A Life Most Ordinary, Epilogue

[sonofabiscuit77]

EPILOGUE

If you should ever leave me, though life would still go on, believe me
The world could show nothing to me; so what good would living do me?
God Only Knows - Beach Boys
Back to Chapter Six

May 2023, thirteen years later...

Sam watched Dean take a swig from his water bottle as their line edged slowly towards passport control. Dean had been bitching almost incessantly since they’d boarded the plane in Hawaii, and now that they’d finally landed at LAX, he was still scowling, eyes narrowed and mouth scrunched up into an unhappy line.

Sam fished his cell phone out of his pocket and switched it on. One new message: Hey, hope flight was ok. See you at hotel at 8. X.

He smiled to himself, and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

“What?” Dean grunted, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Text from Simon. They’re gonna meet us at the hotel.”

“Oh, right,” Dean responded with a nod, his expression getting lighter, almost mollified, at the news.

“You feeling better now?”

“No!” And the pout was back.

Sam sighed manfully. God, Dean could be such a freaking drama queen when things didn’t go his way. “You should’ve taken those pills, like I told you.”

“Yeah, and you should’ve blown me in the bathroom like I told you. That would’ve taken my mind off of it.”

“No, I shouldn’t, Dean, because that would’ve gotten us arrested.”

“Whatever.”

“You know, those freaking pills were not cheap, man, and if you’d taken them, you’d’ve just slept the entire way, and wouldn’t be acting like a total bitch now -“

“I’m not sleeping for an entire flight! What if it’d gone down? I’d’ve been the first to die - all drugged up and useless!”

This time Sam did roll his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief and letting out a long, hissed breath for good measure. The really tragic thing was that Dean was completely serious.

“You know I would never have let your fine ass die,” he said with a smile that was supposed to be conciliatory, but Dean wasn’t about to be cajoled this time and just glared back at him.

Dean’s freaky issues with flying were one of the few things that, when pressed, Sam would admit to wanting to change about his brother. He got that everybody was afraid of something, but it was particularly annoying that Dean’s phobia had always stopped them from ever taking any decent vacations. They’d only gone on this one because the boys had booked it and arranged it and presented it to them as a fait accompli - a gift for his fortieth birthday - and one that had really moved him. Evidently someone had been listening every time he’d waxed lyrical about the wonders of Hawaii.

They shuffled forward in line. Jesus, this place sucked: the too-bright, too-harsh lights, their unhealthy looking, red-faced fellow travelers, all those people who evidently had never heard of sunscreen. He glanced down at his own tanned forearms, feeling a surge of smugness, he’d always tanned quickly, turning a deep bronzed color all over - a change that Dean had seemed to find really fucking appealing, judging by how little he’d been able to keep his hands to himself - not that Sam was complaining. He was going to miss how open they’d been able to be with each other during the vacation; being such a long way from home really did have its advantages: wandering around hand in hand with Dean (though that had taken serious persuasion and a lot of blowjobs), feeding each other bits of food from their plates at restaurants, (though, that was more Dean stealing bits of food from Sam’s plate than a romantic staring into each other’s eyes and using the same ice cream spoon type of deal), even making out in public (when Dean was too drunk or too horny to get prickly and self-conscious about PDA’s), not to mention all the time they’d spent in their suite, giving the enormous bed a really good workout.

God, he was going to miss Hawaii. Still, they were not going home straight away. They’d arranged to spend two nights in LA, enough time to see the boys and collect the Impala from the garage in town where Jonah had stashed it before the drive back home. Dean had to be back at work in three days. This was the first time he’d been able to take any time off since his promotion to Second Detective eight months ago, and Sam’d signed up to teach classes every day throughout the summer so this would be it for him too, their last days of freedom.

Dean let out an impressed whistle when they finally fumbled the door to their hotel room open. Jonah had really gone all out when he’d picked this room: in fact it wasn’t even a room, it was a goddamn suite, with a hot-tub and enormous floor-length windows with spectacular views, and wait a second - one king-size bed. Just one. Huh.

