Holly, Ivy, Mistletoe [NC17] Sam/Dean
Title: Holly, Ivy, Mistletoe
Author: queenklu
Beta by: tombolguid
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 10.7k
A/n: Written fo lavishsqualor in spn_j2_xmas! I hope you liked it! I snagged mistaken-as-a-couple from your 'likes' pile and kind of ran with it :D
Dean would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t pictured this happening-but to be honest, on the short list of things Dean knows he’s truly gifted at, lying to himself is pretty close to the top.
He still jumps when Sam’s bag hits the table, because he’s hopeful, not clairvoyant.
“What are you doing here?” Sam looks angry and wary, shoulders hunched and his hair longer, almost in his eyes, hissing in a voice that’s bound to draw attention whether he means to or not. Still, it’s just. It’s fucking good to see him, and Dean refuses to answer until he’s cataloged every new thing about his brother with his eyes-as long as he doesn’t answer, Sam can’t leave. But maybe he waits too long, because Sam’s eyes go wide, worried.
“Needed a library.” Dean shrugs, tries not to be defensive about it. “Gotta brush up now I’m down a research monkey.”
Sam’s expression does some interesting flips and turns through an emotional rolodex before he settles on annoyed. “There are plenty of libraries,” he starts and Dean rolls his eyes.
“Good to see you too, asshole.”
Sam huffs hard enough to fluff his stupid bangs, but he finally stops looming, grabs a chair not too close and leans across the distance. Dean kind of wishes he’d pick one; either well out of Dean’s space or near enough to…Dean doesn’t know what. Grab the kid in a headlock and drag him to the Impala and drive and drive and drive.
“Sorry,” Sam says. Doesn’t even look like it costs him something. “I was... How long have you been in town?”
“An hour?” What the hell does that matter? Sam doesn’t even look like he believes him at first, like maybe he expected Dean to answer a week, a month. Then he shakes his head. “Before you start,” Dean cuts him off, “you bothered me.”
“So you weren’t planning on saying hi?”
His tone is so flat Dean can’t tell if he’s disappointed or hopeful-he used to know every in and out of Sam’s head. But that’s years ago now, if it ever really happened. Before Sam started keeping secrets.
“Congrats,” Dean says, changing the subject like a boss, “Palo Alto is boring as hell. Good job on picking the one sink hole of normal, must be paradise for you.”
Sam’s watching him now like he used to watch Thundercats: intense and focused, even as a kid. “So what are you doing here, then?”
“No place in the world safe from hauntings.” Dean shows his hands. “No deaths yet, but there’s a whole block of houses down on Applegate that no one moves into for more than a week. It’s on my way to another gig in Washington, just thought I’d give it a look.”
Sam is quiet for long enough that Dean has to bite down on his urge to fidget. “What’s Dad think it is?”
Even expecting it, Dean has to take a breath. “Nothing.” He can’t leave it at that, much as he’d like to; Sam looks like he’s trying to swallow a sock. “He’s fine, as far as I know. Haven’t seen him since October.”
Sam frowns-good-and Dean shoves on a smile. “So. How’ve you been? No offense, Sammy, but you look like shit. Party too hardy?”
His mouth twists a little, like he doesn’t want to let it go. But he says, “Just wrapping up finals week. Sorry I…yeah. Haven’t slept more than ten hours in the last three days.”
“Plenty of time,” Dean scoffs, teasing, because they’ve done far worse on hunts. He’s pretty sure Sam has looked better than he does right now on less sleep, but he doesn’t want to think too hard about it. But. “Finals, huh?” It doesn’t feel like it’s been a whole semester, and at the same time it feels like it must have been longer than that.
Sam’s nodding. “I think I did okay on all of them besides chemistry.”
“What do you need chemistry for in law school?”
“Pre-recs.” Sam’s smile is wan, which is not a word Dean thought he knew until he saw it on Sam’s face. Maybe there’s something Dean can do, stand guard outside his dorm room so Sam can get a few uninterrupted hours shut-eye, or offer the backseat of the Impala-but no, no, Sam is different, grown up, those aren’t things that would comfort him anymore.
Jesus. Maybe Dean should’ve found a different library.
“Sam!”
Dean twitches like he always does when someone else says Sam’s name-force of habit, he’s not used to strange voices meaning the same Sam. This time it’s from a cute co-ed, and she’s talking to his brother. Score.
“Hey, there you are,” she says, putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I was hoping to catch you before-oh, shit, am I interrupting?”
She’s blond and gorgeous and she cusses with an ease that Dean approves of. “No, Jess, don’t worry about it.” Sam laughs a little, but it’s uncomfortable. “Um, this is. This is-“
“Dean,” he speaks up for himself when Sam apparently can’t or won’t. Dean makes himself smile before his mood skids even further downhill. “Hi.” He loses his grip on the smile when-wow, nothing. Not even a flicker of recognition at his name.
“Hey,” Jess says, grinning as she hip-checks Sam’s shoulder. It’s teasing but not flirty; Dean has no idea what’s going on. “Good job, Sam.”
Sam blinks, startled. “Good job at what?”
“The econ test, what do you think?” She rolls her eyes a little towards Dean, like she’s inviting him in on the joke. “Sorry about him, finals pretty much melted his brain.” Jess ruffles Sam’s hair. For some reason Dean swallows a little wrong, has to cough.
“Oh hey, don’t worry about,” she says suddenly, gesturing between herself and Sam. “We tried dating for, like. Half a week. Seriously.”
“Awesome,” Dean says when nothing else comes to mind. He tries to get a gauge on Sam, see if he has any clue why Jess felt the need to share that little tidbit-maybe blackmail material? He can probably get in one good dig about Sam fucking it up with someone so obviously out of his league-but Sam looks just as baffled.
“Anyway, Sam, I wanted to say again that you’re welcome to come stay at my folks’ with me. I promise they’re fine with it. No one’s going to be on campus over Christmas break, it’ll look like a ghost town.”
“Right, can’t be alone on Christmas,” Dean drawls, ignoring Sam’s glare. “It’s a time to be around friends and family.” He hopes for Jess’s sake that his face isn’t giving anything away-he has no idea what she’d even see there, but it wouldn’t be anything good.
“Yeah, well. Sam is kind of on short supply, family-wise,” Jess says, kindly. Sam sits back, stammering out, “H-hey…” and nothing else. For a split second Dean imagines what it would feel like to punch the Impala; he feels a little sick.
“I’ll think about it,” Sam says after an awkward moment, flickering a smile her way. “Let you know if I change my mind.”
