#arcaita

They get to the carnival and it's amazing. It's everything Sam ever imagined and everything Dean remembers (even though he's not sure he really does). There's tons of rides, loud music blasting along with the dings and bells from the carnival games, flashing lights everywhere, the smell of fried dough and popcorn, and yeah, a pretty impressive Ferris wheel. Sam's stops walking and stares open mouth at the scene.

“It's beautiful,” he says, and he feels strange, because he's so giddy to be here but also so, so sad, too, and he’s not sure why. Sam looks over at Dean and sees it there, too, in Dean's eyes, that same sadness, just for a second before Dean realizes Sam is looking at him and schools his face.

“Well let's go brother, what do you want to do first?” His voice is light and he takes another swig of whiskey and flashes his smile, so brilliant Sam can almost, almost, think it's genuine.

Sam wants to do everything. He rides the rides first, dragging Dean along on each one. He spins and flies through the air and up and down and feels dizzy from it all. They go on one of those pendulum rides, and it's packed. Dean's body presses tightly up against him in the seat, so close Sam feel his heat, can smell the leather of his jacket and the whiskey on his breath. Their knees and shoulders bump with each jerky movement and it's so exhilarating, Sam throws his head back and his hands up and just soars. He feels like he's free, like they both are.

Games, too, Sam wants to try all the games. They're two bucks a pop but he's managed to save enough here and there, and plays each one once or twice. Doesn't win a damn thing, of course, but it doesn't matter. There's a rifle game towards the corner, where you shoot a pellet gun to see who can hit the most yellow ducks without hitting and red ones. Sam doesn't much want to handle a gun tonight, but he knows Dean can win this easy, and goads him until he gives in.

“Win me something?” Sam says, and wonders where it came form, regrets saying it, but Dean looks at him with such an odd, soft expression, and Sam swears he sees a flush creep up the back of Dean's neck, but maybe that's just the alcohol.

Dean wins the game easy, comes out far ahead of the dozen or so competitors, and the game operator tells him he can pick any prize from the top shelf, which is covered with giant bears and gorillas and something that may be a dragon, but Dean points to something small towards the middle, and he's adamant, he just wants that little one there.

Sam's certain he blushes, hell maybe even swoons a little, when Dean hands him the little stuffed golden retriever with the treat-shaped name tag that reads Bones. “Always wanted a dog, right Sammy?”

“Thanks,” he says, maybe, or maybe he just smiles, and Dean just looks at him in a way that makes fires seem cold and dull.

“Hungry?”

Carnival food, hot dogs and snow cones and fried everything, they try it all, and Sam's not sure if it's better than fast food and diners, but it's definitely different. They share a coke and Dean washes that down with a final few swigs from the flask.

“Probably not a good idea to go on any more rides after all that,” Sam says, “except, maybe-” and he gestures over to the Ferris wheel. “Then we should go? Getting kind of cold, anyway.” and he is, rubs his hands up and down his bare arms.

“Sounds like a plan,” Dean stands to toss their trash, “but, uh, I ain't really cold, so here.” Dean removes his leather jacket and places it awkwardly over Sam's shoulders. “You, uh, wear that. It'll be colder. Up there.”

Sam's stunned, he pushes his arms through the too big jacket, at sixteen he's almost as tall as Dean now, but still lanky and it hangs loosely on his frame. Also? It feels amazing.

“Thanks.”

When they reach the front of the line, Dean hops on first, then pats the seat beside him for Sam.

The view from the top is amazing. It's quieter up here, and peaceful, and Sam's afraid to say anything so he leans his head back and looks at the stars. Dean's jacket smells like leather and Dean, the collar feels slightly tacky with sweat and Sam's skin sings when he feels it on his neck.

The second time around Sam can feel Dean shiver next to him. He was right, it is colder up here, and Sam feels bad for being warm, feels guilty that Dean always has to suffer so he won't have to. Without thinking, Sam takes one arm and wraps it around Dean, pulls him close and runs his hand briskly up and down Dean's arm to warm it. He can feel the goosebumps slowly fade and after a few moments he realizes Dean's stopped shivering. In fact, he's afraid Dean's stopped breathing.

“Sorry,” Sam says, because he's not sure what else to say, but he doesn't move.

“S'ok,” answers, but he’s stiff and there's a strange hitch in his voice that says maybe it's not ok, “Warmer, now. So. Thanks.”

