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Dean remembers when Sam was still little and afraid of the fireworks at night. So afraid that he would knock on Dean’s door after midnight and ask to crawl into bed with him.
Of course, Dean never denied him.
Now, Sam isn’t afraid anymore. His eyes are shining with delight and mischievousness, his skinny body practically bouncing with elated energy.
They have made a deserted stretch of land theirs with bottles of beer – which Sam was technically much too young for – and firecrackers. Dean brought empty glass bottles for the rockets, which he now ignites with a flick of his lighter.
Sam looks after it as it speeds high up into the air, bursting into a ball of light against the night sky. He spreads out his arms, dancing in an imaginative shower of light.
His laughter is all that Dean needs. All he’s ever asked for and could ever possibly want.
After, they sit in the grass, sharing the last of their beer, when Sam suddenly gasps. “Shit, I forgot to check the time.”
A glance at Dean’s own watch tells him that it’s quarter past midnight. He inclined his nearly empty bottle toward his little brother. “Happy new year, Sammy,” he says before draining the last swig.
Sam is looking at him and if Dean didn’t know any better, he would say it had a calculating air about it. “What?” he asks.
Sam sighs, then shakes his head with a smile that’s close to rueful. “Nothing. I was just thinking … no New Year’s kiss this time.”
Dean pauses with the bottle near his lips. “Meaning you got one last year?”
Sam shrugs, looks away. “Yeah. Girl from my school. Wasn’t a particularly good one.”
For a moment, Dean is at a loss of what to say but somehow this little nugget of information stirs something in him, something hot and twisted, something unwelcome.
“Right,” he says, just say something, then pushed the empty bottle away from himself. He plays with his lighter for a moment, twirling it between his fingers. “No New Year’s kiss, huh?”
Sam, at least, has the decency to look chagrined. “Nah. This is better anyway.” He gestures around them to the burned-out firecrackers in the dark field.
“Oh?” The twisted heat in Dean’s belly seems to settle a little at Sam’s admission but he still can’t keep himself from leaning in.
He tugs Sam’s chin over with light fingers and presses a quick kiss to Sam’s baby-soft cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth.
“There,” Dean says, “New Year’s kiss.”
It is difficult to tell in the dark but he is fairly sure his brother is blushing.
“Idiot,” Sam says and swats Dean’s shoulder in half-hearted exasperation.
Dean just laughs.