of green around blown pupils, lips ruddy and kiss-swollen, freckles dark against the deep flush painting his cheeks.
“Not that I don’t want to continue this,” Dean says, wobbling back against the wooden planks of the stall as he sucks in deep lungfuls of air, “but, uh, the kid’s probably done by now.”
Sam checks his watch. “Fuck,” he says with deep feeling, and hurriedly hauls a grinning Dean back to the face painting stand.
***
Their last stop before dinner is at the Star Wars store in the middle of the Disney Springs shopping area. As they meander past rows of stores on their way there, Sam can’t quite stop himself from wanting to touch Dean, bumping their shoulders together and crowding so close to him that while they’re not exactly holding hands, it’s a near thing, their knuckles brushing as they walk.
Dean puts up with Sam’s clinginess with good humor, letting him do whatever he wants, and Sam feels like a kid on his first date all over again, clumsy and excited and nervous – but this is Dean, whom Sam has been in love with for just under half his life, and Sam’s so fucking happy that he wants to yell, or wrap himself around Dean, or. Something.
Jack looks obscurely pleased as he glances between Sam and Dean. Sam supposes he’s figured out that they’re not “fighting” anymore. He does hope that Jack hasn’t figured out anything more than that, though – he’s not quite up to explaining that to Jack just yet.
At the Star Wars store, both Jack and Dean go into raptures over the build-your-own-lightsaber bar, and Sam can’t stop grinning as he watches Dean help Jack assemble his own lightsaber out a bunch of colored plastic tubes. When they’re finally done and Jack is delightedly swinging the lightsaber around while making buzzing lightsaber noises, Dean comes over to Sam with the other lightsaber he’d built for himself, grinning widely.
Sam grabs Dean once he’s close enough, wrapping him in a tight hug that Dean only puts up a token protest to.
“I love you, jerk,” he murmurs in Dean’s ear.
“I know,” Dean replies, then starts cackling gleefully.
Sam groans. “I suppose I walked into that one,” he says. “Although if you start calling me Princess Leia, I’m gonna kick your ass.”
Dean draws back slightly and waggles his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. “I can think of something more fun you could do with my ass instead.”
He doubles over with laughter as Sam blushes scarlet.
***
After dinner that night, the three of them stretch out on the grassy lawn in the middle of the Magic Kingdom for Disney World’s nightly fireworks show. Dean’s pressed up close against Sam’s side, jacket draped over both of them to ward off the evening chill. Jack’s sitting on Dean’s other side, a content expression on his face.
As the fireworks paint the star-bright sky above them in brilliant shades of reds and blues and greens, Dean shoots a quick glance over at Jack, who’s staring at the fireworks in open-mouthed wonder, then turns toward Sam and, tilting his head up, presses a soft, chaste kiss to the corner of Sam’s mouth. Sam slips his hand into Dean’s and tangles their fingers together, smiling.
Disney World, he decides, really kind of is a little magical.
End.