They drove back home. In the kitchen, Dean set a bottle of Jameson and two shot glasses down in the middle of the table and waved Sam to sit. Sam glanced pointedly at the bottle, and Dean shrugged. He poured for them both and Sam reached across the table, taking his glass from Dean and sitting back, giving him a raised eyebrow and a patient look.
Dean took a sip, grimaced. "Okay, here goes,″ he said. ″So here’s the thing. I’ve missed you, y’know, what we had. Have. And I’m done trying to protect you from things you don’t need protecting from, like monsters, and supes, and bigots, and me. I’m done trying to be the boss of everything about you. And...I think I’m done being afraid of living without you. What I forced on you, I don’t want to do that anymore. I’d promise you not to, but we’ve seen how that goes. I can only say I will do my best never to interfere with the course of things again. I think...I’m grown-up enough to do that.″
Sam nodded, holding his glass, but not drinking. He tilted it back and forth, taking his time about responding to what Dean said and the delay in response had Dean’s anxiety ratcheting up sky high. Finally, Sam nodded, and said, "Dean, we can't know how we’re going to react until we’re in the moment—that’s not a pass I’m giving you, I’m just saying I understand. But more importantly, I appreciate you not wanting to fuck with me or our realities anymore. I’m praying that you remember that the next time it comes up.″
″Yeah, well,″ Dean tipped his glass back, licked his lips before saying, ″There’s not going to be a next time. Or, I should say, the next time, we better be wrinkly old dudes lounging on our porch because we’re not going out there any fuckin’ time soon. It’s someone else’s job now, someone younger, someone on fire. Me, I’m only burning for you.″
Sam stared at him for a beat or two before saying, ″That’s the worst, most cheesy—″
″Shut up,″ Dean said. He waited a few seconds himself before saying,″So, upstairs?″
″And get naked,″ Sam said, pushing his still full glass towards Dean.
Dean blinked. ″Just like that?″ he said, before noticing Sam’s glass in front of him and emptying it because he was a good brother like that.
″You want roses and a band? A gold-lettered invitation? Get you drunk and have my way with yo--″
Dean jumped up, grabbed Sam by the shirt and yanked him out of his chair and through the kitchen. Sam laughed. ″I’m not going to change my mind, you know.″
″Fuck, I’m not going to give you a chance.″ He got behind Sam and pushed him up the stairs. ″With as long as we’ve been waiting, we’ve barely begun to catch up on all the sex we missed.″
At the bedroom door, Sam stopped, cupped Dean’s face and said, ″You never had to wait, really. You know that, right?″
Dean shook his head. ″C’mon, Sammy, come inside.″ He pushed the door open and this time, took Sam’s hand to lead him to the bed, pushing him to lie back. Spread out across the bed, he looked incredible, like a work of art.
Dean took his time about taking Sam's shirt off, each button opened got a kiss, lower and lower. By the time his shirt came off, Sam was panting. He was outright trembling by the time Dean popped the snap on his jeans. Dean looked down on his brother—took in how wrecked he looked already.
Sam’s hands moved up to cradle Dean's head. ″You’re still beautiful,″ he said and Dean closed his eyes, sinking down to nose at the curls revealed when he pulled Sam’s jeans down. He mouthed at the soft skin at the base of Sam's dick, sighing contentedly when Sam started rubbed both hands across his head. His tongue came out, drawing swirls and circles along his growing length. ″Fuck,″ Sam gasped out a laugh. ″Sigils?″
Dean huffed a laugh against his damp skin, and then took the head in his mouth, tonguing around the crown, lapping at he slit. ″Taste good...s’better this way,″ he mumbled before taking Sam down again.
This was what he’d wanted to spend the rest of his life doing—not necessarily blowing Sam or getting blown every day, though he wouldn't argue against it. This closeness, this intimacy. This was where Dean couldn't pretend or hide, this was where he had to be open with Sam. He loved him, and would always love him, life-long. His soul belonged to Sam, and this was one of the few ways he could truly show him that.
