Crowley's Christmas Fic Exchange: All Tied up with a Neat Little Bow for jdl71
Title: All Tied up with a Neat Little Bow
Author: TheYmp
Recipient: jdl71
Prompts:
- Dean just wants to make one perfect Christmas for Sam,
- Sam comes across a snow globe - unbeknownst to him, it's magical. Shaking it causes his deepest hidden desire to be revealed - one that involves Dean,
- Sam is laid up with a sprained ankle, and Dean has to do all the Christmas present shopping,
- Dean asks Sam what he wants for Christmas and is shocked (or not) when Sam blurts out he wants him, wrapped in a red bow.
Genre: humor
Characters: Sam and Dean Winchester
Pairing: Sam / Dean Winchester
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~3,000
Warning/Spoilers: n/a
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.
Summary: Sam is laid up over Christmas with a sprained ankle after an embarrassing accident, so Dean gives him a snow globe to keep him amused. Life will never be the same for them again.
"I can't believe this," grumbled Dean, carefully tucking a blanket over Sam's lap so that his brother wouldn't get cold in the chill air of the bunker. "I mean, you're the size of a small country - how the Hell do you manage to sprain an ankle?" he added, shaking his head while fluffing the blankets and pillows with which he'd cocooned Sam.
Averting eye contact while his features progressively reddened under his brother's ministrations, Sam sighed and reached for a stray cushion. He laid it flat across his lap, fiddling with the tasseled edges. "I guess I was... distracted," he mumbled.
"It was the middle of the afternoon, in the bunker," cried Dean in disbelief. "What were you even doing?"
Sam gave a delicate cough and chose not to answer, leaving Dean to continue his rant.
"And there's me at the store... Some good, protective older brother I turned out to be! I tell you, it's lucky that burger place I like was closed due to health code violations, or I would have been hours."
Sam's features flushed even further.
Dean paused in concern, diatribe forgotten as he wondered if it was possible to die from extreme embarrassment. He reached up and gently placed a hand on Sam's ridiculously large forehead. Sam protested, but despite his words, closed his eyes and leaned into it.
"You're a little clammy, but I don't think you're running a temperature," observed Dean. "You always ran a little hot."
"If only," murmured Sam, opening and gazing up with his puppy eyes.
Dean's tutted with mock irritation. "If I'd known you were gonna go tidy my room, I would have cleaned up in their first," he grumbled. "It never occurred to me it might be a trip hazard."
Sam chuckled, seeming to relax for the first time. "You do have a lot of clothes," he teased.
Dean paused in his fluffing. "Well, I finally have the room for them," he added defensively. "And I'm normally tidy... but I'd been trying a few things on before I had to go out."
For some reason, this seemed to make Sam flush even redder.
Dean frowned at the sight of Sam's bright crimson face. "You're not injured anywhere else, are you?" he demanded, shoving his hands under the blankets and running them across Sam's torso in search of other wounds.
Sam gave a loud squeal. "Will you stop fiddling with me," he cried, wincing at the note of hysteria in his voice.
"Okay, okay, forgive a guy for worrying about you," said Dean in a voice that would have been more placating if he hadn't sounded so amused. "While you get to lie around, I've got to go back out to finish off all the Christmas shopping."
Sam grimaced at that and wondered if he might set alight from the heat of his embarrassment. He'd always left all the prep to Dean. In all honesty, he wasn't even all that bothered by Christmas, he could take or leave the whole shebang. It's not like he'd ever asked Dean to make a fuss, but somehow that just made it all the worse.
Dean seemed fine, and none the wiser, despite Sam's internalized, agonized soul-searching. "Here look, I found this while searching for Christmas decorations," Dean added cheerfully and tossed something vaguely fist-sized in Sam's direction.
Sam fumbled and caught it awkwardly in both hands, rewarding Dean with a suitably scathing eye roll. He stared at the object dumbly. "It's a snow globe," he said.
"Your powers of deduction are still top-notch despite your injury, I see," said Dean dryly.
"What am I supposed to do with it?" asked Sam, confused as to his brother's motives.
Dean barked a laugh. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head too? Shake it, watch it. Sheesh, it's got to be better than what's on TV."
"Yeah, well, I'm not the one who let the Netflix subscription lapse," Sam muttered mutinously. He gave the globe a cursory glance, it was evidently of some age -- no cheap tackily-colored snowmen and Santa here -- but otherwise unremarkable with its small diorama of a small, cozy cabin in a clearing surrounded by a dense forest of tall fir trees.
He shook the globe, and the dome filled with a multitude of small white dots simulating a heavy snowstorm. The flakes floated up, around and down, each flung in an unknowable trajectory of their own, all in blind obedience of some invisible, unfathomable force that guided their every move.
He watched them, feeling like one of the snowflakes. Up, down, around, up, down. Sam's eyes sagged, and he could feel himself slipping away, carried along in the stream as he surrendered himself to some outside power greater than himself.