“Okay,” she says, still frowning like she’s worried. “If you won’t come home with me, just promise you’ll be around someone?” Her gaze darts pointedly in Dean’s direction. “And if I don’t see you at Becky’s Christmas bash tonight I’m calling the cops, got it? Bring Dean.”
“Jess-“
“Sounds like a blast.” Dean grins, showing his teeth. Always was a glutton for punishment. “I’ll make sure he’s there, just try to stop me.”
~*~
Jess takes off soon after, and Dean…Dean is tired. So he shoves his books into a pile for the library elves to put away and stands up, checking his pockets even though he knows exactly which one has the keys to the Impala. He looks off over his shoulder, all the neat shelves and thousands of books and everything Sam’s always wanted. At this moment in time his plan is to find a bottle of something alcoholic and drink until he can’t any more.
“Dean, wait,” Sam starts, on his feet and it’s still a shock to see how tall he is. Dean kept thinking he was exaggerating Sam’s last growth spurt in his head, but it’s hard to keep up the lie when Sam’s right in front of him.
The obvious solution is to turn and leave, so Dean does-and he tries not to feel too happy about it when Sam follows at his heels.
“Jess seems nice,” Dean says, just to be an asshole. “How long have you two been friends?”
“Since second day of classes.” At least Sam sounds like he knows he’s walking into a trap, so that’s something.
“Huh. And in all these months you never-“ His brain finally catches up to his mouth, how fucking ridiculous this sounds.
Sam grabs his elbow; Dean yanks it back but his momentum is gone, stuck one step off the sidewalk with his baby brother looming over him. “I never what?” Sam asks, and Dean can’t get a read on him.
“Shit, Sam, I don’t know which is worse but I thought you might’ve-that she might recognize my name, is all. She didn’t even seem to know we’re brothers.” He should have kept his mouth shut; all he can do now is shove his hands in his pockets and give the parking lot a hard stare. “Whatever, doesn’t matter.”
“I don’t-“ Sam huffs a breath, looking skyward. “I don’t use your names, dude. When I talk about you or Dad, which isn’t often-don’t give me that, how the hell would you even get into half our problems without bringing up something supernatural? But when I do, I don’t use your names. I’m not an idiot.”
Well, Dean apparently is, because he doesn’t get it. “Why not?”
Sam looks at him, then pinches the bridge of his nose. “Because. You and Dad can probably be tied to dozens of B&Es and grave desecrations throughout the states, and Nebraska actually has an outstanding warrant for your arrest. Maybe it’s paranoid but it’s just. It’s safer. Okay?”
“Fine.” Goddamn Nebraska. Still, Dean feels something knit a little tighter in his chest. “But I’m going to this party, make sure you aren’t hanging with a bad crowd.”
Sam looks skyward, an actual grin on his face. “You don’t have to worry about me,” he says, like he’s pointing out something true that Dean doesn’t know. It’s bullshit, but Dean can’t tell if Sam understands there’s just no fucking off-switch for the kind of worry he carries around with him with Sam’s name on it.
“Think I should bring pie?”
“You realize,” Sam says, “that if you bring a pie you’ll have to share it with other people.”
“…Good point. Alright, we’ll get a cake for them and pie for me.” Dean flips the keys around a finger, takes two steps toward his baby before looking back at Sam. “You coming or…?”
Sam breathes out through his nose, settling his backpack a little firmer on his shoulders, eyes on the Impala like it’s a cleverly disguised carnivorous plant. For all that, he looks resigned, and after a moment he nods and follows Dean to the car.
Dean doesn’t make a habit of writing Christmas lists-never did, even as a kid-but it still feels like something gift-wrapped, looking over and seeing Sam in the passenger’s seat.
~*~
Sam stays in the car while Dean runs into some organic box store for a pumpkin pie and some sort of peppermint cake that probably tastes like toast but hell, Dean doesn’t have to eat it-the point is, when Dean gets back Sam is out cold, face tucked against the window with a flannel shirt Dean left in the backseat cushioning his head. He doesn’t even wake up when Dean opens the door; as hard as he tries to be quiet, the old girl’s got a squeak in her hinges no amount of tinkering seems to fix.
He looks tired even while he’s sleeping, a little thinner than when Dean drove him to the bus stop in dead silence all those months ago. So sue him, Dean has a pie to start on, Sam could use the nap. And to be honest, Dean isn’t sure where to go from here.
He knows he’ll go to the party…maybe decide Sam’s friends aren’t creepy occultists in their spare time, and then. Then he’ll wrap up the haunting-if there even is a haunting-and he’ll take off. Maybe not see Sam for another four months. Maybe longer. Odds aren’t exactly great that Sam will be willing to take off being normal for the summer, go hunting with his brother for old time’s sake. No, Dean is looking down the barrel of another long stretch of loneliness, waiting for his family to call.
Dean pulls out his third purchase-a red and white fuzzy set of antlers-and carefully balances it on Sam’s head. This helps with the holiday blues, oh, it really does.
Some twenty minutes later Sam snuffles awake when Dean accidentally hums too appreciatively around a forkful of pie. His knees knock against the dash when he sits up too fast, fist clenched in the flannel shirt like he wants to stuff it out of sight; the antlers droop over his eyes and he sneezes.
“Merry Christmas to my favorite moose,” Dean smirks.
“Huh?” Sam shakes his head, mouth a little slack, cheeks sleep-warm. “How long was I out?”
“Half hour or so. Pie?” He pushes it into Sam’s hands without waiting for a reply-can’t eat pie and drive anyway, and Sam could use the calories. “So where’re we headed? Still got a couple hours to kill before the party.”
“Do you have a hotel room yet?” Sam asks, and takes a bite.
Dean fakes a gasp. “Sammy, I don’t know what you’ve heard but I am not that kind of girl.”
“You are exactly that kind of girl,” Sam protests, crumbs tumbling out of his mouth despite the hand he shoves up to catch them.
Dean laughs, more at Sam’s face than anything. “Okay, yeah, maybe I am.”
“Just-maybe keep it in your pants tonight,” Sam says, wincing. “These guys are my friends, I don’t want to deal with anyone…pining. Or whatever,” he splutters, cheeks flushing hot when Dean laughs again. God, Dean can hardly remember the last time he laughed this much.
“Yeah, okay, okay, whatever.” Not that he’s been feeling it much, lately, the urge to go out and pull; no one to show off to, anymore. “So how ‘bout you, Casanova? Anyone going to this party that you’ve got your eye on?”
Sam gives him a look. “No.”
Yeah, okay. Message received: stay out of Sam’s personal life, fine. Dean taps his thumbs on the steering wheel. “Anyway, I figured I’d squat in one of the supposed-haunted houses, see if there’s anything to the rumors. Saves on hotel money, too,” Dean adds like he doesn’t have three different credit cards under fake names, shoots Sam a smile to let him in on the joke.
