Work Text:
Dean sighs as he pulls two bottles of beer out of the fridge, his head hurts from trying to process everything that’s happened in the past few days but the only thing that matters right now is that he and Sam are alive, and they’re together. More than that they’re alone, together, in a way they’ve not been since the early days after they discovered the bunker. There’s a sense of peace in that, he’s always felt more comfortable when it’s just the two of them, he knows it’s selfish but he’s never liked sharing Sam with anyone else, not even dad. It’s been them against the world for so long that the only thing that feels right is having his brother at his side, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that stays the case.
He slowly walks into the map room, warring against the urge to wrap Sam up in a tight hug, bury his nose in his neck and breathe in his scent, the type of hug they usually only share when one of them comes back from the dead, escapes death, or some other major life affirming event. Right now he thinks if he lays a hand on his brother he won’t let go, it’s hard enough to keep their embraces short as it is, so instead he allows himself the small comfort of briefly stroking Sam’s finger as he hands over the bottle. It’s barely a second of contact but it grounds Dean a little, anyway, and he perches on the end of the table a few inches away. He wants nothing more than to extend an arm or leg to press up against Sam just to feel the heat of his body, to know he’s actually there and this isn’t another of Chuck’s tricks, but he doesn’t.
“It’s pretty quiet,” Sam comments.
Dean just hums his agreement, trying not to think of the saying about the quiet before the storm before he corrects his own thoughts, they’ve weathered the biggest fucking storms ever and come out the other side, “To everyone that we lost along the way,” he says, raising his bottle in a toast. They both drink and he can practically hear Sam thinking.
“You know, with Chuck not writing our story anymore, we get to write our own. You know, just you and me going wherever the story takes us. Just us.”
Although he hears all the words, Dean’s brain chooses to focus on ‘you and me’ and ‘just us’, the decades old wish that things were different and that Sam means those words in the way Dean wants them invading his thoughts, but he knows it’s never going to happen. Over the years Sam might have felt like the freak, but Dean knows he actually is one, because what else do you call someone so in love with their own brother that they’ll risk everything, including their own life just to have him there? What else do you call someone who wants to know what their brother tastes like in the most intimate of ways, wants to take him apart with hands, lips and teasing touches, to know the bliss of sliding deep inside Sam’s body, wonders what kind of noises he’d make and what he’d look like when he came? He blinks, pushing the thoughts away, “Finally free.” he replies, looking over at Sam when he doesn’t say anything.
Sam nods and Dean smiles, knowing that’s exactly what they are. He can practically feel the relief in the shaky breath the taller man lets out, can almost taste the tears he knows will be building up in his brother’s eyes and does the only thing he can, he wraps his arm around him, squeezing his neck and shoulder in a gesture that’s comforting and says it’ll be OK, they can relax now. Dean shifts to stand and isn’t surprised in the slightest when Sam moves at the exact same time, probably both having the same thought that the weight of everything that’s happened in this room, alone, is too heavy and they need to go somewhere else.
“I think I’m gonna lie down for a while,” Sam says when they get out into the corridor, halfway to his room, “kinda tired,” he adds, unnecessarily.
Dean drops his arm and nods, can’t help feeling a little disappointed but he understands the need to be alone at times, “Sure, Sammy, I...uh…get some sleep,” he replies, not knowing what else to say. He turns to leave but then his brother’s hand rests on his forearm where it’s raised holding his beer, and when he looks at Sam’s face he looks... lost. It makes Dean’s chest ache, his big brother instincts kicking in, the need to make Sammy feel better like an itch under his skin. He glances back down to where long fingers are curled into his flannel, “You wanna watch a movie or something?” he offers.
The frown lines on Sam’s forehead smooth out almost instantly and he lets out a sigh of what’s clearly relief, “Sure,” he says, nodding and offering a small smile, silently thanking his brother for the gesture, knowing it’s nothing to do with either of them wanting to watch and everything to do with providing comfort for each other.
“OK, Sammy,” Dean says, returning the smile, “you set something up, I’ll grab us some more beers.”