His mind whirled, and he could feel a strange calmness come over him. He didn't realize he was even answering the litany of questions posed by the calm, quietly insistent voice that carried on the wind until it asked him what it was that he wanted.
"That you truly want," it corrected, this time louder but no less insistent.
With a sickening jolt, Sam staggered to his feet, adopting a defensive fighting position in one single smooth motion that was graceful for all of the odd unfolding angles of elbows and knees.
"Who's there?" he demanded, but there was only the faintest hiss of the breeze from the bunker's ventilation system. "It must have been a dream," he mumbled, feeling foolish, grateful only that his brother had not been there to witness his ridiculous reaction.
His eyes were caught by the sparkle of light on glass and were drawn to the snow globe lying on its side on the floor. He felt a rush of panicked relief that it hadn't smashed in its fall. He scooped it up, sliding his fingers across the smooth, hard surface of the dome.
He wondered what it must be like, sequestered away in a peaceful cabin in the woods, protected by an invisible, unknowable shield and kept safe from the dangers and evils of the world.
"Hey, you okay?"
Sam was startled by Dean's sudden presence in the room, and he wondered how long he'd been sitting there.
"I said," repeated Dean in that obnoxious, older-brother tone he sometimes adopted when he felt that Sam was being particularly dense. "Is there anything that you wanted for Christmas?"
"That you truly want," whispered the voice in Sam's ear that could have equally been his imagination or the sound of the air in the vents.
"You," blurted Sam, "wrapped in a red bow," he added, the words leaving his mouth before he was even aware of speaking.
Sam's stomach dropped, his ears filled with a dull, roaring noise, and his heart pounded as the room seemed to spin. What have I done? Dean was just staring at him open-mouthed.
"It'll bring out your freckles," Sam gabbled, now in full panic mode. "Kisses from the sun."
What is wrong with me? he thought, desperately willing himself to stop talking.
Dean snorted, although from his expression apparently not understanding, but playing along anyway. "Nah, I hate them."
"I know, it's a travesty... they're one of your greatest features," added Sam. What am I doing? Shut up, just shut up, he thought, putting his hand over his traitorous mouth.
Dean shook his head in confusion but clearly assuming it was some kind of odd joke at his expense. "Yep, that's me, you... stay strange, and I'll see you later."
Sam watched Dean intently as he walked away. I wonder what it would be like to cover each of those kisses from the sun with kisses of my own?
He kept his mouth safely covered with both hands until Dean had left the bunker.
~#~
There was a voice calling him, and Sam didn't like it. He didn't want to wake up; he was having a nice time. "A very nice time, and I don't want it to end, thank you very much," he added, with a long, rumbling groan to suitably demonstrate the depth of his meaning.
"Hmm, yeah, well... good for you," replied an embarrassed-sounding Dean. "But, you should wake up now as I've made you something to eat."
Sam wiped his hands across his face groggily, as he reluctantly returned to wakefulness.
"Here you go, big guy," said Dean, dropping the food-laden tray on Sam's lap with more force than was necessary and smiling at Sam's discomforted yelp with a faint trace of spiteful glee. "Well, you seem more yourself now," he added, as he watched Sam devour the chunky vegetable soup and still-warm bread rolls.
"Yeah, I feel fine now. Maybe I was a bit feverish earlier?" lied Sam, mopping up the remainder of his soup with the last half of a roll and stuffing it in his mouth. "Is there any more?" he asked. He blushed at Dean's expression. "No, it's fine, you've not even eaten yet. I'm just being greedy, sorry."
"Nonsense, I like that you've suddenly got an appetite," said Dean. "I don't know why you always deny yourself."
Sam blushed. "It's not healthy."
"Man cannot live on salad alone," snorted Dean. "It's fine. You wait here, and I'll get you something else."
Sam chuckled and gestured at his raised ankle. "It's not like I'm going anywhere."
"Yeah," agreed Dean. "It's good to get you pinned down for once." His eyes widened as he belatedly realized the other interpretation of his words, and he rubbed at the back of his neck. "Y'know... having you in one place... so I can take care of you. What I mean to say is I like taking care of you." He shook his head while blushing furiously. "Yeah, I'll be right back."
Sam shook his own head in amusement and turned his attention back to the snow globe that sat within reach on the table to one side. The snowflakes within it were slowing and settling to rest. Dean must have put it there, he reasoned.
As he gave the snow globe a short, lazy shake, his eyes were drawn to the tiny, cozy model cabin, a safe retreat from the surrounding, dark, impenetrable forest. He could imagine his brother at home there in a place like that, taking care of him. He said he liked taking care of me, he argued, although he wasn't sure with whom. Maybe my own mind? Maybe the snow globe itself, he chuckled to himself.
"And is that what you want?" asked a voice that was easy to mistake for Sam's own.
"Yes, but he wouldn't," Sam replied with a heartbroken sigh.
"Watch and pay attention. Sometimes things just need a little shake before they can settle into their proper place."
