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It had looked so much easier, watching Sam all these years. Sure, Dean wasn’t an idiot; he knew how hard Sam had worked to master even the basic skills of going forward and backward and turning, let alone all the fancy shit he’d had to master to get as good as he was. Still, it looked so easy, Dean had been so sure he’d be able to master this by the time Sam got back from his tour and was ready to have one last night of fun before he had to focus in hard on his competition routines to be ready for the Grand Prix.
His time was up, and he wasn’t even close to having mastered what he’d planned on showing off. There was always next year… or he could suck it up and ask Sam for help. He’s just about decided against that when the choice was made for him. “Dean? You’re… you’re on the ice? How long?” The actual hurt in Sam’s voice made Dean want to explain properly.
He carefully made his way over to the side of the rink and leaned against the rail, inverting their usual positions for these rinkside chats. “Since you took off on tour. I wanted to surprise you by being able to do some skating together when you got back, but… you saw me just now, man, not nearly as easy to figure out from YouTube and remembering Dad teaching you as I was expecting it to be.”
“Dean, remember when you tried to learn karate and kung fu from YouTube? And then you got Benny to teach you in person, and it was almost ridiculously easy? Or when you tried to learn pole dancing from watching videos to copy, but three days with Christophe Giacometti and you could work the pole like you needed the money?” Dean snorted. Those were three of the hardest and yet best days of his life. “You’re just a guy who needs hands-on instruction. Nothing wrong with that. One of these days, you really need to figure that out, though. You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep trying to go it alone, and if you’d hurt yourself on the ice training alone…”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember Dad’s safety lectures too,” Dean grumbled. He may not have gotten the literal beatings that people assumed came with being John Winchester’s son sometimes, but the figurative beatings were bad enough. There was no way he was forgetting that. “Adam’s here, I have my phone and could call for help, and come on. What are the chances of me knocking myself unconscious when I can’t get going fast enough to really have much momentum when I fall into the boards?”
“Still.” Sam headed for the bleachers to change out of his shoes and into his skates. “I bet we can get you doing a lot better in an hour.” Dean didn’t answer – his legs were already burning a little, was he really up for a lesson? Sam noticed. “Dude, I just got off a long-ass flight from Almaty. You know exactly how well I sleep on planes. I just wanna get the plane stiffness shaken out of my body, and if I’m doing that showing you some tricks to make you skate better, that’s great, probably better for me than trying for jumps. Half an hour, tops, I’ll be ready to call it quits. This is not gonna be a full-on training session, I promise. I need sleep too badly for that.”
“Yeah, okay. I think I can do that.” Dean waited while Sam got out on the ice. “Where we starting?”
“Take my hands.” Sam held out his hands in front of him, and Dean took them curiously. “Don’t do anything, just feel the pull as I skate you around. Okay?” Dean nodded, and Sam started skating backwards. It was slow, which made sense with Sam hauling around so much dead weight, but it was smooth. When Sam turned, Dean could feel the way his skates were trying to pull him, and leaned into it. Sam gave him a brilliant smile.
Half an hour later, Sam was openly yawning on the ice, and Dean was more confident in his skating skills than the weeks of training on his own had made him. His legs were screaming that it was break time, and Sam was clearly ready for it to be time to call it quits, but a part of him wanted this to never end. Sam hadn’t let go of him the whole time; even when skating side by side they were holding hands. It wouldn’t last, of course. Sam would have to let go of him to train properly for his own skills. But…
“Dean, we should do this more often. I know you’re going to protest that it’s useless for me, but you’re wrong. I do need to practice my jumps and my routines and my dancing, but this here? Working on the fundamentals? It’s like a football player hitting the gym or running tires. They never have to do it on the field, but it gives them the tools to do what they need to do there.” Sam looked down at where he and Dean were still holding hands. “And I think both of us need the contact. You have no idea how friggin’ lonely it gets out there. I’m exhausted, but I want to keep skating just to have an excuse to keep holding your hand. I know that sounds completely stupid and you’re going to make fun of me forever because of how easy it would be for some idiot to misinterpret in a Sweet Home Alabama way, but…”
“Come home with me tonight. Sleepover, Winchester style. Because you’re not the only one.” Dean’s mouth was moving before he could think it through. “You’re not the only one who needs the contact, I mean.”
“What, you’re not… Dean, you cannot convince me you’re not getting laid regularly,” Sam protested.
“It’s not the same. That’s…” Dean shook his head, not sure whether he didn’t know the words or just couldn’t bring himself to admit to knowing them. “With the babes, it’s about a good time. God this is gonna sound cheesy and chick flick as hell, but the only love involved in those nights is the love of sex. And there’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s not the only thing I need, and when you’re around I get just enough of the hugs and casual proximity and being all in each other’s space that I don’t notice it. With you gone on tour though, I don’t have anyone else I can be that comfortable with. I know how it sounds and I swear it’s not like that, but…”
Sam pulled Dean into a hug, holding him tight. Dean let himself relax into it, remembering a beat too late to keep things from getting awkward to hug back. “I know what you mean, Dean. I have to do the tours, and I know you can’t come, so we need to figure something out. You’ve been teasing me about if I really need my own space for years…”
“Not exactly teasing. I mean, yeah, it’s teasing, but I really do want you to move in with me. Which again…”
“Dude. Would you relax? We’re the only ones here and I know what you mean.” Sam pulled back from the hug with a grin. “My rental agreement’s expiring at the end of the month, and the guy who apartmentsat for me while I was gone has been making noises about loving it and wanting to move into the building. I’m certainly open to giving living together again a try, if you’re willing.”