An hour and a few beers each, later, finds the brothers sitting side by side, propped up against the headboard of Sam’s bed, the laptop pushed down to the foot of it. They’re pressed together from shoulder to hip, the only reason their thighs aren’t touching is because Dean has his ankles crossed, putting a couple of inches between them. They’re both relaxed, a combination of grief and exhaustion taking its toll. Dean’s got his eyes closed, more listening to the movie than watching it, his breaths deep and even, feeling the heaviness in his limbs that tells him that he’s ready to drift off with the feel and smell of his brother surrounding him. He startles a little when he feels Sam’s head rest on his shoulder but he says nothing, keeping still in case Sam’s already asleep. When he’s almost certain that’s the case, he allows himself to relax a little, slowly turning his head so his lips brush the top of the younger man’s head like he used to when his brother was little.
Sam makes an amused noise that’s almost a huffed out laugh along with a low hum, “Hmm, this is nice. Remember when I was little and this was the only way I could fall asleep, tucked into you?” he asks, softly.
Dean’s throat feels tight all of a sudden, like he could ever forget, “You were a lot smaller back then, kiddo.”
“Asshole!” Sam laughs, breath hot and moist against the sensitive skin of his neck, causing an involuntary shudder to run through Dean’s body, which doesn’t go unnoticed, “You OK?” he asks, lifting his head up and angling it so he can see his brother’s face.
“Fine, must’ve been a draft or something,” Dean says far too quickly, internally rolling his eyes at himself for the lame comeback. He swallows down the dregs of the beer in his bottle and places it on the nightstand, “I’ll let you get some sleep,” he says, uncrossing his ankles and making a move to put a foot on the floor but Sam’s hand on his chest stops him.
“Wait… can you,” Sam says, ducking his head a little like he’s embarrassed before looking back up, puppy dog eyes in place, “stay a little longer? Please?” His voice is quiet, like he’s scared Dean will say no.
The big brother part of Dean wants to tease him, fall back on his usual routine of calling him a girl, but he can’t, “Sure, Sammy, whatever you want.” Sam gives him a relieved smile, shifting onto his side a little before laying his head back in the crook of Dean’s neck. He doesn’t move his hand away and even through two layers of cotton the older man can feel the heat of his brother’s skin like a brand. He desperately wants to cover it with his own, or even better, relive their younger years properly and pull Sam into his side, wrapping his arms around him and falling asleep like that, but instead he rests his hands on his stomach, shuffling his ass down a little to get more comfortable.
“Dean, what I said before,” Sam says some time later, “about us writing our own story…” he lifts his head to look Dean in the eye again, “we really could do anything we want, now. We’ve more than earned it.”
“You’re damn right we’ve earned it!” Dean replies, a combination of bitterness and sadness sweeping through him at the thought of some of the shit they’ve had to deal with, “What did you have in mind?” he asks, his stomach twisting as he does because even though he’s pretty certain that Sam meant what he said about being good with their life, there’s still that fear in the back of his mind that his brother will realise he wants to give this up - give Dean up - and try again for the white picket fence.
“I want…” Sam starts, huffing out a sigh and shaking his head. He stares at the hand rested on Dean’s chest for what feels like forever, jaw clenching and unclenching like he’s not sure whether what he wants to say should be said. Eventually he licks his lips, squares his shoulders and looks back up, his face open and earnest, “I want us to be together, Dean.”
The older man frowns, allowing himself the fantasy for just a moment that Sam means those words in the way Dean wants them to before pushing it away, “We are together, Sammy, like always.” he replies, the confusion clear in his voice that he doesn’t get what Sam’s trying to say.
Sam lets out another sigh, closing his eyes and dropping his head a little as he takes a deep breath, “I know that, but…” he pauses and swallows audibly. When he opens his eyes again they’re wet with unshed tears and the look on his face is desperate and pleading like he’s trying to say the thing without actually speaking the words, willing him to just understand.