Sam doesn’t look amused. “Dude, if it’s haunted-“
“No one’s died-“
“Yet,” Sam stresses, bitchface on in full force. “Look.” He tugs at a handful of his hair, lets out a sigh. “I’ve got an extra bed in my room-the roommate I had dropped out a few weeks ago, they haven’t found someone to fill in yet. Why don’t you stay there, at least tonight-“
“Really?” Dean doesn’t know what faulty as fuck wiring in his brain is telling him this is a pity-offer, but there’s a sour taste in his mouth and it isn’t the pie.
“Dean…”
Communication has always been their weak spot. And Sam looks like he knows it, and he’s sorry-puppy-dog eyes locked on Dean, like he’s willing him to understand. Dean doesn’t have a clue, but it helps knowing that Sam’s trying.
“Fine, I’ll stay the night,” he tells the steering wheel. “You need to go back and get yourself all freshened up before we hit the party, you pretty pretty princess you?”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Shut up, no.” He picks up the antlers and looks at them while he doles out directions, keeps looking at them while Dean drives.
“We could throw on some soft rock, Sammy, let you nap on the way,” Dean offers, glancing over between stop signs.
“It’s Sam,” he says, but he closes his eyes and rests his head against the seat.
~*~
A different blond meets them at the door, wrapping Sam in a hug so fast Dean has to bite down on his training before he shoves her off. He’s glad Sam found huggy people. Really. That was never a thing their Dad was big on, and as much as Dean tried to pick up the slack it always made him feel awkward, knowing Dad wouldn’t approve.
“What the hell is this?” she demands the instant she steps back, pushing aside the corners of Sam’s jacket to poke at his chest. “Where’s your ugly Christmas sweater?”
“Somebody’s been hitting the eggnog,” Sam notes, giving her the pieces of a grin. “Uh, Dean didn’t know, I didn’t want him to feel left out-“
“Nice try, asshole,” she says, dragging them both inside. “I have extras! Hi,” she says while Dean’s still reeling, “I’m Becky.”
“Dean,” he says, taking her offered hand and wondering what the hell to do with the look on her face, “Uh, nice house.”
“Thanks. I think this one will look nice on you,” Becky says, pushing a sweater into his arms while simultaneously making off with his jacket and the peppermint cake-she gives a little surprised ooff when his jacket’s heavier than it looks, and it would be with four knives and a flask of holy water. Dean still has two boot knives and six packets of salt in his pocket so he doesn’t feel completely naked, though maybe naked would be a better way to go than this sweater.
It’s violently red and V-necked, covered in an inch-thick fuzz, like someone skinned Elmo and made him into a sweater. On the front is a
buck-toothed reindeer with a 3D bobble ornament for a nose.
“Be lucky it doesn’t light up,” Becky advises him, and turns to wrestle Sam into a light-blue monstrosity with a demonic snowman plastered across the chest.
“I feel really lucky,” Sam deadpans. Dean has to agree.
The rest of the party is already in full swing, pop holiday music and twinkly lights, a Christmas tree the size of the Impala in the corner with color-coordinated ornaments, hundreds of cookies and a punchbowl of eggnog, liquor bottles all in a row. The stockings are hung by the chimney with care, big-ass fire blazing in the hearth, and one dude is trying to roast marshmallows on a fire poker.
It’s every Christmas they never had, like they walked into an ad on TV or a magazine or something, everything Dean always aimed for with his take-out-carton Christmas trees and gifts wrapped with the Sunday funnies.
Christ, no wonder Sam left.
“Hey, you okay?” Sam says, nudging his elbow-Dean barely feels it through the fuzz.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Angry and backstabbed, but what else is new? “We, uh, we’ve got some catching up to do in the booze department.”
He’s a little surprised when Sam sticks to his side at least long enough to make their way to the drinks table, even if he’s immediately grabbed by some guy for a complicated bro-hand-clasp-hug.
“Sammayyy,” the guy crows, increasing Dean’s desire to punch him by a factor of ten. “Jess said you finally found someone to bring, man! That’s so great, that’s…so great.”
“Hey, Zack,” Sam says. “Nice sweater.” His lights up.
Dean knocks back a cup of eggnog, and if he’s wincing at the burn they must’ve mixed this stuff with paint thinner.
“Nice, right?” Zack grins when Dean fights not to splutter like it’s his first time. “Think it’s, like, only 10% ‘nog at this point.” Dean grunts because he’s not a baby, and pours himself another glass to Zack’s cackling delight. “I like this guy, Sam. You should bring him around more often.”
“Well ain’t you easy to please,” Dean says, slapping on an expression that hopefully isn’t full of the ways Dean is skilled at killing things with his bare hands.
“Yeah, I am,” Zack snickers. “But Sam isn’t, so you must be alright.”
Jess appears through the crowd like an angel-appropriate, considering the grotesque knitted hallelujah chorus decorating her spectacular boobs. “Seriously, Sam,” Dean reproaches under his breath, “You had a chance to hit that on the regular and you gave it up?”
Sam flushes, but Dean can’t tell if it’s anger or shame or what. “She’s not an object.”
“So-rry,” Dean backs off, partly because Zack is giving them a weird look.
“Hey,” Zack jokes, elbowing in on the conversation, “could always ask for that Merry Christmas threesome? What’s the worst she can say? Other than ‘You’re a disgusting human being and you suck?’”
“Does she have a hot chick girlfriend?” Dean perks up. “Is that why you struck out with her, Sam, couldn’t handle competition from the L-Word?”
“Why are you like this,” Sam demands, and steals the eggnog right out of his hand.
“Hey boys,” Jess says, finally making her way through the knot of friends who’d caught her on the way over. “Everyone having fun?”
“I am not nearly drunk enough,” Dean admits, pulling out one of his cute faces to see if he can make her laugh.
She does, and Dean drops it before Sam can get on his case about flirting. It’s not his fault that she takes his hand. “Let’s see what we can do about that. Sam, you mind if I steal him for a sec?”
Kinda weird asking his brother for permission. “I’m a grown man,” Dean protests, but Jess is already dragging him away.
Things get a little blurry for a while-he mostly remembers whipped cream vodka shots and vegan gingerbread cookies, and someone telling him the wrapped presents under the tree are just props. It’s not even a real tree; Dean brushes his hand against the plastic branches for a long while before someone else pulls him away.
The people here are nice and friendly and completely boring. The girl who hands him a drink has no idea ghosts exist; the guy with a candy cane dangling from his mouth has never seen the twisted bloody maw of a werewolf. Everyone is happy and naïve and none of them, none of them have Sam’s back. Not in a fight, not when it counts.
