#weecest oneshot

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. 

Hidden away, buried beneath layers of fabric and tucked into a side pocket is a small bag, and in that bag, a pair of matching rings. They’re nothing fancy, but they mean the world to Dean and, if all goes well, will mean the same to Sam.

“Hey, Sammy?” Dean’s whisper breaks the comfortable silence and Sam looks up, twists around to face his brother as best as he can.

“Hm?” is his response. He’s practically asleep. His eyelids are heavy, his hair’s in his face, but he’s smiling.

“Got a question for you.”

At that, Sam wakes up a little. He presses himself more against Dean, if even possible, and tucks his long legs closer to his chest. He yawns, then turns his head and kisses his brother’s arm. “What is it?”

There’s a grin on Dean’s face, one Sam can hardly see in the darkness surrounding them. “Sit up a second?”

“Don’t wanna.” “C’mon, Sammy. It’ll be worth it.” The words and the gentle nudge that follows earn a groan from Sam, but he obeys. He pushes his bangs from his eyes and sits up. “Look at me.”

“What are you doing, Dean?”

There’s a bit of shuffling, and Dean pulls a velvet, drawstring bag from his pocket. He holds it out to his brother, the smile on his face only widening despite the fluttering in his stomach. “Look inside, baby.”

And Sam does. He reaches in, pulls out the rings and, not quite understanding at first, he frowns. “What is this, De?”

“You know, for a smart kid, you’re kind of an idiot. What do you do with rings, Sammy?”

“Shut up, I’m tired,” he grumbles, then pauses, his eyes widening and his heart swelling because-- “oh my God, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t have to say another word, because now Sam understands. His eyes are watery and he doesn’t hesitate to lean in when Dean’s hands find the sides of his face. They’re kissing, Sam’s crying, and he’ll deny it until he’s blue in the face, but Dean tears up a little too.

“It’s a promise,” Dean whispers against Sam’s lips, a hand sliding to the back of his head, through his hair. He clears his throat and again, he presses his lips to Sam’s. It’s hard to get much done with how widely the two of them are smiling, though. “Like, y’know, getting engaged. Married. Except without the suits and the cake and the party. And you don’t have to accept it, Sam. You don’t have to feel like--”

But he’s interrupted by a kiss, one that tastes of salt and Sam. Sam, who kisses with all the force of a hungry, crying infant. Whose hands are gripping Dean’s shirt and pulling him closer. Who slowly starts to pull away, tears in his eyes and the brightest smile Dean’s ever seen on his face.

Sam takes one of Dean’s hands in his own, and his shaking fingers make it a bit difficult to slide the ring on like he wants to. Dean picks up on this and helps, his smile fond.

“I promise,” Sam whispers, but his voice breaks off at the end. It’s only slightly, enough that Dean almost misses it. “No matter where I go, or who I become, I promise I’ll always be yours.”

What Dean doesn’t know is that now there’s an ache in Sam’s chest, a darkness eating away at his heart. In months, he’ll be gone. Away; off to college where he can start over, get a taste of normal. Away from monsters, hunting, from a father who can’t know the truth about his sons. He’s crying again, but these tears aren’t happy. They’re pained, because Sam knows what Dean doesn’t.

He knows that, more likely than not, he won’t be able to keep his promise.

But as the ring slides onto his finger, and as Dean’s calloused hands brush against his own (somehow softer than anything), he isn’t thinking about the future. He’s thinking about the here and the now, about Dean.

They fall into each other, all hands and mouths. Fingers fumbling with buttons, with zippers. Fabric is pushed off of shoulders and their kisses never break for more than a few seconds. A few minutes more, and Sam’s gasping, Dean’s groaning, and their hands are locked tight, silver against silver. A few minutes more, and they’re both panting, still naked and messy, and the grins on their faces are practically bright enough to light up the darkness of the night.

The night ends the way it began; quiet, peaceful, with Sam curled up against his brother’s chest, wrapped up in his arms and his jacket and his love. As his head lolls to the side, as his body relaxes, he’s dimly aware of the quiet words Dean utters while pressing a kiss to the top of Sam’s head.