Sam wheeled the suitcase inside and propped it up beside the bed. He turned to watch his brother; Dean was engaged in his usual hotel room routine of opening cupboards, pulling out drawers and generally poking around. He dragged his eyes away from Dean and sank to the edge of the bed, and Jesus, that was one seriously comfortable bed.

So, was this deliberate? Their hotel suite in Hawaii had also only had one bed, and they’d just written that off as a mistake - one they’d most definitely made the most of - but still, a mistake. Had the same mistake really happened again? Or was this something more intentional? Was Jonah trying to tell them something? If he was, he was being a lot more subtle about it than Sam would ever have given him credit for.

“Hey, one bed again,” Dean commented, inspection over. “Well, that’s convenient.” He quirked an eyebrow at Sam and smirked, evidently not at all concerned by the ramifications or possible cryptic message it implied.

But, seriously, could there be any chance the boys might’ve figured them out?

When they'd first moved out West, there hadn’t been a “them” to figure out, the two of them having decided to go back to just being brothers again. And, hell, it wasn’t like Sam hadn’t been used to that state of affairs; he’d been Dean’s brother way longer than he’d ever been his lover. He’d pined for Dean for years; in some ways, it had been surprisingly easy to slot back into that old familiar pattern, though, in other ways, it had royally sucked.

Being in a new town and a new state had helped. They’d been too busy adjusting to their new life - new jobs, new schools, new neighbors - to really think about anything else. And then, after they’d gotten set up, there were new people to meet and possibly date, and so they’d done that too. Unsurprisingly, Dean had been pretty successful at it, having three relationships - two women and one guy (and hadn’t that been a totally fucking kick in the pants) - which could definitely be called serious, or at least, serious on one side. To Sam’s relief, Dean had ended every relationship after less than a year, confessing to Sam with a wry twist of his mouth that it wasn’t fair, that he wasn’t in love with them. The question had been on the tip of Sam's tongue every time: Are you still in love with me? Do you still want me as much as I want you? But he hadn’t said anything, too terrified of his brother’s answer, and not sure if a yes or a no would’ve been worse.

He’d tried himself - dated a few guys for a couple of weeks here and there - but he was rusty, his last - his only - experience of dating had been David, and that had put him off for years. So he’d fallen back into his old ways of long nights out at gay bars, multiple hookups and a couple of regular fuck-buddies, but he’d even given that up after his thirty-fifth birthday. The scene was getting old and his heart wasn’t in it anymore.

So, for the last five years, neither of them had bothered with other people. They were entwined so irrevocably, living in the same house, raising the same kids, depending on each other for moral support, companionship, brotherly affection, everything they’d always been to each other, plus that knowledge, secret and hidden, of everything else: how it had been between them, how it could be, if they allowed it. Nothing or no one else could ever come close.

They’d slipped up on a few occasions, unable to stop themselves, nights when they’d gotten too drunk or too maudlin or too damn frustrated, nights when the kids were off at summer camp or at sleepovers, nights when they’d both gone out on “dates” and ended up at the same bar, screwing around frantically in the men’s room, busting buttons and zips in their desire to get at each other, checking into a motel for a quickie on the way home, slamming each other up against walls, bedsprings quaking and headboards rattling as they drove each other crazy in their frustrated lust. In a mawkish and very gay way, it had reminded him of Brokeback Mountain - him and Dean, an incestuous version of Jack and Ennis with their forbidden love, forced to snatch time together whenever they could - though of course, he and Dean had had to live alongside each other every single day all the while, playing their roles of devoted brothers and responsible parents.

But that had all changed two years ago, after Simon had left for college.

He could remember the drive back from Stanford, the two of them jittery and on edge, closing the front door and gazing at each other for what felt like ages. Dean had licked his lips and said shakily: “Just you and me now, man.”

“Yeah,” he’d replied, breath caught in his chest.

“About freaking time.”

And then Dean had been on him, slamming him up against the wall, mouths and bodies melting together once more.

Could Jonah and Simon know about them now? Apart from the bed coincidence - double coincidence - neither of the boys had ever shown any indication that they might suspect, neither of them had ever said anything, and both of them had always sucked at keeping secrets.