Dean feels like he missed the happy-buzz portion of the evening and skipped right into the dismal holiday drunks, cookies a lead weight in his belly as he collapses on a couch, near the outskirts of the party. He wants to leave, but that’s Sam’s magic trick.
“Heyyy.” It’s Jess, tinsel in her hair and a high flush on her cheeks as she reappears. “There’s our guest of honor! Lost you for a sec-you want me to find Sam for you?”
“Nah, I’m just taking a breather,” Dean says, trying to look suave and cool because that’s his default setting-forgetting, momentarily, that Rudolf is leering at everyone from the region of his navel. He scowls down at it. “Dude, so fugly.”
Jess has a nice laugh, sweet and honest; Dean thinks she would probably be the best person here to keep handy if things went supernaturally pear-shaped. She sits sideways on the couch, elf-curled shoes pushed against his knee. “How long have you and Sam known each other?”
Dean chews on his lip, not drunk enough to forget how Sam doesn’t want his friends to know anything about his family, not even the good stuff like how his brother is actually here for him. “Since we were kids,” he finally settles on, feeling bluer than ever as Elvis kicks in on the surround-sound.
“I can tell,” she says, resting her chin on her hand, arm up against the back of the couch. “You just-you guys fit together, you know? It’s like all this time I’ve been watching Sam trying to drive a car with flat tires. And now you’re back, and he’s cruising.”
He can’t help pulling a face. “Oh come on.”
“No, I’m serious. I mean, my metaphor’s for shit, but-Sam just lights up when you’re around.”
“That’s pretty gay,” he says, but he’s got a feeling it’s not going to be enough to hide the way his smile has gone all lopsided and sappy.
“Well,” she says with a significant tip of her head in his direction, and-oh.
Hindsight is a bitch. He should’ve figured it out sooner, because of…course. If he’s not Sam’s brother, they have to look closer than just friends. Shit, Dean thinks he even might’ve put a hand on Sam’s arm at some point tonight, of course they think he’s-that they-
And if they think that, then…maybe that time Dean caught Sam under the bleachers with Richard Kingsley wasn’t a fluke. Maybe Sam dates dudes now. Maybe Sam’s dated a lot of dudes since he left, it’s not like Dean would ever know.
It takes him a second to even realize he’s found Sam in the crowd. Sam looks red-cheeked with alcohol, hair a little mussed, drink in his hand and his eyes on Dean, a look on his face that Dean can’t name. It makes his breath catch anyway.
So maybe he should set Jess straight, but god help him he wants to know- “He doesn’t always look like that?” he asks as Zack says something to snag Sam’s attention.
“Like what?” Jess counters around a grin. “Happy?” Her smile shifts into something sweeter, more honest. “Not like he is with you. I mean, come on, I’ve only seen you together for what, ten minutes? And I know you’ve got something really special together.”
It’s officially gone past the point where telling her the truth would be anything but mortally embarrassing for both of them. Or at least that’s what Dean’s telling himself.
“Hey, you okay?” Jess asks, touching his shoulder.
Dean finishes the drink in his hand and makes himself say the words around the acrid burn in his throat. “I haven’t seen him since he left-we had this big fight.” He wrinkles his nose at how couple-y it sounds; Jesus, no wonder they think…what they think. “I don’t know, it’s like he’d rather have all this than-than me. Fuck.” He drags a hand over his face, half-laughing because he feels sick with how stupid he is. Of course Sam would choose this over Dean, fake Christmas tree and all.
“Sorry,” he says, shifting back from the way he’d hunched over his knees. “Sorry, I don’t mean to dump this on you.”
“Sam’s been subtly dumping this on me for months,” Jess brushes off, smirking. “It’s nice to finally have a face to go with the lovesick whining.” She leans in close before he can do more than roll his eyes. “You should talk to Sam,” she says. “And you should also dance with me, come on.”
She’s stronger than she looks, or Dean is drunker than he thinks, because she has him on his feet between one blink and the next, dragging him into the crowd. Dean tries his best because she’s awesome and deserves the best, but he’s just not feeling the beat right; she doesn’t seem to mind, just laughs and gently puts him where she wants him while All I Want For Christmas rings through the speakers.
He’s too focused on not falling over his own feet to hear Zack calling their names, but when Jess grabs a handful of his eye-searing sweater and spins him around Sam is there, stumbling as Zack gives him a little shove. Sam trips sideways into Dean, nearly falling until Dean gets a bracing arm around his waist, automatically settling him the way he used to when Sam was learning how to ride a rickety old bike at Bobby’s-“Hey, steady there, kiddo.”
Jess laughs and throws an arm over Zack’s shoulders, Awww-ing loud enough to snag Dean’s attention before he can get a read on Sam’s face. “You guys-I’m sorry, you’re just too cute.”
“Gotcha, dudes,” Zack says, and points up.
Mistletoe.
Dean goes to brace himself-the fallout from this going to be blisteringly uncomfortable-but there’s, there’s not enough of a fuck in him to give it away. These are Sam’s people, Sam’s new sparkly life, he’s the one who’s going to have to live with the awkwardness when he tells them.
If he tells them.
Because Dean is looking right into Sam’s eyes and there isn’t any give there, no trace of the mortified embarrassment he’d need to do this right. Sam isn’t going to say a word. He’d rather get kissed by his brother than tarnish his shiny fake future-
Anger and fierce betrayal makes Dean do it-he doesn’t know why he doesn’t just clock Sam on the jaw and leave, except this, kissing him, feels closer to revenge and Sam is here, Dean can grab his face and haul him down those stupid inches between them and kiss the fuck out of him, because Dean has lost too much to have everything else ripped away from him without giving it his all.
Sam’s mouth is warm and gasps open at a touch, tastes like nutmeg and cream and Sam, just Sam. It feels too right, like something Dean has always known how to do. That thought makes him shake, makes his fingers go slack on Sam’s cheeks-and Sam’s grip (when did Sam get a grip?) tightens on him, pulls him close enough to crush the breath right out of his chest as Sam kisses him back, chasing Dean’s tongue back through his parted lips.
It’s so, so wrong. The ornament on Dean’s sweater is digging into his stomach and Dean has made some huge mistakes in his life but nothing like this.
The sound of Zack and Jess’s applause and catcalls cut through him like harpy claws, frigid and shredding. Dean puts his hands on Sam’s shoulders, feeling the scrape of hand-glued snowflakes under his palms as he shoves Sam back, off him.
