#fireworks scene

Dean’s normal… well, he knows it’s sick, twisted. It’s no life to be raised into, but it isn’t just the monster hunting that makes him different. It’s the way his whole world revolves around his brother, the way he’d give anything to keep the kid safe. He’d give his life for Sam without so much as a moment’s hesitation. 

It’s the way something in him—something he tries so goddamn hard to keep hidden, something so foul and so, so fucking wrong—twists when he sees Sammy light up. 

It’s the way he loves his brother. 

“Come on!” Dean’s pulled from his thoughts. “Let’s go!”

Dean smiles, but it’s weak. There’s a darkness behind it that he hopes, he fucking prays, Sam doesn’t pick up on. Dean’s happy, too. He’s happy seeing Sam happy, but he can’t seem to stay out of his own head. 

“Got your lighter?” Sam’s holding a box of fireworks, looking back at his brother with this look on his face. It’s the best night of his life. He’s almost too distracted to notice the way Dean lags behind, just a little. He’s almost too excited to catch the sad look behind Dean’s eyes, like there’s something more he wants to say. Almost. He doesn’t acknowledge it, though. He knows his big brother well, and if there’s one thing Dean doesn’t like to do, it’s talk about his feelings. It’s like Dean has a moment of clarity, like something passes across him and that smile on his face grows. He’s grinning, but not as wide as Sam. 

“‘Course I do. Come on.” Dean grabs a box from the trunk of the Impala as well. He follows Sam farther into the field, and watches—maybe a little too closely—as the kid gets everything set up. 

Sam notices this, too. Of course he does. He notices everything when it comes to Dean. He notices each and every girl in his revolving door, when redheads become blondes become brunettes. He notices every bottle Dean drinks, how the number grows the more time goes on. He notices the way Dean tries to bury himself in whatever he can—girls, work, and drinking seem to be the most popular—when the two of them get a little too close. 

Too close. It’s an odd thing to think about for Sam. What’s too close for some brothers isn’t close enough for him and Dean. What’s too close for most brothers is their normal. And what’s too close for the Winchester boys? Well, there’s no set answer there. Not really. Not when Dean seems to push and pull, to want everything and nothing to do with Sam all at once.

But that’s not what tonight’s about. 

Sam finishes setting up and when he walks back to his brother’s side, there’s a spring in his step like never before. His smile is almost bright enough to light up the night.

“Fire ‘em up!” Sam shouts, practically jumping up and down. And Dean obeys. 

The first few go off, and the darkness of the night fades away in favor of all sorts of colors. Sam’s not sure where Dean managed to get these, or how he managed to afford them, but he doesn’t care. How can he care when he’s watching the sky light up with so much fucking wonder in his eyes? One after the other, popping and crackling and sizzling. 

It’s quite the show, but Dean isn’t watching. There’s only one thing on his mind, and that’s Sam. Boom. Something inside him goes off, exploding in the night. Boom. He can’t look away. He can’t. He can’t stop thinking about Sam, about—

“Dad would never let us do anything like this!” Sam’s looking at Dean, now, and that light hasn’t left his eyes. “Thanks, Dean. This is great.” And they’re hugging. 

Well, Sam’s hugging. Dean takes a second to catch up, but as soon as he does, his arms are tight around his brother. He closes his eyes, face pressed against soft brown hair, and takes the deepest breath he’s ever had to. He can’t let himself get carried away. It’s not normal, it’s not right to feel like this. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, not even sure if Sam can hear it over the roaring fireworks. A little bit louder, he says, “you’re welcome, kid.”

The hug lingers, lasts a little too long before Dean starts to pull back. He can’t lose himself. Not yet. He can’t let his twisted feelings get in the way of what seems to be the best fucking night of Sam’s life. But Sam stops him. He’s got his fingers wrapped around Dean’s wrists, and he’s looking up at him like…

No. Dean can’t think like that. There isn’t a chance in hell Sammy feels the way he does. Sam’s good. He’s not like Dean. He’ll never be like Dean. 

Sam doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what he wants to say, or what he could say. It feels like there’s so much hanging in the air between them. But he has a hunch; a gut feeling. He sees the way Dean looks at him when he thinks Sam isn’t paying attention, and he picks up on all the little tiny hints Dean doesn’t even know he drops. He has a gut feeling. 

And that’s when it happens. That’s when all of Sam’s and Dean’s forever-repressed feelings come to the surface. That’s when years of pain and confusion and frustration and guilt are all worth it. That’s when the fireworks cease, but the sparks still fly.

That’s when they kiss.

Sam’s the one who initiates it, going against every goddamn stereotype the two fit into. But Dean reciprocates. God, does he reciprocate. The night is perfect. It’s a fucking dream.

It lasts too long, but not long enough. When they separate, this time, there’s something in Dean’s eyes that Sam’s never seen before. It’s like, for the first time in Dean’s life as a hunter, the weight of the world falls away from his shoulders. When they pull away, they both stand there a moment. Watching, waiting for the next move. What does this mean for them? Nothing’s ever going to be the same—they both know that. 

Sam’s naïve, though. He thinks it’s going to be perfect from here on out. He’s already dreaming up scenarios, fantasizing about running away from their dad and this life and just… be. 

But Dean knows how the world works. He’s older, he’s got more experience than Sammy. He knows there’s no hope for two brothers from a broken home. He knows the best way to keep Sam safe is to keep him at a distance. It won’t happen again. It can’t happen again. He loves his brother more than anything, and Dean knows that loving Sam means not letting Sam love him. Not like this.

He doesn’t mention it, though. Not tonight. Not when Sam’s so fucking happy. Not when everything is perfect and nothing is wrong. 

Dean takes Sam’s hand in his, their eye contact never breaking. He’s happy, too. God, is he happy. There’s a silent agreement as he slips his lighter between his brother’s fingers, as he pulls away and nods. Sam smiles more, if that’s even possible, and he runs over to their stash.