No, there was no way. They’d always been too careful, keeping to separate bedrooms; even now when it was just the two of them, with Dean’s shifts and late hours, they frequently ended up sleeping separately in their own rooms. And he and Dean had always been affectionate with each other, hugs and backslaps, the innocent and open brotherly affection that both Jonah and Simon copied, that kinda behavior would never send any warning signs.

No, he was doing what he always did - what Dean always accused him of - reading way too much into it.

“Sam?” Dean’s voice jerked him out of his reverie, and he turned to see his brother standing by the hot-tub and smiling broadly. “How much time we got until they get here? You reckon it’s enough for a long, hot soak?”

From a distance, Dean looked exactly the same as he had twenty years ago: the grey hair and fine lines not that obvious from this distance, his body just as slim and lean as when he was eighteen, probably slimmer and leaner now that he’d given up playing football and gotten the two of them hooked on distance running. Even close up, despite looking every one of his forty-four years, he was still attractive, still Dean, handsome, charismatic and charming enough to make people look twice and then keep looking.

He grinned, long and slow, “I think we got plenty of time.”

Simon and Jonah were waiting for them in the hotel bar when they finally made it downstairs, Jonah draped across one of the bar stools in an elegant sprawl, his hair neatly disheveled, wearing the sort of outrageous, ragtag ensemble that Sam knew had to be crazily expensive and highly exclusive, but that on anyone else - anyone without Jonah’s looks or height or innate sense of style - would look completely ridiculous. Jonah, of course, got away with it, in the same way he’d gotten away with gelling his hair, tucking in his shirts and loudly proclaiming his love for Lady Gaga when he was nine years old. Next to his brother, Simon looked like a typical college student, dressed in jeans and hoodie and sneakers, his messy dark hair cut into long bangs and thick rimmed glasses obscuring his big hazel eyes.

Simon had been a parent’s dream growing up; he’d gotten good grades, kept himself out of trouble, and been quiet and self-sufficient in a way that had reminded Sam of himself at that age. He’d graduated high school a year early and top of his class, with a scholarship to Stanford. Sam was not embarrassed to admit that he’d wept like a thirteen-year-old girl on the day of Simon’s graduation, to both Dean and Jonah’s immense amusement. But he hadn’t cared; seeing his little boy accomplishing what he’d always wanted to do himself, never letting his disability hold him back from anything, was one of the happiest moments of his life, and anyway, Dean had been totally tearing up during the ceremony too.

Jonah, by contrast, had not been easy, going through a metamorphosis when he hit twelve and turning into an intense, angry and very emotional teenager, with mood swings that veered from passionate fights where he would loudly declare that he hated them both, that it was Dean's fault his life sucked, Dean's fault he had no mom, Dean's fault everyone thought he was a freak, to equally passionate reconciliation sessions where he would sob and cling despairingly to Dean, fingers locked tightly in Dean’s shirt, muffled declarations of, “I’m sorry, Dad, I love you, Dad, sorry, don’t hate me, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it…” and all would be forgiven, until the next time. He’d tried to run off to LA “to pursue his dreams” on three occasions and had been kicked out of two different schools. The second time he’d been caught selling marijuana to his fellow students and had only avoided criminal charges due to Dean’s position on the detective squad.

Still, that was all in the past now, and Jonah had been almost an ideal son since he’d turned sixteen, when he’d been spotted by a model agency scout in a restaurant while the four of them were having dinner. They’d been wary at first about allowing their son to get involved in that kind of business, but Jonah was adamant and so in the end they’d given in and agreed to indulge his burning need for fame and recognition.

It had paid off; the kid was earning more money than he knew what to do with now, his face plastered over enormous 40 foot billboards, or in the windows of fancy-ass department stores as the face of Armani’s new men’s fragrance. Sam was getting accustomed to seeing their little boy’s face pouting down at him from everywhere he looked with that disquieting smoldering stare and post-sex bed-head that was really not something a parent was comfortable seeing on his kid’s face. Knowing that the whole freaking world was seeing it along with him definitely didn’t help, and he knew that Dean, while claiming to be incredibly proud of his son’s success and good looks - all in the genes, Sammy - was even less comfortable with it.

The four of them caught up over dinner, fingers flying in between mouthfuls of food, Sam and Dean talking about their vacation, Jonah about his latest shoot, the next one in New York for some new brand of Hugo Boss underwear.