Sam’s mouth looks red and used, and that’s the only thing Dean lets himself see before he turns and does what Sam does best-he runs.
part two-->
Author: queenklu
Beta by: tombolguid
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 10.7k
A/n: Written fo lavishsqualor in spn_j2_xmas! I hope you liked it! I snagged mistaken-as-a-couple from your 'likes' pile and kind of ran with it :D
Dean would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t pictured this happening-but to be honest, on the short list of things Dean knows he’s truly gifted at, lying to himself is pretty close to the top.
He still jumps when Sam’s bag hits the table, because he’s hopeful, not clairvoyant.
“What are you doing here?” Sam looks angry and wary, shoulders hunched and his hair longer, almost in his eyes, hissing in a voice that’s bound to draw attention whether he means to or not. Still, it’s just. It’s fucking good to see him, and Dean refuses to answer until he’s cataloged every new thing about his brother with his eyes-as long as he doesn’t answer, Sam can’t leave. But maybe he waits too long, because Sam’s eyes go wide, worried.
“Needed a library.” Dean shrugs, tries not to be defensive about it. “Gotta brush up now I’m down a research monkey.”
Sam’s expression does some interesting flips and turns through an emotional rolodex before he settles on annoyed. “There are plenty of libraries,” he starts and Dean rolls his eyes.
“Good to see you too, asshole.”
Sam huffs hard enough to fluff his stupid bangs, but he finally stops looming, grabs a chair not too close and leans across the distance. Dean kind of wishes he’d pick one; either well out of Dean’s space or near enough to…Dean doesn’t know what. Grab the kid in a headlock and drag him to the Impala and drive and drive and drive.
“Sorry,” Sam says. Doesn’t even look like it costs him something. “I was... How long have you been in town?”
“An hour?” What the hell does that matter? Sam doesn’t even look like he believes him at first, like maybe he expected Dean to answer a week, a month. Then he shakes his head. “Before you start,” Dean cuts him off, “you bothered me.”
“So you weren’t planning on saying hi?”
His tone is so flat Dean can’t tell if he’s disappointed or hopeful-he used to know every in and out of Sam’s head. But that’s years ago now, if it ever really happened. Before Sam started keeping secrets.
“Congrats,” Dean says, changing the subject like a boss, “Palo Alto is boring as hell. Good job on picking the one sink hole of normal, must be paradise for you.”
Sam’s watching him now like he used to watch Thundercats: intense and focused, even as a kid. “So what are you doing here, then?”
“No place in the world safe from hauntings.” Dean shows his hands. “No deaths yet, but there’s a whole block of houses down on Applegate that no one moves into for more than a week. It’s on my way to another gig in Washington, just thought I’d give it a look.”
Sam is quiet for long enough that Dean has to bite down on his urge to fidget. “What’s Dad think it is?”
Even expecting it, Dean has to take a breath. “Nothing.” He can’t leave it at that, much as he’d like to; Sam looks like he’s trying to swallow a sock. “He’s fine, as far as I know. Haven’t seen him since October.”
Sam frowns-good-and Dean shoves on a smile. “So. How’ve you been? No offense, Sammy, but you look like shit. Party too hardy?”
His mouth twists a little, like he doesn’t want to let it go. But he says, “Just wrapping up finals week. Sorry I…yeah. Haven’t slept more than ten hours in the last three days.”
“Plenty of time,” Dean scoffs, teasing, because they’ve done far worse on hunts. He’s pretty sure Sam has looked better than he does right now on less sleep, but he doesn’t want to think too hard about it. But. “Finals, huh?” It doesn’t feel like it’s been a whole semester, and at the same time it feels like it must have been longer than that.
Sam’s nodding. “I think I did okay on all of them besides chemistry.”
“What do you need chemistry for in law school?”
“Pre-recs.” Sam’s smile is wan, which is not a word Dean thought he knew until he saw it on Sam’s face. Maybe there’s something Dean can do, stand guard outside his dorm room so Sam can get a few uninterrupted hours shut-eye, or offer the backseat of the Impala-but no, no, Sam is different, grown up, those aren’t things that would comfort him anymore.
Jesus. Maybe Dean should’ve found a different library.
“Sam!”
Dean twitches like he always does when someone else says Sam’s name-force of habit, he’s not used to strange voices meaning the same Sam. This time it’s from a cute co-ed, and she’s talking to his brother. Score.
“Hey, there you are,” she says, putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I was hoping to catch you before-oh, shit, am I interrupting?”
She’s blond and gorgeous and she cusses with an ease that Dean approves of. “No, Jess, don’t worry about it.” Sam laughs a little, but it’s uncomfortable. “Um, this is. This is-“
“Dean,” he speaks up for himself when Sam apparently can’t or won’t. Dean makes himself smile before his mood skids even further downhill. “Hi.” He loses his grip on the smile when-wow, nothing. Not even a flicker of recognition at his name.
“Hey,” Jess says, grinning as she hip-checks Sam’s shoulder. It’s teasing but not flirty; Dean has no idea what’s going on. “Good job, Sam.”
Sam blinks, startled. “Good job at what?”
“The econ test, what do you think?” She rolls her eyes a little towards Dean, like she’s inviting him in on the joke. “Sorry about him, finals pretty much melted his brain.” Jess ruffles Sam’s hair. For some reason Dean swallows a little wrong, has to cough.
“Oh hey, don’t worry about,” she says suddenly, gesturing between herself and Sam. “We tried dating for, like. Half a week. Seriously.”
“Awesome,” Dean says when nothing else comes to mind. He tries to get a gauge on Sam, see if he has any clue why Jess felt the need to share that little tidbit-maybe blackmail material? He can probably get in one good dig about Sam fucking it up with someone so obviously out of his league-but Sam looks just as baffled.
“Anyway, Sam, I wanted to say again that you’re welcome to come stay at my folks’ with me. I promise they’re fine with it. No one’s going to be on campus over Christmas break, it’ll look like a ghost town.”
“Right, can’t be alone on Christmas,” Dean drawls, ignoring Sam’s glare. “It’s a time to be around friends and family.” He hopes for Jess’s sake that his face isn’t giving anything away-he has no idea what she’d even see there, but it wouldn’t be anything good.
“Yeah, well. Sam is kind of on short supply, family-wise,” Jess says, kindly. Sam sits back, stammering out, “H-hey…” and nothing else. For a split second Dean imagines what it would feel like to punch the Impala; he feels a little sick.
“I’ll think about it,” Sam says after an awkward moment, flickering a smile her way. “Let you know if I change my mind.”
“Okay,” she says, still frowning like she’s worried. “If you won’t come home with me, just promise you’ll be around someone?” Her gaze darts pointedly in Dean’s direction. “And if I don’t see you at Becky’s Christmas bash tonight I’m calling the cops, got it? Bring Dean.”