Beneath him, Sam was groaning Dean’s name, and rocking his hips up slowly, going as deep as possible. Dean moaned around him, fingers sliding around Sam’s hips to clasp him hard. Sam pushed up, deep enough to make Dean's throat flutter desperately around him, and then dropped back, only to come on Dean’s tongue, because he knew Dean liked it.
Dean let Sam’s dick slide out of his mouth, trying to lick him clean as he went. He waited while Sam took a few minutes to get his breath back...he was petting the back of Dean’s neck, playing with the short hairs there, scratching his fingers through it, and sending little shivers down Dean’s spine. Sam chuckled softly when he felt the tremors rush through Dean. "Like that, don’t ya...″
″Sam,″ Dean groaned, his throat wrecked; he was nearly shaking to bits with wanting Sam to touch him, suck him, anything to get him off. He loved Sam, but the man was a fuckin’ horrible tease—Sam laughed, like he was reading Dean’s mind, then pulled Dean up until they were face to face. He kissed Dean, slid his tongue into Dean’s mouth. Hard and desperate as Dean was, he was not about to shrug off Sammy’s kisses. Fuck, the boy could kiss….
Sam licked gentle little arcs over Dean’s lower lip, soothing the heat and the slight soreness. He traced over Dean’s teeth, and licked over Dean’s tongue, sucked it gently at first, then slowly building up to a tugging motion that imitated the blow job he’d gotten. Dean’s dick jerked and throbbed where it was pressed between them. Sam gave him another sucking kiss, reached between them and rubbed his thumb over Dean’s wet slit, chuckled when Dean shuddered and groaned into Sam’s mouth. Precome blurted between them, dribbled over Sam’s abs.
It was positively embarrassing, or would be, Dean thought, if not for Sam groaning in Dean’s ear, ″Dean, Dean, love how fuckin’ wet ya get for me, every time. Leakin’ like a faucet and that’s so fucking hot.″
Sam worked his thumb over Dean’s slit, smearing slick around the head, then took Dean’s dick in a tight grip, sweeping his fist up and down, just short of too-hard and too-rough that Sam knew was guaranteed to make Dean come like a rocket, the smartass, and Dean did just that, back curled in an arch as he cursed and gasped his way through it. ″Sammy, fuckin’—fuck, love you. Love this.″
Dean dropped down on Sam, blanketing him until Sam muttered, "Get offa me, Baloo,″ and rolled them onto their sides. Dean let Sam wrap himself around him, both of them needing to be grounded for a few minutes, both enjoying the come down, slowly, together. Sam resumed rubbing and scratching lightly at Dean’s neck; carding his fingers through Dean’s hair until he was almost purring it felt so good.
He finally moved, hips twitching as he scratched at the sticky feeling, grimacing a little. He was practically glued to Sam and as much as he loved him, it was kind of gross . ″Uhm. We need to wash up...″
″Enh.″ Sam shrugged. ″I can wait some. I wiped my hands clean on your hair.″
Sam tipped Dean’s chin down, bringing Dean’s mouth close and then thoroughly kissed the hell out of him. He muttered, ″And my line is jerk. Jerk.″
They decided to have a party to cement the fact they were staying.
It wasn’t as big a crowd as had come to their Fourth of July cook-out back when, it was a smaller, more intimate group.
There were old friends from the neighborhood, and new friends from work. Family was there too—Kevin and Cas, as well as the bunker’s newest semi-permanent resident, Charlie. The music was low; a few couples were dancing in the cleared out dining room. Sam watched as Howard and Shel waltzed by. They looked happy, and Sam was happy for them. He wished them a long, joyful relationship in his mind—a totally unselfish wish.
The back door was open, letting cooler air in. It might be hovering on the edge of winter, but it was an unseasonably warm fall, and between the place filled with people and all the cooking going on, the house heated up quickly.. He could hear the sound of happy kids taking advantage of being allowed up late, whooping around in the back yard, and Fidus joining in, barking as he retrieved stick after stick. Crazy dog. At least he was enjoying himself.