Underwear modeling? Dean asked, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Jonah shrugged nonchalantly, They’re paying me a lot of money, and I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, Dad. If you’ve got it, you should show it. That’s what I think.

Dean shook his head in disbelief, but was admirably quiet on the matter. A few years ago, Dean would’ve said something, voiced his disapproval out loud, but he’d learned to be more diplomatic since then, to let the boys make their own mistakes. And besides, with Jonah, any kind of argument or disapproval was a waste of time - unless you wanted him to do the exact opposite. Jonah always did exactly what he wanted.

Simon started talking about school, about his girlfriend Julie, how they’d broken up a couple of months earlier, but apparently, she wanted to get back together. I like her, but I don’t know if she’s the right one, he said with a frown.

Jonah smirked, No such thing as the right one, just the next one.

Simon shook his head, that indulgent look in his eyes that reminded Sam so much of himself. Shut up, you’re such a man-whore.

Better than being a virgin.

You know I'm not a virgin.

Okay, that’s enough, Dean interrupted. Now, who wants dessert?

They made plans to meet up the following day, exchanging hugs and backslaps in the hotel lobby as they said goodnight. Simon would not be coming back home with him and Dean, but staying with Jonah for the rest of the summer, working as his “assistant”, though as Jonah already had an assistant, Sam suspected it would be more of a slave/companion sort of deal, which happily, was more or less the role Simon had played for his brother most of his life.

Dean strolled off to the reception desk to enquire about the complimentary breakfast, while Sam watched the boys through the lobby windows. They were standing on the sidewalk, waiting for a cab, one of Jonah’s arms slung tight and protective around Simon’s shoulders, the other stretched out to flag down a taxi. He watched as the taxi drew up, Jonah opened the door and ushered Simon inside, before sliding in himself. Jonah had always relished his big brother role: translator, protector, hero and tormentor, he got to play all the parts, and Simon had always indulged him in it.

He swallowed back the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and turned to see Dean strolling towards him with a satisfied grin on his face.

“Sammy, breakfast is gonna be awesome. They have pancakes, dude, pancakes!"

Upstairs, in their room, Sam flicked through their endless array of cable and satellite channels. Dean was in the bathroom, vigorously brushing his teeth and gargling to the tune of what sounded like Paint It Black. He snapped off the light and stalked back into the room, completely naked and humming happily to himself.

"You're still thinking about the pancakes, aren't you?" Sam commented as Dean slid into bed beside him.

"Dude, c'mon. We never have pancakes. Why don't we ever have pancakes?"

"Because I love you," Sam replied patiently.

"Meh, whatever." Dean waved a dismissive hand. "I'm having them tomorrow, and you're not stopping me."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Dean grinned widely. "Well, okay then."

They fell into a companionable silence, the TV still buzzing in the background. Sam thought about reading his book, the documentary about endangered alligators Dean was watching was really not doing it for him. He cast a quick glance at his brother from the corner of his eye; Dean was staring at the TV, his expression slightly glazed, his bottom lip caught between his teeth - his brooding face.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

Dean blinked and frowned. "Sam -"

"I know when something's bothering you. What is it?"

Dean hesitated, then he sighed, obviously deciding to give in and spill already. “Don’t you think it’s kinda strange that the boys booked us two different rooms - both with king-size beds?”

Sam froze, momentarily blindsided by the question. “I, uh, yeah. I’ve been wondering that too.”

“You think they know?”

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “Maybe. I mean, they're our boys, they’re not stupid.”

Dean nodded, exhaling heavily; he rolled into the sheets, expression going flat and defeated. “That’s what I figured.”

They were silent for a long time, listening to the low murmur of the TV in the background, each other’s breathing steady and unrelenting in the silent room. Sam tried to think, tried to get his brain to dredge up scenarios, arguments for and against, reasons why Jonah and Simon might have guessed their secret, all those times they could’ve slipped up, and what they were going to do about it if the boys really did know.

He couldn’t come up with anything.

Eventually, he sighed out loud, breaking the silence. Dean immediately jerked his head his way, eyes going wide.

