Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sam stared at Dean most of the way to the new motel, making the side of his neck itch, so once they checked in and salted the place, Dean sent him to the gas station across the street, after a twelve-pack. Dean hopped in the shower while he was gone and used up all the complimentary body wash and most of the hot water. He'd gotten that holy oil all over himself, and if Sam wanted to bitch about being stuck with cold water and the tiny paper-wrapped bar of soap, he could just go ahead.

He didn't, though. He was on one of the beds with a beer in one hand and a donut in the other when Dean came out of the bathroom, and they switched places easily. Sam took his drink with him. Dean found a two-day old box of donuts on the table, a dozen for a dollar, and he nodded as he brought one to the bed with him, along with a beer.

Sam came back in boxers and a tee-shirt. Dean guessed they were staying in that night. He grabbed another beer for each of them and for a while, they just drank with the TV as background noise.

They'd each tossed their third empty towards the trash when Sam did it, so Dean couldn't even try to blame it on the alcohol. They were still on the bed, shoulders brushing but feet sprawling towards opposite corners, with Billy Mays yelling at them from some local station that didn't have the good taste to get his infomercials off the fucking air already, and Sam turned Dean's face towards him with two fingers under his jaw, and kissed him.

Some part of Dean was detached enough to realize that it was a really good first kiss, all warm lips and no tongue, and that same part kept chattering about Sam's soft cheeks, about how he must have shaved for this, even while Dean was only putting his hand on Sam's face to push him away.

Sam didn't look shocked at himself, or surprised, or even very buzzed. (Dean had the sudden suspicion that Sam's first beer wound up poured down the sink instead of down Sam's throat.) He just watched Dean, calmly, like he was studying his reactions — shit, fuck, like the way he'd watched Dean in the car. Like this was premeditated and not some fluke, not something they'd maybe throw a few punches over and then never need to mention again.

"The hell?" Dean said, after a long moment under Sam's gaze.

"I had an idea," Sam said. He turned back to the TV, so now Dean was the one creepily staring.

"An idea," he repeated. Dean's voice sounded unsteady even to him.

"The angels all think they can turn us against each other," Sam said. He had an unopened beer in his other hand and he started rolling it between his palms. "And okay, that's probably because the demons..."

He trailed off but Dean could finish that sentence in his head. The demons already did it.

"Uh huh," he said.

"So I figured, what if we made it so they couldn't get between us?" Sam continued. He glanced at Dean for a moment and his eyes were bright before he turned away again. "What if we make it so nothing can get between us, nothing at all."

Dean chewed on his bottom lip, then let it go once he realized he was doing it. "And you think — making out is gonna do that."

"Can you think of some other way for us to get closer?" Sam glanced around the room. Dean followed his gaze and noticed, as if for the first time, the cramped dimensions of the room that had seemed just the right size for the two of them, and all their shit already bleeding into a communal pile on the floor between their duffels, and the way he still hadn't pulled away from the warmth of Sam's arm against his. He wasn't even sure whose underwear Sam had on.

"Are you sure we actually got Gabriel to stop?" he asked, instead of addressing any of that. "I think we're in Punk'd, right here."

"Then where's the hidden camera?"

Dean elbowed him.

"Look, it was just an idea," Sam said. "The angels aren't going to stop trying to get you, and I — I don't want that for us." He shrugged. "We can come up with something else if you want."

Dean huffed and didn't otherwise reply, and they fell back into the TV. Sam seemed unworried, like he got shot down by his brother every damn day, and Dean just stared at the screen.

It must have been the beer after all, or maybe the donuts, because he couldn't think of anything else. They were pretty unhealthy about each other to begin with, but if that hadn't been enough — maybe Sam had a point, is all. It made him queasy, but that could have been the beer, too.

He chewed the inside of his cheek and thought himself in circles, cycling between maybe and hell no, until Sam opened his can. It fizzed all over him and Sam laughed as he put it on the bedside table, shaking beer off his hand.

Dean watched his face as he grinned, the way his hair flopped in his eyes and the way he pushed it back without blinking.

He'd already kissed Dean once, and the world wasn't ending any faster than usual because of it. Maybe, Dean thought.

He bumped his shoulder against Sam's, and when he glanced over, still laughing, Dean leaned up and pushed their lips together again. His stomach lurched at him, but it settled by the time Sam made this tiny, happy noise and started kissing him back.

Maybe, Dean thought again. He cupped Sam's cheek, baby-soft, in his palm, and all around them the world kept on ending at the exact same pace, maybe even a little slower.