Dean finds himself frowning, again, searching Sam’s face like he can somehow absorb his brother’s thoughts if he just concentrates hard enough. It vaguely registers that Sam’s eyes keep flicking between his eyes and lips, and if this was anyone else Dean would swear they were thinking about kissing him, but that’s never going to happen, “Sammy,” he croaks, his brother’s distress like a weight on his chest, “you gotta give me more than that, man.”
“Damn it, Dean,” Sam replies, exasperation obvious in his voice, gripping the shirt under his fingers and pulling as he leans in to press a firm kiss to his brother’s lips.
It takes a few seconds for Dean to register what he thinks is happening is actually happening. The dry press of Sam’s lips against his own is really there, not harsh, but certainly enough to feel. He’s frozen to the spot, heart hammering against his ribcage as the pressure changes, Sam easing up a little before pulling back. Dean hadn’t realised he’d closed his eyes but evidently he had because they fly open to look down at his brother and he can feel how wide they are, “What the fuck, Sam?” he says, his voice a touch too high for his liking, but under the circumstances he thinks a man can be forgiven for being more than a little shocked.
Sam’s face is already starting to set in that insistent expression he has, somehow ready to either start a fight or give an apology at any moment, still managing to throw in a look that clearly says ‘you’re an idiot’. He doesn’t say anything, though, just keeps looking at Dean, his shoulders rising and falling as his breathing gets faster. He seems to instinctively know that his brother is about to repeat himself and quickly leans forward, again, capturing Dean’s mouth with his.
The feel of Sam’s lips back on his own makes the older man feel lightheaded, realising a moment too late that he’s not breathing. He pulls back and takes in a gulp of air but he doesn’t get a chance for more before Sam’s fingers wrap around his neck, thumb resting on his jaw and bringing their lips together again. This time the kiss is more gentle, allowing Dean to feel the softness of Sam’s lips, the give in the flesh as well as their heat. When he feels them part and the hot wetness of Sam’s tongue pressing against the seam of his, he jumps back despite his body crying out to go with it, to take what he’s wanted for so long. He frantically searches Sam’s face for an explanation, any indication he’s been possessed even though it’s practically impossible, but nothing comes.
§
Sam can see from his brother’s stunned look that the cogs in his head aren’t so much turning as spinning a mile a minute. He feels a little like that, himself, but under the circumstances he thinks it’s forgivable. After over twenty years of longing, fantasising and hoping that Dean would finally make a move like he so obviously wants to - like they both want - Sam may just have fucked it all up. He watches his brother’s mouth open and close a couple of times before his jaw slams shut for a few seconds, then his expression changes into something more angry and the younger man knows what’s coming before the words fully form.
“Have you lost your -...” Dean starts, cut off by Sam’s index and middle fingers pressing into his lips.
“Just calm down, Dean,” he says as softly as he can, trying for calm of his own to practise what he’s preaching, but the tremor in his voice gives away that he’s anything but, “please, hear me out for a second.” Dean’s eyebrows raise in surprise and then lower into a frown, his silent way of continuing his half voiced question, “I’m gonna move my hand, OK?” he says, waiting for his brother’s half nod before he does, pulling back but not away. He hesitantly places his hand on his brother’s right shoulder, maybe in part to steady them both, maybe so he can push Dean back if he goes to throw a punch. Sam's other hand lifts to Dean's cheek. He doesn’t miss the slight flinch on the older man’s face when his palm makes contact and it makes Sam’s stomach twist with anxiety. He shifts his body so he’s upright, kneeling on the bed, lower legs tucked under his butt, fully facing Dean like he’s a kid all over again, excited to listen to whatever his brother has to say, or tell him about something good that happened at school. His breathing is coming faster as he watches his brother sit up, his own upper body turned towards Sam but held stiff with tension, “You gonna punch me?” he half laughs, may as well get it out there.
