Summer Lovin' Reverse Mini-Bang: Perfect Day, Part 2/2
Title: Perfect Day (I'm Glad I Spent It With You).
Summary: Takes place after Red Sky at Dawn (3.05). Sam and Dean go to Atlantic City with the 10K that Bela gave them. As usual, nothing goes to plan for the Winchesters, but perhaps, just this once, it works out better. Written for the spn_bigpretzel (The Sunnier Side of Supernatural), Summer Lovin’ Reverse Mini Bang.
Artist: jenilees I saw this bright happy picture of Sam at the beach and I couldn’t not write a fic for it. She's been great fun to work with and made this challenge a bit special, so give her some love for a gorgeous prompt here.
Rating: Teen and up readers, sexual references and innuendo but nothing explicit.
Warnings: Wincest, sexual references and mild sexual behaviour, reference to porn, some profanities, cavity inducing schmoop and burning sunshine. Slight au reference to a porn star called Jensen Ackles.
Beta's: Much love and thanks to the marvellous vennstiel and sylsdarkplace for making this better. All mistakes remain my own.
Wordcount: ~6,100
Status: Completed
Disclaimer: Sam and Dean don’t exist and even if they did they wouldn’t belong to me. Also, none of this happened. This makes me very sad. In the real world Jensen Ackles is most certainly not a porn star and to my knowledge he never appeared in a little flick called Dawson’s Crack.
Part 2 below the cut ...
The sun is hot on their backs as they join the throng on the boardwalk. Kids on scooters chew gum, laugh and skid past them. Moms push strollers and gossip. There are brash vacationers of every race and type, weighed down with cameras and fanny packs, ice-creams and sunglasses. It feels like they’ve been dropped into another world. There are other subtle differences from their everyday reality and somewhere between Trump Taj Mahal and the hoodoo shop, Dean reaches for Sam’s hand and winds his fingers around it, like all the other couples are doing around them.
Sam looks shocked and hisses, “Dean!” at him, but Dean holds tighter and walks close enough that their arms are touching.
“Relax,” he says, “Everyone’s doing it.”
Sam takes furtive glances around him and the tension leaves him as he confirms his brother’s assessment. Nobody seems surprised or angry to see their public display of affection.
“See,” reassures Dean, and they continue that way, skin to skin, no personal space, with a hazy, happy calm.
The hoodoo shop turns out to be a fraud, with fake trinkets and dramatic words for gullible tourists. The vendor is unapologetic about the ineffectiveness of her charms, surely nobody really believes in any of it? Sam doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. They make their way to the door, and Dean stops to pick up a wax effigy of Sarah Palin on a shelf near to the exit. “Oh, they’re very popular,” the lady says with a wide smile and the Winchesters grimace at each other before Dean places it back on the shelf. They stride out of the door in perfect step, through the frozen swath of air conditioning and back into warm sunlight.
The sun is high in the sky when they reach the rendezvous with their contact. Sam wonders if it’s a coincidence that the agreed meeting place happens to be near the entrance of ‘Ripley’s Believe it or Not’ as Dean bounces on his heels with excitement and then drops back to his feet and scowls when he sees the length of the entrance line.
Sam squeezes his hand, “Do you want to go in, Dean?”
“What! No!” Dean gives a nervous laugh and shrugs.
“Dean …”
“No! Leave it, Sammy.” Dean scratches his nose and gives his brother a warning glance.
“You so do!”
“Don’t!”
“Do, do, do.”
“You said do-do,” points out Dean with a smirk.
“Dean Winchester, I presume.” They jump apart and rush to untangle their hands. In an instant Dean’s fingers touch metal, poised for trouble. “Leroy Rose,” the man introduces himself, extending a hand to Dean. “Bobby said you’d like to see some of my wares.” He shows them a card with a code word, a prearranged signal.
“Yeah, er, yeah,” Dean relaxes and clears his throat, “Bobby says you’ve got some cool stuff.”
Leroy gives Sam an appraising look, “Don’t look like no hunters I’ve seen afore.”