Making his way to the backdoor, Sam heard Dean in the kitchen chatting with Donnie and Margie, apparently discussing the finer points of making mac and cheese. By the sound of it, they were heading into an argument and Sam thought this should be good for a laugh. Fighting over mac 'n’ cheese—Sam shook his head. Cooks.
Frankie butt in and broke it up before it got good, though, pulling Margie out of the kitchen to dance, and making her laugh. He winked at Sam as he swung by, and Sam shook his head. Their friends would get nowhere with Dean—he refused to believe the recipe he’d come up with as a starving boy wasn't the one and only one.
To this day, Dean refused to believe that it wasn’t his mac’n’ cheese that kept Sam alive, made him grow into—as Dean said all too damn frquently—the Sasquatch that he had. Even now when they could afford good, healthy food, Dean insisted in cutting up hot dogs to dump in the mac and cheese mix, along with a can of baked beans. Sam smiled. Dean had done his best to get a super-picky little kid to eat—no easy feat—and macxhotdogxcheese, marshmallow mac and cheese, marshmallow lucky charms sandwiches had worked.
His brother was the best parent Sam could have had growing up. It had been a bit of a shock when puberty set in and Dean wandered off from Sam before he was ready...but that was what was, and eventually, he’d kind of returned the favor when he left for college.
All water under the bridge now. He’d never trade what he had now for anything.
Sam wandered outside for fresh air and a bit of solitude. He enjoyed get-togethers, but there was always a point where he needed a moment alone to recharge. He walked past the remains of his vegetable garden. Shel hadn’t been interested in growing things, and they’d arrived too late to plant anything this year. He’d make some time soon to reclaim the garden, trim the paths around it.
He could see Baby parked alongside the wide graveled area that Dean and Frankie had set up a fire pit in. He could smell the burning apple wood they’d tossed into it, hear the crackle as it burned down into ash. It smelled good, like a fireplace, and made Sam fantasize about warming himself in front of their own fireplace, curled up on the couch sipping tea while Fidus napped at his feet. Sure, like Fidus wouldn’t squeeze his fat ass between Sam and the couch back, hog all the blankets, and then make Sam fetch snacks for him. He wondered idly just how hard it would be to install a fireplace. He had no idea what something like that entailed. He’d just have to ask his own personal Bob Villa later on.
Sam sat on a chair he’d found near the fire pit. He spread his legs out and tipped his head back, thinking about their lives now; about Dean and how happy he seemed in this new life. He thought about the long, winding road that had dumped them here, and how fucking grateful he was to be here with his brother. He couldn’t wait to see what the future brought.
″You're thinking hard, and you need to not be doing that,″ Charlie said, appearing out of the dark. She smirked, obviously pleased with herself for startling him. Thankfully, she didn’t say anything about Sam going soft in this new life of his, she just handed him a big plastic cup of something alcoholic.
"That guy, what’s his name—Bear? He made it, and Dean approved it, so we're probably taking out lives in our hands.″ she said.
Charlie was one of the few people out of their hunting life they thought would be safe enough to invite—one of the few people who knew just how screwed up the Winchesters were. She’d been shocked, but not disgusted, and eventually confessed that it was even kind of kinky-cool, and she was promptly invited by Dean to never, ever, ever say that or anything like that in his earshot again. Sam had to agree. Especially when she started slipping copies of the scary-ass fanfiction those Supernatural book fans wrote under their bedroom doors...evil.
He eyed his plastic cup of...whatever it was, and said, ″Just thinking about the future, in a way. How different it is here. Dean’s so different here. I like it.″ He took a sip of the liquid in his cup and shuddered, but took another sip anyway. It tasted vile, but he was sure eventually it’d burn his taste buds off and then it wouldn’t matter.