“Jess-“
“Sounds like a blast.” Dean grins, showing his teeth. Always was a glutton for punishment. “I’ll make sure he’s there, just try to stop me.”
~*~
Jess takes off soon after, and Dean…Dean is tired. So he shoves his books into a pile for the library elves to put away and stands up, checking his pockets even though he knows exactly which one has the keys to the Impala. He looks off over his shoulder, all the neat shelves and thousands of books and everything Sam’s always wanted. At this moment in time his plan is to find a bottle of something alcoholic and drink until he can’t any more.
“Dean, wait,” Sam starts, on his feet and it’s still a shock to see how tall he is. Dean kept thinking he was exaggerating Sam’s last growth spurt in his head, but it’s hard to keep up the lie when Sam’s right in front of him.
The obvious solution is to turn and leave, so Dean does-and he tries not to feel too happy about it when Sam follows at his heels.
“Jess seems nice,” Dean says, just to be an asshole. “How long have you two been friends?”
“Since second day of classes.” At least Sam sounds like he knows he’s walking into a trap, so that’s something.
“Huh. And in all these months you never-“ His brain finally catches up to his mouth, how fucking ridiculous this sounds.
Sam grabs his elbow; Dean yanks it back but his momentum is gone, stuck one step off the sidewalk with his baby brother looming over him. “I never what?” Sam asks, and Dean can’t get a read on him.
“Shit, Sam, I don’t know which is worse but I thought you might’ve-that she might recognize my name, is all. She didn’t even seem to know we’re brothers.” He should have kept his mouth shut; all he can do now is shove his hands in his pockets and give the parking lot a hard stare. “Whatever, doesn’t matter.”
“I don’t-“ Sam huffs a breath, looking skyward. “I don’t use your names, dude. When I talk about you or Dad, which isn’t often-don’t give me that, how the hell would you even get into half our problems without bringing up something supernatural? But when I do, I don’t use your names. I’m not an idiot.”
Well, Dean apparently is, because he doesn’t get it. “Why not?”
Sam looks at him, then pinches the bridge of his nose. “Because. You and Dad can probably be tied to dozens of B&Es and grave desecrations throughout the states, and Nebraska actually has an outstanding warrant for your arrest. Maybe it’s paranoid but it’s just. It’s safer. Okay?”
“Fine.” Goddamn Nebraska. Still, Dean feels something knit a little tighter in his chest. “But I’m going to this party, make sure you aren’t hanging with a bad crowd.”
Sam looks skyward, an actual grin on his face. “You don’t have to worry about me,” he says, like he’s pointing out something true that Dean doesn’t know. It’s bullshit, but Dean can’t tell if Sam understands there’s just no fucking off-switch for the kind of worry he carries around with him with Sam’s name on it.
“Think I should bring pie?”
“You realize,” Sam says, “that if you bring a pie you’ll have to share it with other people.”
“…Good point. Alright, we’ll get a cake for them and pie for me.” Dean flips the keys around a finger, takes two steps toward his baby before looking back at Sam. “You coming or…?”
Sam breathes out through his nose, settling his backpack a little firmer on his shoulders, eyes on the Impala like it’s a cleverly disguised carnivorous plant. For all that, he looks resigned, and after a moment he nods and follows Dean to the car.
Dean doesn’t make a habit of writing Christmas lists-never did, even as a kid-but it still feels like something gift-wrapped, looking over and seeing Sam in the passenger’s seat.
~*~
Sam stays in the car while Dean runs into some organic box store for a pumpkin pie and some sort of peppermint cake that probably tastes like toast but hell, Dean doesn’t have to eat it-the point is, when Dean gets back Sam is out cold, face tucked against the window with a flannel shirt Dean left in the backseat cushioning his head. He doesn’t even wake up when Dean opens the door; as hard as he tries to be quiet, the old girl’s got a squeak in her hinges no amount of tinkering seems to fix.
He looks tired even while he’s sleeping, a little thinner than when Dean drove him to the bus stop in dead silence all those months ago. So sue him, Dean has a pie to start on, Sam could use the nap. And to be honest, Dean isn’t sure where to go from here.
He knows he’ll go to the party…maybe decide Sam’s friends aren’t creepy occultists in their spare time, and then. Then he’ll wrap up the haunting-if there even is a haunting-and he’ll take off. Maybe not see Sam for another four months. Maybe longer. Odds aren’t exactly great that Sam will be willing to take off being normal for the summer, go hunting with his brother for old time’s sake. No, Dean is looking down the barrel of another long stretch of loneliness, waiting for his family to call.
Dean pulls out his third purchase-a red and white fuzzy set of antlers-and carefully balances it on Sam’s head. This helps with the holiday blues, oh, it really does.
Some twenty minutes later Sam snuffles awake when Dean accidentally hums too appreciatively around a forkful of pie. His knees knock against the dash when he sits up too fast, fist clenched in the flannel shirt like he wants to stuff it out of sight; the antlers droop over his eyes and he sneezes.
“Merry Christmas to my favorite moose,” Dean smirks.
“Huh?” Sam shakes his head, mouth a little slack, cheeks sleep-warm. “How long was I out?”
“Half hour or so. Pie?” He pushes it into Sam’s hands without waiting for a reply-can’t eat pie and drive anyway, and Sam could use the calories. “So where’re we headed? Still got a couple hours to kill before the party.”
“Do you have a hotel room yet?” Sam asks, and takes a bite.
Dean fakes a gasp. “Sammy, I don’t know what you’ve heard but I am not that kind of girl.”
“You are exactly that kind of girl,” Sam protests, crumbs tumbling out of his mouth despite the hand he shoves up to catch them.
Dean laughs, more at Sam’s face than anything. “Okay, yeah, maybe I am.”
“Just-maybe keep it in your pants tonight,” Sam says, wincing. “These guys are my friends, I don’t want to deal with anyone…pining. Or whatever,” he splutters, cheeks flushing hot when Dean laughs again. God, Dean can hardly remember the last time he laughed this much.
“Yeah, okay, okay, whatever.” Not that he’s been feeling it much, lately, the urge to go out and pull; no one to show off to, anymore. “So how ‘bout you, Casanova? Anyone going to this party that you’ve got your eye on?”
Sam gives him a look. “No.”
Yeah, okay. Message received: stay out of Sam’s personal life, fine. Dean taps his thumbs on the steering wheel. “Anyway, I figured I’d squat in one of the supposed-haunted houses, see if there’s anything to the rumors. Saves on hotel money, too,” Dean adds like he doesn’t have three different credit cards under fake names, shoots Sam a smile to let him in on the joke.