The third time around is the end, each car stops long enough to let folks off and let new folks on. They're nearing the top again and Sam realizes that the hand he's got on Dean's arm isn't really rubbing warmth into it anymore, so much as caressing it, and he knows he should stop, knows it's wrong to do this to Dean, wrong for it to feel this good, because Dean is twenty years old and a boy and his brother. But it just feels so good, so magical, and Sam wants the magic to last at least as long as the ride.

It will be over soon, though, and he hasn't even looked at Dean since they got on, too afraid to turn his head but he needs to now. Needs to see Dean's face up here, floating above the world with red and blue and green lights dancing over his face. Sam needs it like air, needs it to hold on to it and remember forever, because he's sixteen now and almost a man and soon he'll-

But no, he doesn't want to think about that now. So Sam does what he thinks is probably the bravest thing he's done in life so far, and turns his head to look at Dean.

And. Wow. He was right that it would be beautiful and magical, but he was wrong about just how much. Because the lights below throw multicolored twinkles into Deans eyes, they highlight his cheeks in ruby and the scruff over his perfect jaw in bright gold and his soft mouth in deep purple and it's breathtaking. There's a spot of sugar just at the corner of Dean's mouth from earlier, and before Sam realizes what he's doing, his hand is out to wipe it away and his fingers glide over that plump bottom lip and his hand freezes.

“Sammy,” Dean whispers, and closes his eyes, tilts his head slightly into the touch and Sam feels his cheek warm and scratchy against his palm.

“C-can I?” Sam doesn't say what but he thinks, god he hopes, Dean knows.

There's an almost imperceptible nod and Sam leans in.

The first touch of lips is feather soft, Sam puckers his lips against Dean's, tests the give and slide and softness as he presses in harder, then backs away. It's chaste and sweet and clumsy and Sam feels his heart pounding beneath his ribs so hard his whole body shakes.

Dean's eyes are still closed and Sam marvels at how he's been granted access to something so beautiful, takes a chance and leans in again. Sam brushes the tip of his nose against Deans, skims his mouth over Dean's upper lip, then lets his forehead rest against Dean's, breathes out Dean's name, so soft he's not sure Dean even heard it.

But he must have, because Dean springs into action. He puts one hand low on Sam's waist and pulls him in tight, the other hand cups Sam's chin, tilts it up, and Dean leans forward and it's not chaste or sweet or clumsy at all anymore, it's hot and desperate and well practiced. Dean licks at the seam between Sam lips and pushes inside, his tongue tastes of sugar and whiskey and Sam decides he wants that flavor on his lips forever. Dean's enthusiastic but careful, he doesn't push, doesn't deepen the kiss, doesn't move his hand from Sam's waist and Sam's grateful. He just wants this, this right here. Wants Deans lips sliding against his, Dean's breath in his mouth, most of all wants the small whiny noises coming from Dean's throat.

Sam's whole body is reacting. His heart still threatens to burst through his chest, legs shake, stomach flips and flops, there's tingles from the base of his spine and around his pelvis, skin burns where Dean's hands are on him, head pounds with the roar of blood in his ears. It feels like dying and being reborn into something new. It's intoxicating. Terrifying.

It's over.

They come to a top at the lowest station, giggles and throat clearing from the crowd startle them apart, and they climb down on wobbly legs to let the next riders on. They walk towards the exits and Sam still has his arm firmly around Dean, afraid to let go, afraid Dean will run if he does.

“Sa- Sammy,” his voices cracks, “What- that was- we shouldn't. Oh god.”

Bur Sam's not discouraged. He knows Dean. Knows exactly what he's thinking right now. This is wrong. I've corrupted him. I need to protect him from myself. We can't. “I just wanted- I wanted to. For so long. But we don't have to. Again, I mean. It's ok. But. If you wanted to. And I wanted to. We could-” and Sam knits his eyebrows up and throws that puppy face, the one that's got him everything from ice cream for breakfast to taking the Impala for a spin when he was eleven, “-or, if, when I'm older?” He knows not to push, pushing Dean just pushes him away, and Sam would never want that. This night, that ride, more than he ever even thought to wish for, so yeah, if Dean's going to freak out over this for a while, well that's fine.

“I, uh, I need to think about it man. That ok?”

“Yeah. Of course,” then, “Dean? Thanks. I waited a long time. For this.”