″Me too. I’m glad he can make a home here. You too. And you know anytime you want, the bunker’s there. Me and the boys have it under lock. The door to the Winchester Paranormal Investigation and Information Library is always open to you. Since you gave us the key and all.″ She held her cup up to Sam. "Cheers,″ she said, and to Sam’s horror, chugged the drink like it was soda.
″Well, thanks, I guess. Um, cheers,″ he said and took a wary sip. "I’m glad to see you guys are doing well...and I hear from Kevin you’re charging other hunters for info now?″
″Hell, yeah. You guys might have been all 'it’s the game, the wonderful game’, but mama's gotta eat, and credit card fraud doesn't pay the bills. Well, it does, but its kind of limiting in so far as living in the real world, and our boy Kevin is going back to school, so, charge we do.″
Sam gulped a bit more of whatever the hell is was in his cup, wrinkling his nose at the taste. He guessed it was nice to know that he still had a taste bud or two left. ″No, I think what you’re doing is smart. I’m glad Kevin's going to finish school. I'm thinking of doing so myself, not that the job requires it.″
″Yeah, paralegal, hunh? How’s that working out for you?″ Charlie finally took pity on Sam, and grabbed his cup; she dumped Sam’s and her drink into the bushes. Sam said a quick prayer for their survival.
″Yep. It’s not bad, maybe not what I had in mind when I started out sixteen years ago, but I'm good with it. I’ve been talking to Dean about what he might want to do, seeing as how thanks to the inestimable Frank Deveraux, he is a high school grad with an associates...he could go to school. He could even talk to Howard about expanding his shop. The place was a garage once upon a time….″
″What does Dean want to do?″
″I don't know. Be a fireman? An astronaut?″ Sam, shrugged, laughed softly. "He would make a good cop.″
An arm fell around his shoulder. ″Hey, I’d make a good baker, too, don't you think? I make some world class snickerdoodles, dude.″
″You make a good handmaiden, too,″ Charlie said.
″I do, don’t I?″ Dean said, pulling Sam’s head down to kiss him right at the hairline.
Sam pushed him away, and snorted. ″Sneaking out to eavesdrop on us, were you?″
"Just came to let you know everybody’s heading out. Cas is taking care of cleanup.″ Dean said. He turned to Charlie. "He said you should come help Kevin and him to clean. He hasn’t gotten any subtler with time.″
"Nope. He is refreshingly honest. At least that’s what I tell myself.″ Charlie smirked and waved as she walked back into the house.
Music was still audible, wafting out the kitchen door. Dean hummed along, coaxing Sam in closer. They tried to dance, gave it up after a few bruised toes, knocked knees, and a lot of laughter. They settled for leaning close together against Baby’s hood, and watched the sparks from their fire ring skitter up across the sky, dancing away and then fading out. The warm, smoky scent of the fire drifted over the yard, and Sam felt a deep-down feeling of satisfaction, comfort.
″It feels good to be home, doesn't it?″ Dean said.
Sam nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. The fire was starting to die down, and while most of him was still toasty, his hands tended to ache a bit when the temperature dropped—a pain that managed to remain despite Cas healing him. ″Hmm. Yeah, it does. It feels good to be home, and if feels damn good to be back where we were, you know?″
″We’re never leaving again, Sammy.″ Dean laid back on the hood then, arms folded behind his head, a little smile on his face making him look like he was in his twenties again.
Sam laid down next to him, eyes on the stars starting to glitter in the purpling sky above them. He pulled and pulled at Dean until he had him arranged so that he could lay his head comfortably on Dean's shoulder. ″I know.″
Dean hummed along to the song they could hear playing and then did something he rarely did, seriously, anyway—he started to sing, quietly, a little hesitantly but surprising Sam by how good it sounded. ″Many dreams come true, and some have silver linings; I live for my dream, and a pocket full of gold...you’re my pocketful of gold, Sammy.″
Sam laughed softly, leaned into Dean’s hold. ″Well, here we are, Dean. Proof that dreams can come true.″
The End ♥