Sam doesn’t look amused. “Dude, if it’s haunted-“
“No one’s died-“
“Yet,” Sam stresses, bitchface on in full force. “Look.” He tugs at a handful of his hair, lets out a sigh. “I’ve got an extra bed in my room-the roommate I had dropped out a few weeks ago, they haven’t found someone to fill in yet. Why don’t you stay there, at least tonight-“
“Really?” Dean doesn’t know what faulty as fuck wiring in his brain is telling him this is a pity-offer, but there’s a sour taste in his mouth and it isn’t the pie.
“Dean…”
Communication has always been their weak spot. And Sam looks like he knows it, and he’s sorry-puppy-dog eyes locked on Dean, like he’s willing him to understand. Dean doesn’t have a clue, but it helps knowing that Sam’s trying.
“Fine, I’ll stay the night,” he tells the steering wheel. “You need to go back and get yourself all freshened up before we hit the party, you pretty pretty princess you?”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Shut up, no.” He picks up the antlers and looks at them while he doles out directions, keeps looking at them while Dean drives.
“We could throw on some soft rock, Sammy, let you nap on the way,” Dean offers, glancing over between stop signs.
“It’s Sam,” he says, but he closes his eyes and rests his head against the seat.
~*~
A different blond meets them at the door, wrapping Sam in a hug so fast Dean has to bite down on his training before he shoves her off. He’s glad Sam found huggy people. Really. That was never a thing their Dad was big on, and as much as Dean tried to pick up the slack it always made him feel awkward, knowing Dad wouldn’t approve.
“What the hell is this?” she demands the instant she steps back, pushing aside the corners of Sam’s jacket to poke at his chest. “Where’s your ugly Christmas sweater?”
“Somebody’s been hitting the eggnog,” Sam notes, giving her the pieces of a grin. “Uh, Dean didn’t know, I didn’t want him to feel left out-“
“Nice try, asshole,” she says, dragging them both inside. “I have extras! Hi,” she says while Dean’s still reeling, “I’m Becky.”
“Dean,” he says, taking her offered hand and wondering what the hell to do with the look on her face, “Uh, nice house.”
“Thanks. I think this one will look nice on you,” Becky says, pushing a sweater into his arms while simultaneously making off with his jacket and the peppermint cake-she gives a little surprised ooff when his jacket’s heavier than it looks, and it would be with four knives and a flask of holy water. Dean still has two boot knives and six packets of salt in his pocket so he doesn’t feel completely naked, though maybe naked would be a better way to go than this sweater.
It’s violently red and V-necked, covered in an inch-thick fuzz, like someone skinned Elmo and made him into a sweater. On the front is a
buck-toothed reindeer with a 3D bobble ornament for a nose.
“Be lucky it doesn’t light up,” Becky advises him, and turns to wrestle Sam into a light-blue monstrosity with a demonic snowman plastered across the chest.
“I feel really lucky,” Sam deadpans. Dean has to agree.
The rest of the party is already in full swing, pop holiday music and twinkly lights, a Christmas tree the size of the Impala in the corner with color-coordinated ornaments, hundreds of cookies and a punchbowl of eggnog, liquor bottles all in a row. The stockings are hung by the chimney with care, big-ass fire blazing in the hearth, and one dude is trying to roast marshmallows on a fire poker.
It’s every Christmas they never had, like they walked into an ad on TV or a magazine or something, everything Dean always aimed for with his take-out-carton Christmas trees and gifts wrapped with the Sunday funnies.
Christ, no wonder Sam left.
“Hey, you okay?” Sam says, nudging his elbow-Dean barely feels it through the fuzz.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Angry and backstabbed, but what else is new? “We, uh, we’ve got some catching up to do in the booze department.”
He’s a little surprised when Sam sticks to his side at least long enough to make their way to the drinks table, even if he’s immediately grabbed by some guy for a complicated bro-hand-clasp-hug.
“Sammayyy,” the guy crows, increasing Dean’s desire to punch him by a factor of ten. “Jess said you finally found someone to bring, man! That’s so great, that’s…so great.”
“Hey, Zack,” Sam says. “Nice sweater.” His lights up.
Dean knocks back a cup of eggnog, and if he’s wincing at the burn they must’ve mixed this stuff with paint thinner.
“Nice, right?” Zack grins when Dean fights not to splutter like it’s his first time. “Think it’s, like, only 10% ‘nog at this point.” Dean grunts because he’s not a baby, and pours himself another glass to Zack’s cackling delight. “I like this guy, Sam. You should bring him around more often.”
“Well ain’t you easy to please,” Dean says, slapping on an expression that hopefully isn’t full of the ways Dean is skilled at killing things with his bare hands.
“Yeah, I am,” Zack snickers. “But Sam isn’t, so you must be alright.”
Jess appears through the crowd like an angel-appropriate, considering the grotesque knitted hallelujah chorus decorating her spectacular boobs. “Seriously, Sam,” Dean reproaches under his breath, “You had a chance to hit that on the regular and you gave it up?”
Sam flushes, but Dean can’t tell if it’s anger or shame or what. “She’s not an object.”
“So-rry,” Dean backs off, partly because Zack is giving them a weird look.
“Hey,” Zack jokes, elbowing in on the conversation, “could always ask for that Merry Christmas threesome? What’s the worst she can say? Other than ‘You’re a disgusting human being and you suck?’”
“Does she have a hot chick girlfriend?” Dean perks up. “Is that why you struck out with her, Sam, couldn’t handle competition from the L-Word?”
“Why are you like this,” Sam demands, and steals the eggnog right out of his hand.
“Hey boys,” Jess says, finally making her way through the knot of friends who’d caught her on the way over. “Everyone having fun?”
“I am not nearly drunk enough,” Dean admits, pulling out one of his cute faces to see if he can make her laugh.
She does, and Dean drops it before Sam can get on his case about flirting. It’s not his fault that she takes his hand. “Let’s see what we can do about that. Sam, you mind if I steal him for a sec?”
Kinda weird asking his brother for permission. “I’m a grown man,” Dean protests, but Jess is already dragging him away.
Things get a little blurry for a while-he mostly remembers whipped cream vodka shots and vegan gingerbread cookies, and someone telling him the wrapped presents under the tree are just props. It’s not even a real tree; Dean brushes his hand against the plastic branches for a long while before someone else pulls him away.
The people here are nice and friendly and completely boring. The girl who hands him a drink has no idea ghosts exist; the guy with a candy cane dangling from his mouth has never seen the twisted bloody maw of a werewolf. Everyone is happy and naïve and none of them, none of them have Sam’s back. Not in a fight, not when it counts.