“I think,” he said hesitantly, “I mean, let’s say they know: neither of them has said anything to us, so, I guess that means they don’t care, that they’re cool with it?”

Dean licked his lips, shook his head, expression going rueful and flat, “Wishful thinking.”

“Yeah, okay, but, Dean, c’mon, what’re you gonna do? What’re we gonna do? Say they know: you want me to move out? You want us to - I don’t know - stop seeing each other? Go back to just being brothers again, again? You want that?”

“God, no.”

“Well, then.”

Dean huffed out a bitter, choked sort of laugh. “Jesus, why does it have to be so fucking difficult?”

“That’s what happens when you fall in love with your brother,” Sam answered quietly. He rolled onto his side so he was the one looking down at Dean, head propped up on his elbow. He reached to trace a line across Dean’s eyebrows with the tip of his finger, smoothing over the lines at the corners of his eyes, the dry skin; Dean stared up at him, eyes wide and expectant.

“Look, if they really did book those king-size rooms for us on purpose then doesn’t that mean that they’re cool with it? C’mon, man, that room in Hawaii was like a freaking honeymoon suite - and this one - take a look around - it doesn’t scream platonic brotherly love, does it?”

Dean snorted, and Sam smiled reassuringly. “Exactly. Look, let’s not freak out about this, if they know, they know - there’s nothing we can do about it, and if they don’t - then we stay just like we are. At least now, they’re both adults, no one can take them away from us.”

Dean bit his lip and nodded, eyes locked on Sam’s.

“And, honestly, man, if they haven’t figured it out before now, then they’re not as smart as I thought they were. Look at us: we’re always together, we’ve barely ever dated anyone else, not for years anyway - everyone in town already thinks we’re lying about the brother thing. We’ve been hiding in plain sight for years.”

He trailed off, the words hanging in the air around them. He reached for the remote, thumbed the TV off, and stretched to snap off the light switch, the room immediately getting dark, the faint glow from the outside streetlights barely penetrating the thick curtains. He turned onto his side, gaze raking over the familiar shape of his brother beside him, the back of his neck, curve of his shoulder, his long smooth back. He shifted closer and tossed one arm around Dean’s chest, one leg over his thigh, pulling him back into his own body until they were touching from head to toe, skin to skin contact, Dean unresisting and compliant as he pulled him in. He pressed a kiss against Dean’s neck, felt him shiver at the touch, the sensation rippling up and down his own body. His erection was digging into Dean’s thighs, riding the crack of his ass, and he felt Dean gasp as he pulled him closer, hand reaching and finding Dean’s own hard cock.

“You want me?” he whispered.

Dean breathed, “Yeah.”

He rolled them over, until he was the one on top, their faces obscured by shadow, planes and lines grey in the dark. They were both already naked so it was easy for him to wrap a hand around both their erections, Dean’s cock as familiar as his own in his hand. He lowered his mouth to his brother’s and sighed into the kiss as his fingers began to work up and down.

Dean groaned out and arched up, throwing one leg around his thighs and one arm his Sam’s back, their bodylines fading into one. They kissed haphazardly, no finesse as Dean’s fingers tangled in his hair and guided his mouth where he wanted it. They came within seconds of each other, first Dean then him, gasping and groaning out his orgasm, hot and sticky over their fingers and stomachs. Sam groaned and collapsed on top of his brother, spent and laughing as he regained his breath, Dean making a face over the gross stickiness between them.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispered after they’d cleaned up and gotten back into bed - to sleep this time. “I think this room stuff, I think it means that it’ll be okay. I think it was a genuine gift from them. For us.”

“Kinda subtle of them,” Dean murmured.

Sam huffed out a breath, “Yeah. But be grateful; think how much a twin room would’ve sucked.”

Dean chuckled tiredly and rolled into him, throwing one arm over his chest and planting a kiss on his collarbone. “Yeah.” He sighed and tilted his head back so their eyes met. There was a small, fond smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes were shining; Sam felt his chest clench up, the look on Dean’s face doing weird things to his insides. “Happy birthday, Sammy,” Dean whispered, and leaned in to give him another kiss.




Link to Author's Note & Deleted Scenes
Link to Masterpost

END