“Shut up, Sam!” Dean gruffs. He’s still looking at his brother like he’s figuring out a way to throw salt and holy water at him at the same time as cutting him with silver, which Sam thinks is kind of reasonable, but also after all this time and the intensity of the past few days he’d have thought that wanting to take comfort in another warm body would be something Dean would understand. He’s gone out and banged countless chicks after many a close call just to feel alive, after all, “My brother just kissed me, how the hell am I supposed to stay calm?” The look on his face is still somewhere between perplexed and wary, looking ready to flee any moment if it wasn’t for the grip Sam has on his shoulder.
“Don’t you think it’s time to stop pretending?” Sam replies without thinking. He can hear the tiredness in his voice, “One of us had to make the first move, Dean, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be you.”
The older man’s eyes go wide with what Sam knows to be panic, his breath hitching, “The first...that’s crazy,” Dean says, voice strained. He brings a hand up to rub at the back of his own neck, “you… you’re crazy. OK, alright...it’s the stress, it’s gotta be the stress,” he’s babbling now and shaking his head, “get some sleep, Sammy...or another drink. God, I need a stronger drink!” he finishes, quietly, green orbs searching Sam’s face.
“Yeah, right,” Sam snorts, his tone more bitter than he wanted, but he can’t help it, “the patented Dean Winchester way, the default of denial and whiskey, because that’s worked out so well in the past.” He ignores the half glare the older man throws his way, the last thing he wants is an argument, “I get it, man, this isn’t….” he sighs, not wanting to use the word that came to mind but realising it’s the best one, “normal, but ...”
“But, what, Sam? Have you lost your freaking mind? Do you even know how far off the reservation you've gone, how far from ‘normal’?”
Sam fights the involuntary clench in his stomach at the implication of once again being a freak, even after all this time, but now it can be used to his advantage, “You are my normal, Dean!” he says, simply. He drops his hand from his brother's face and slides it over Dean’s where it rests in his lap, slowly, to allow the older man to pull back if he wants to. Dean’s eyes flick down to where they’re touching but he stays still, “I’m tired of fighting what we have.”
“And what exactly is it you think we have, Sam?”
The younger man's eyebrows raise in disbelief so much he thinks they might actually reach his hairline. He lets out a half laugh and shakes his head, “Really, Dean, you need it explaining? We both know you’re not stupid.” His brother opens his mouth but nothing comes out. “You sold your soul for me, Dean. You died for me, and you know I’d do the same for you in a heartbeat. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“Yeah, it tells me we’re family and we do whatever it takes, because that’s what family does.”
Sam takes a couple of deep breaths and when he speaks he makes sure to use that calm tone that he knows will make Dean listen, no matter how much he might want to shake his brother until the stubborn fog in his brain clears and he just gets it, “I’m gonna repeat some of the things you’ve said to me over the years and I want you to listen, and I mean really listen.” He waits for Dean’s cautious nod before continuing, “You told me there’s nothing you’d ever put in front of me, you made me a promise on that. You and me, come whatever. Most people will never know that kind of love, Dean, but I do…we both do. There ain’t no me if there ain’t no you, remember? Well that works both ways, Dean. We’ve been completely wrapped up in each other for so long we barely know where one of us starts and the other ends. What we have is so much more than just family. I know you feel it, too.”
Dean’s eyes are wide and scared looking, his breaths coming faster, “Sammy…”
The word is so full of anguish that it makes the younger man’s stomach clench. He knows it’s a plea, it’s Dean’s way of saying so much, it’s ‘please don’t put it out there’ and also ‘I can’t say it so you have to’ all at once. Alright then, Sam thinks, it’s now or never, “Your whole life you’ve always put me first but it’s time to put yourself first, Dean. You can have what you want, what we both want.”
“I can’t,” Dean says, voice raw and so full of remorse that it immediately reminds Sam of how his brother sounded when he told him about his time in Hell. Dean’s chin wobbles and a single tear runs down his cheek as he shakes his head, “I just can’t,” he says as he closes his eyes and lets out a sob, more tears falling.