Dean feels like he missed the happy-buzz portion of the evening and skipped right into the dismal holiday drunks, cookies a lead weight in his belly as he collapses on a couch, near the outskirts of the party. He wants to leave, but that’s Sam’s magic trick.
“Heyyy.” It’s Jess, tinsel in her hair and a high flush on her cheeks as she reappears. “There’s our guest of honor! Lost you for a sec-you want me to find Sam for you?”
“Nah, I’m just taking a breather,” Dean says, trying to look suave and cool because that’s his default setting-forgetting, momentarily, that Rudolf is leering at everyone from the region of his navel. He scowls down at it. “Dude, so fugly.”
Jess has a nice laugh, sweet and honest; Dean thinks she would probably be the best person here to keep handy if things went supernaturally pear-shaped. She sits sideways on the couch, elf-curled shoes pushed against his knee. “How long have you and Sam known each other?”
Dean chews on his lip, not drunk enough to forget how Sam doesn’t want his friends to know anything about his family, not even the good stuff like how his brother is actually here for him. “Since we were kids,” he finally settles on, feeling bluer than ever as Elvis kicks in on the surround-sound.
“I can tell,” she says, resting her chin on her hand, arm up against the back of the couch. “You just-you guys fit together, you know? It’s like all this time I’ve been watching Sam trying to drive a car with flat tires. And now you’re back, and he’s cruising.”
He can’t help pulling a face. “Oh come on.”
“No, I’m serious. I mean, my metaphor’s for shit, but-Sam just lights up when you’re around.”
“That’s pretty gay,” he says, but he’s got a feeling it’s not going to be enough to hide the way his smile has gone all lopsided and sappy.
“Well,” she says with a significant tip of her head in his direction, and-oh.
Hindsight is a bitch. He should’ve figured it out sooner, because of…course. If he’s not Sam’s brother, they have to look closer than just friends. Shit, Dean thinks he even might’ve put a hand on Sam’s arm at some point tonight, of course they think he’s-that they-
And if they think that, then…maybe that time Dean caught Sam under the bleachers with Richard Kingsley wasn’t a fluke. Maybe Sam dates dudes now. Maybe Sam’s dated a lot of dudes since he left, it’s not like Dean would ever know.
It takes him a second to even realize he’s found Sam in the crowd. Sam looks red-cheeked with alcohol, hair a little mussed, drink in his hand and his eyes on Dean, a look on his face that Dean can’t name. It makes his breath catch anyway.
So maybe he should set Jess straight, but god help him he wants to know- “He doesn’t always look like that?” he asks as Zack says something to snag Sam’s attention.
“Like what?” Jess counters around a grin. “Happy?” Her smile shifts into something sweeter, more honest. “Not like he is with you. I mean, come on, I’ve only seen you together for what, ten minutes? And I know you’ve got something really special together.”
It’s officially gone past the point where telling her the truth would be anything but mortally embarrassing for both of them. Or at least that’s what Dean’s telling himself.
“Hey, you okay?” Jess asks, touching his shoulder.
Dean finishes the drink in his hand and makes himself say the words around the acrid burn in his throat. “I haven’t seen him since he left-we had this big fight.” He wrinkles his nose at how couple-y it sounds; Jesus, no wonder they think…what they think. “I don’t know, it’s like he’d rather have all this than-than me. Fuck.” He drags a hand over his face, half-laughing because he feels sick with how stupid he is. Of course Sam would choose this over Dean, fake Christmas tree and all.
“Sorry,” he says, shifting back from the way he’d hunched over his knees. “Sorry, I don’t mean to dump this on you.”
“Sam’s been subtly dumping this on me for months,” Jess brushes off, smirking. “It’s nice to finally have a face to go with the lovesick whining.” She leans in close before he can do more than roll his eyes. “You should talk to Sam,” she says. “And you should also dance with me, come on.”
She’s stronger than she looks, or Dean is drunker than he thinks, because she has him on his feet between one blink and the next, dragging him into the crowd. Dean tries his best because she’s awesome and deserves the best, but he’s just not feeling the beat right; she doesn’t seem to mind, just laughs and gently puts him where she wants him while All I Want For Christmas rings through the speakers.
He’s too focused on not falling over his own feet to hear Zack calling their names, but when Jess grabs a handful of his eye-searing sweater and spins him around Sam is there, stumbling as Zack gives him a little shove. Sam trips sideways into Dean, nearly falling until Dean gets a bracing arm around his waist, automatically settling him the way he used to when Sam was learning how to ride a rickety old bike at Bobby’s-“Hey, steady there, kiddo.”
Jess laughs and throws an arm over Zack’s shoulders, Awww-ing loud enough to snag Dean’s attention before he can get a read on Sam’s face. “You guys-I’m sorry, you’re just too cute.”
“Gotcha, dudes,” Zack says, and points up.
Mistletoe.
Dean goes to brace himself-the fallout from this going to be blisteringly uncomfortable-but there’s, there’s not enough of a fuck in him to give it away. These are Sam’s people, Sam’s new sparkly life, he’s the one who’s going to have to live with the awkwardness when he tells them.
If he tells them.
Because Dean is looking right into Sam’s eyes and there isn’t any give there, no trace of the mortified embarrassment he’d need to do this right. Sam isn’t going to say a word. He’d rather get kissed by his brother than tarnish his shiny fake future-
Anger and fierce betrayal makes Dean do it-he doesn’t know why he doesn’t just clock Sam on the jaw and leave, except this, kissing him, feels closer to revenge and Sam is here, Dean can grab his face and haul him down those stupid inches between them and kiss the fuck out of him, because Dean has lost too much to have everything else ripped away from him without giving it his all.
Sam’s mouth is warm and gasps open at a touch, tastes like nutmeg and cream and Sam, just Sam. It feels too right, like something Dean has always known how to do. That thought makes him shake, makes his fingers go slack on Sam’s cheeks-and Sam’s grip (when did Sam get a grip?) tightens on him, pulls him close enough to crush the breath right out of his chest as Sam kisses him back, chasing Dean’s tongue back through his parted lips.
It’s so, so wrong. The ornament on Dean’s sweater is digging into his stomach and Dean has made some huge mistakes in his life but nothing like this.
The sound of Zack and Jess’s applause and catcalls cut through him like harpy claws, frigid and shredding. Dean puts his hands on Sam’s shoulders, feeling the scrape of hand-glued snowflakes under his palms as he shoves Sam back, off him.
Sam’s mouth looks red and used, and that’s the only thing Dean lets himself see before he turns and does what Sam does best-he runs.
part two-->