Sam wants a hole to open up and swallow him and Dean shoots the man an icy glare, “We’re in disguise,” he says, every fiber of him tensing, daring this Leroy Rose to say another word about his Sammy.
They get directions to a warehouse and it’s just off the boardwalk so Leroy suggests that they visit to view the gear and they reserve anything they want, to pick up and pay for on their way out of town.
***
Dean is in some form of ecstasy, his eyes are glazed and his smile dreamy and Sam is trying not to laugh. He nudges his brother in the ribs, “You’re drooling,” Sam says.
“Look at these babies, Sam.” Dean runs a reverent hand over the crossbows, lifts a selection of silver-tipped arrows to weigh them in his fingers and then feathers fingertips over the assortment of plastic wrapped herbs, bones, and dried skins.
“We can buy a bow. We’ll buy one. Which one do you want?” The words tumble from Sam’s mouth before he stops them. He wants to see Dean happy and this is the most cheerful he’s seen him since the crossroads deal was made.
“Sammy, we’ve got crossbows.” Dean sounds horrified by Sam’s impulsive suggestion, but he picks one of them up longingly and tests it in his arms.
“How much?” Sam asks the supplier.
Leroy names his price and Dean hurriedly puts the bow back down again. The disappointment is etched into his face.
Sam is determined, “Will you take a part exchange?”
The seller thinks about it for a moment and then nods, “I’d have to see your weapon, but you have a reputation, I’d expect it to be well kept.”
“It is,” Sam confirms, and Dean’s mood visibly lightens. Sam continues, “You live here, right? Do you play golf?”
Leroy nods and frowns, obviously wondering where this is going.
“So you can use casino vouchers? How about you take a hundred off for …."
Dean gets with the program with enthusiasm and counts out the remaining tokens in his wallet, “….two hundred and ten in-shop dollars,” he announces.
“Let me see,” the man says, and Dean shows him the stack of printed Casino bills.
“Yeah, okay.” Leroy Rose looks satisfied with the deal.
***
The boardwalk is getting busy as they make their way back to their hotel room and to the Impala parked near to it with all their possessions already neatly stashed away, ready for the next town and the next hunt. The crowd is thick and there seems to be an air of anticipation in the mostly one-way flow of bright, sweaty tourists. Parents pull at their children impatiently and tell them to ‘stay with me.’ Plastic buckets and spades clatter in eager toddlers’ hands, and they scrape Sam’s exposed shins as they are dragged on past. There’s sand in his canvas shoes, rubbing uncomfortably at his ankles, and it makes no sense to him. “Hold up,” Sam says and stops.
“Man! Jacuzzi! Room until noon!” moans Dean taking a look at his watch.
“Just …” Sam leans into his brother as he takes first one shoe off and then the other and tips sand from them, before slipping them back over his feet.
“Dude, how even?”
Sam gives the tiniest shake of his head, and his hair reflects sunlight as it moves in the breeze, “No idea,” he says.
A gull swoops low over their heads and squawks next to Dean’s ear and they both startle, Dean’s hand touches metal and then they relax and give a short chuckle, in perfect time with each other, as they watch the bird soar on air currents, past gaily colored kites over the beach and out to sea.
Dean grips Sam’s hand as they make to move off, “Don’t want to lose you in this crowd,” he babies him, with a twinkle in his eyes. In the end they don’t take a step though,
“Hey, Mister.” There’s a little girl tugging on Dean’s pants and they both look down at her and then scan the mass of humanity around them for signs of a family, but there’s no-one stopping or looking over at their little group. They switch attention back to the little girl. She’s small with shiny red cheeks, dark brown eyes and long dark hair tied in bunches and curling in the sea air. She’s wearing a ‘Barbie’ bikini top and a bright pink frilly skirt, with shiny plastic sandals. “I lost my momma,” she says solemnly, and takes a loud suck of the bright sticky-red lollipop in one hand, which is leaving a thick crimson trail around her mouth. Her other hand clasps a spade in a bucket full of sand. Sam suddenly understands how his shoes got full of the stuff.