Sam’s chest aches at the pain his brother is radiating, and he swallows around the lump in his own throat as he lifts his hand to wipe away some of the wetness, “Look at me, Dean,” he says softly. A few beats pass and he says his brother’s name again before the older man does as he’s asked. The green orbs look briefly at him then away in what Sam knows as shame in his brother’s expression, “Hey,” he says, bringing his other hand up to grip Dean’s neck and waits for him to look back, “yes, you can” he says with a smile, feeling tears of his own rolling down his cheeks. Dean swallows and searches Sam’s eyes like he’s trying to find a lie and the younger man nods his encouragement and smiles a little more, hoping to confirm with his body what his words are saying.
The older man offers a cautious, half smile that Sam figures is the best he’s going to get. He puts gentle pressure on Dean’s neck and leans forward, stopping inches away from his brother’s lips. Conflicting emotions cross over Dean’s face, still, and although Sam wants to be the one to close the gap he doesn’t, he has to let his brother be the one to initiate this time. It feels like forever before Dean’s hand cups his cheek and their lips touch. Sam pours as much love and assurance into this kiss as he can until the tension bleeding from Dean gradually fades. Sam breaks the kiss when he rearranges his legs enough to lie down, not releasing his grip on Dean, urging his brother to lean down over his body.
He can see the hesitation on Dean’s face as he hovers over him, weight rested on his elbows, “You really want this… want me?”
Sam can’t help it, he rolls his eyes and sighs in what he knows Dean thinks of as his ‘bitchface’, “Jerk!”
The response of “Bitch!” is pressed against Sam’s lips, both of them smiling.
They get lost in the heat and taste of each other’s mouths, tongues tangling, swallowing down each other’s breathy moans until their lips are numb. By the time they finally draw for breath, they’re half hard and if they weren’t both so exhausted Sam’s positive they’d have done a lot more than kiss, but for now they’re content to fall asleep in each other’s arms.
Sam wakes first and is packing the last pair of jeans into his backpack when Dean wakes up. “Wha’s ‘goin’ on?” he mumbles, and the younger Winchester can’t help but smile fondly at the way his brother’s hair is stuck up and he’s rubbing at his eyes. It’s adorable, not that he’d ever say that out loud, “We goin’ somewhere?”
Sam’s smile gets bigger and his stomach flip flops when he realises that Dean used ‘we’, meaning he’s no longer expecting his brother to up and leave him, “Yeah,” he replies, handing over the steaming cup of coffee he brought in to wake Dean if he didn’t come around on his own, “get your ass up, we’re wasting daylight.”
His brother sits up, suddenly alert, “There’s a hunt? Sammy, can’t we take a few days off?”
“Not a hunt,” he says around a beaming smile, “a roadtrip.”
Dean’s eyebrow raises, “To where?”
“Anywhere we want.”
§
They’ve been driving for hours, neither saying a word, Dean singing along to some tunes and Sam just content to enjoy the familiar sound and feel of the Impala, the breeze through the open windows and feeling more relaxed than he can ever remember. He looks over at Dean and finds his brother’s gaze on him, the smile on his beautiful face radiating calmness and most of all, love. The younger man returns it without a thought, hoping the soul deep affection and want he can see burning in Dean’s eyes is reflected in his own, and that finally his brother understands just how much he’s adored.
Dean drops his hand to rest on his brother’s thigh, hooking his pinky finger around Sam’s own and squeezes, gently, his eyes crinkling as his smile grows. It feels like Sam’s heart doubles in size, his eyes burning with the tears that spring up out of nowhere. He has everything he’s wanted for so long and the happiness he feels is overwhelming, “Dean, I…” he starts, but more words won’t make their way past the lump in his throat.
“I know, Sammy,” Dean replies, softly, squeezing their fingers tighter, “me too.”
Sam nods his acknowledgement of what they’re not saying, for now the certainty that they both feel the same is enough, the actual words will come later. He turns back to the road ahead, watching as it stretches out before them, offering endless possibilities. The sun is just starting to dip lower in the sky, casting a beautiful glow over everything and he huffs out a small laugh as he realises that this isn’t some cheesy chick flick, he’s actually riding off into the sunset with the love of his life. Finally free, and finally together.