The Winchesters turn in tandem to scan the crowd with greater purpose, and she tugs on Dean’s leg again, “Mom said if m’lost I sh’d find a cop but I can’t see none.” She takes another slurp of her hard-candy lollipop, “Mom says issafe to find gay men t’elp.” She takes a large shuddering breath, her eyes fill with tears and she looks beseechingly at them.
“There’s a lifeguard station, over there, they’ll find your mommy,” Dean gives a hopeful smile and points to the far distance of the beach, and Sam just knows that inside Dean’s thinking, aw hell, Jacuzzi.
“Dean!” Sam scolds, and bends down to the girl, who clutches tightly to Dean’s leg, peeping out at Sam from behind the firm thigh, “What’s your name?” he asks gently, with his hazel eyes in puppy-dog mode.
“M’Emily.‘mily Pederson and m’from New Jersey,” she says and it’s obvious her momma has had her practice this, for just such an occasion.
“How old are you Emily?”
“M’six,” she says wriggling slightly and licking a pink tongue to her sweetie.
“Well, I’m Sam and this is my, er, partner Dean, and don’t you worry, we’re gonna find your momma, Emily.”
Dean raises his eyebrows at his brother.
“and m’baby sister,” adds Emily with a nod.
“Yeah, and your baby sister,” says Dean with a resigned sigh and roll of his eyes.
“Where did you see you momma last?” Sam and Dean speak the words together.
She looks between them, “By the ‘tition.”
The brothers look confused and she huffs, “The sandcastle ‘tition. M’gonna win a car.”
Dean splays his hands and grimaces, “Where’s that?”
Emily looks at him as if he’s stupid, “On the beach, silly,”
Sam sniggers and Dean looks daggers at him.
“Well then, I think we should get down there, ‘cos that’s where your momma will be looking for you,” Sam explains.
They make their way to the beach, jostled along by the throng with Emily between them, a little hand clasped in one each of the Winchester’s huge calloused hands. Sam carries her bucket and Dean regards the sticky candy he’s got in his other hand, with disgust.
***
Sam and Dean have extracted the best description they can of Emily’s momma and of her sister and the stroller she’s in, including the little ‘Blues Clues’ puppy that hangs from the stroller’s visor, but the thick mass of people makes it virtually impossible to find the missing mother. Emily is starting to look frightened and upset, and Dean soothes her but soon enough there’s an outburst, “I wan’ my momma, I wanna do the ‘tition,” she wails.
She’s starting to draw attention and it’s uncomfortable. “Do something,” hisses Sam at Dean, “We look like pedophiles,”
“Dean rubs his hands together, a sure sign that he’s making things up as he goes along, “Tell you what, l’il Emily, how ’bout I get you and our Sammy here all paid up for the competition, and we find you the best spot to build a castle. Sam’s an expert so you’re sure to get a prize, and while you’re doing that, I can go to the lifeguard station and ask about your momma. How’s that sound?”
If looks could kill, Dean would be early for his deal. Sam is wearing his most frustrated little brother look and shaking his head, but Emily is placated. Her tears dry and she claps her hands together, “A Barbie princess castle,” she proclaims, excitedly, gazing up at Sam with something like adoration.
“Yeah, ‘cos Sam here just loves Barbie, don’t’ya, Sammy?”
“Barbie Princess Castle,” Sam repeats flatly, still glaring at Dean, who just grins cheekily back at him.
They pay for entry to the sand sculptures, and pass into a cordoned area of the beach. Sam’s breath catches. All around them children and adults kneel, moulding sand and water into an abundance of fantastic shapes. In the center of all the activity are several huge pieces of sand art. There are a pair of giant snails, a cat, a sand family with their picnic, and a life size mermaid which makes Sam shudder. He’s never seen or imagined anything like it before and his eyes shine with child-like enthusiasm, “Wow, De, look!” he exclaims.
“That’s dope,” says Emily.
“Yeah, pretty dope, kid,” Dean confirms, in his best ‘James Dean-cool’ voice.
Dean takes off on his parent-hunt while Sam and Emily take their time wandering between the sculptures. Sam reaches fingers to delicately touch the models and they’re solid and smooth but gritty. They both look from all angles at the detail and embellishments, and Sam is every bit as impressed by them as Emily.
Emily’s excitement peaks when they reach a huge and beautifully embellished sand castle the size of a play-house, with towers and turrets and a long flapping flag at the top. There’s a child-size doorway which Emily steps in and out of, squealing in delight and she convinces Sam to crouch down and poke his head into the interior too. He can’t stop smiling and wishes Dean was there to share the fun.
They finally settle on a smooth patch of sand next to the huge sandcastle, to build their own. The beach is full of bright color. There’s the blue of the sky and the shining yellow of the sun and the sand. The sea shines blue with reflected sky, and is topped with crashing white foam. All around them people wear pastels and primary colors, and there are plastic-bright buckets and beach chairs dotting the scene. Then there’s the purple of his shorts, and Sam smiles at the ridiculousness of them, but he loves them anyway. They’re just perfect for the beach. The sun bakes hot on Sam’s skin, and the breeze blows cool and salt-fresh from the tumbling ocean which scrapes across the shore. There’s the low murmur of chatter around them and the drone of jets passing overhead. It makes him hazy and mellow and calm. He scrapes his hand into the sand and digs with his fingers. The sand fills his fingernails, it trickles over his skin, soft and dry at first, and then, as his fingers deepen, it’s cool and damp and perfect for moulding.
It takes a few attempts to get the sand and water mix just right and Emily crosses her arms and declares Sam to be ‘not very ‘spert at all’ . He agrees and they run across the beach together to collect buckets of water, paddling in the tickling cold water with their toes sinking in the shifting sand.
Sam loses himself in carrying out Emily’s instructions, and in no time they have multiple towers, a courtyard, and an enormous, ever-deepening moat which Emily is intent on making the safest of them all. Looking at the other kid’s castles, she has a point, theirs has a veritable ravine. There’s a piece of driftwood which is ideal for a drawbridge and they place it across the moat after serious r k tecshual discussion about its placement, because Emily’s daddy is apparently a builder.
It feels timeless, but soon enough there’s an ear splitting screech from Emily. The kid drops her bucket and is on her feet, running and stumbling over the sand “Momma!” She’s crying, and tears are spilling over her plump, rosy cheeks as she’s scooped up in the arms of a dishevelled and emotional lady.
Dean follows behind momma, pushing a stroller, which he discreetly places by their side as he backs away to allow the reunion. Sam looks up from his place, kneeling in sand, as his brother’s hair shines gold in the sun and his eyes sparkle. Dean seems to glow with the satisfaction of helping this family find each other, and it’s the most beautiful sight in the world for Sam. “Hey,” he says and smiles up at the man who means everything to him, “You found momma, well done.”
“Yeah,” Dean replies. He wipes his sleeve over his eyes and sniffs. Sam stands up next to him, his hand reaching to Dean’s arm and doesn’t mention it.
Momma finally manages to separate herself from her daughter, and she hugs Dean to within an inch of suffocation before shaking Sam’s hand and thanking him sweetly with tears in her eyes, “You’re such a wonderful, perfect couple,” she tells them, and adds, “You look so happy together.”
“Yeah, we are, happy together, I mean,” Dean looks into Sam’s face as he says it and there’s no suggestion that he’s lying.
Emily has her thumb in her mouth, and her eyelids are drooping. She snuggles in close to her momma, “Wanna go home,” she whispers. “Can I play with Sam n’ Dean next week?”
“Well…” starts Dean. “Actually…” says Sam, but momma cuts them off, “I’m not sure if Sam and Dean live here, honey.” She looks at them for an answer.
Sam replies first, “I enjoyed playing with you Emily. You are the best castle-maker ever but …”
“We’re just visiting,” finishes Dean.
“I thought so, you seemed the type,” nodded momma, “Well Emily, say bye-bye to the nice gentlemen and give them a hug and we’ll go home for dinner and ice-cream.”
Momma thanks them again before the young family leave. Sam and Dean watch them trundle over the beach and away onto the boardwalk. “That was nice,” says Sam.
“Yeah, feels good, doesn’t it?” agrees Dean who stands by Sam and Emily’s castle, toeing at the sand.
“Sorry ‘bout the Jacuzzi,” Sam apologizes.
“Nah, it’s what we do, isn’t it? Help people? We’re good, aren’t we?” Dean looks to Sam for confirmation.
Sam’s brows meet, “Of course, Dean.” Dean is still rubbing his booted foot in the sand and Sam grins wide and dimpled, “Race you to the shore to jump waves.”
“Why would I do that?” Dean asks but there’s a twinkle in his eye.
“Dare you. No, double dare you!” adds Sam.
“There might be merfolk,” scowls Dean.
“’Fraidy-cat. Even Emily went in the water.”
“I am not afraid!” Dean’s kicking off his boots and pulling off his socks and then they’re racing into the shallow water, shocked by the cold rush over their feet and laughing freely. When they run back Dean has seaweed and shells and he’s bitching Sam out for the lack of supernatural safety in his castle. The rest of the world melts away as they revisit a childhood they never had to add charms to the corner of the sandcastle walls and make a channel for salt water to fill the ravine. They finish with sigils over the drawbridge entry. They lay back, side by side, arms slick against each other with brine and sweat. The sun is starting to sink in the sky, and they’re breathless and heady with the unfamiliar effects of laughter.
They’re disturbed by someone clearing their throat and look up to see an elderly lady with a clipboard. “Well, let me see, this must be Emily Pederson and Sam Winchester’s sand sculpture.” She’s looking at the little numbered flag in the sand that they were given to mark their work. “Oh, where are the children?” she asks, peering down at them, but she doesn’t let Sam or Dean answer her, “Never mind, you’ll be able to give them their prizes later. I have to say it’s lovely to see dads giving moms a break by bringing the kids to the beach. Here …,” she slips her hand into a deep bag and brings it back out to drop a toy Batman car into Dean’s palm and a Barbie jeep into Sam’s, “Enjoy the rest of your vacation,” she says as she totters off to the next castle.
“Told you I was Romeo and you were Juliet,” says Dean smugly as he joyfully considers the tiny Batmobile in his hand.
“Hmph,” is Sam’s only reply.
***
They don’t get a motel room that night. Dean has one hand on the steering wheel and another caresses Sam’s leg worrying at the soft shorts fabric, made gritty with sand. He pulls his Baby into a quiet spot, overlooking the deep expanse of the Atlantic Ocean and turns off the engine. He faces his brother, his lover, and his reason for being. “I’m glad we never went on vacation to the beach with dad,” he says, soft and low.
In the sky the sun dips low, sketching bright pastel patterns onto the clouds, and it reflects upon the choppy water in ripples. In the Impala, Sam scrunches his face in confusion at Dean’s words.
Dean reaches gentle hands to pull Sam toward him and tangle his fingers into mussed and salt-stiff hair. He kisses Sam’s lips, dips in with his tongue as his brother moans and opens up for him. The kiss is lingering, deep and needy. Dean tastes perfect and everything is just right and home for Sam. There’s the dried sweat smell of his brother, the faint smell of gun-oil and vinyl, the scrape of Dean’s stubble on his face and the sound of his brother’s sexy-deep growl his ears. Sam’s clothes prove easy for Dean to tease from him, and when they make love, it’s in the cozy difficulty of the old black car where everything always seems better. They slick the seats with their passion, and sand is everywhere it shouldn’t be, but it’s Sam and Dean together, in every sense of the word, and it’s just perfect.
When they’re sated, and Sam lies tangled with Dean, his ear resting over the beat of Dean’s heart he stirs and asks, why? Why did Dean not want to go to the beach with John?
Sam feels Dean’s arms snake around him and hug him close. He’s safe in his brother’s hold. “It was such a perfect day,” murmurs Dean, “I’m glad I spent it with you.”
~end~