"You really like that thing, don't you?"
Sam jolted awake at the loud sound of Dean's voice to discover his brother now standing beside him once more. Where he belongs. Sam tried to shush his traitorous thoughts. "I like you more," he said aloud, his mouth having once more slipped the leash of his control and apparently still determined to betray every secret thought in his head.
"Well, I like you too," replied Dean, avoiding any eye contact by making a big production of laying out another bowl of soup. He looked visibly surprised but pleased and a cautious smile took birth on his lips. It was, Sam considered, a small, beautiful thing, too delicate for this world and if not looked after carefully, it could all too easily die. It was, in short, the very antithesis of his brother's normal character and he knew he had to take care of it, to nurse it, the same way Dean had always nursed him. To let it grow from a small weak thing to something strong and powerful.
Ah, but I could write odes to that smile. Epics that would last far beyond the age of man.
"Perhaps the more direct approach would be better, given what you know of the subject's preferences?" said the voice on the wind in a gently chiding tone.
Sam didn't even know where to start, certainly not the tangled web of secrets and strange happenings of the last twenty-four hours.
How do you admit to your beautiful, butch, older brother that you borrow his clothes because their smell makes you feel safe and warm and helps you sleep on otherwise cold, lonely nights?
"Sometimes, I... I miss us not sharing a room," Sam admitted, not missing the irony of recognizing it for the massive lie by omission that it really was.
"All those times sharing a bed growing up, I thought you'd be grateful for the space!" said Dean, his voice full of incredulity. "And all those times you complained about me having cold feet!"
Sam laughed. "They weren't cold, they were freezing! And somehow they always ended up pressed against the back of my legs. I'm sure you must have bad circulation."
"Hence the slippers," agreed Dean.
"Ha, it just gets better," laughed Sam sarcastically. "With your dead guy robe to complete the look."
Dean sniffed. "Waste not, want not."
"Oh, I want all right," declared Sam, his mouth once more doing its own thing.
"Are you feeling yourself?" asked Dean doubtfully, his forehead furrowed with worry.
"I'd rather be feeling you," Sam giggled hysterically. I'd never have had the cojones to say something like that without... ah, yes, obviously some magical effect from the snow globe.
"Cojones, Sam? Really?" asked Dean dubiously. "You can't just say balls?"
"Why, what did you want to say about my balls?" chuckled Sam, feeling positively lightheaded. It seemed like a very 'Dean' thing to say. "Oh, I guess I must have said that out loud?" he realized.
Dean's eyes couldn't have been wider, nor could his eyebrows have been any higher. "O-kay," he breathed, stretching the word out. "I brought you an icepack for your ankle, but I could apply it a little higher if you need to cool down."
Sam moaned in blissful relief as, despite threats to the contrary, the cold compress was applied to his sore ankle and started to numb the pain. "Oh, that feels good."
Dean didn't say anything; his expression was unreadable as he focused solely on Sam's leg. As wrong as the metaphor might be given his physical circumstances, at that moment, Sam knew he needed to jump in with both feet if he didn't want to miss this chance.
"Look, I'm sorry if I'm being weird... it's that strange old snow globe. It must be magic, I swear it's making me say things I don't want to, things I'm afraid to... secret things."
Dean snorted, finally giving eye-contact. "What, like how my shirts keep turning up in your bed? You think I hadn't noticed? You forget it's me that does all the laundry around here."
"Ah," said Sam, lost for words, frozen like a rabbit in the headlights, not sure which way to run.
"Besides," added Dean, his hands still resting on Sam's legs. "That snow globe's not old, I only bought it from Walmart the other day."
"But... but you said..."
"I lied. I just thought you'd like it a bit more if you thought it was an antique."
Mortified, Sam covered his mouth with one large hand as he tried to absorb this new knowledge.
"You think I'm a snob," he cried, in the face of Dean's accusatory look. He gasped as something else dawned on him. "It really was me saying all those things... deep down, I must have just wanted to tell you all along."
Dean leaned forward. "Tell me what?" he pressed, his eyes sparkling and intense.
"How I really think about you," squeaked Sam.
"Which is?"
Sam gulped and cast a quick, anxious glance towards the snow globe. There was no longer any movement - the snow had all settled. He could almost picture the warm glow of lights from the cabin's windows as its occupants settled in for the night. Warm and safe, cuddled up together, and protected from the cold and dark outside.
He turned back to Dean. "That I love you," he cried, no longer afraid.
Dean leaned forward the rest of the way and pressed a brief, light kiss on Sam's lips. "There, now that wasn't so difficult, was it?" he grinned.
~#~
Dean rubbed with one hand at the dull ache in his shoulder as he made his way quickly through the bunker. Sam was a big, heavy man, and it had been hard work getting him into bed. His bed... no, their bed, he corrected himself with a happy smile that had taken up a permanent residence on his face.
Stepping into one of the deepest, least-used archive rooms, he slid the snow globe, now safely boxed, to the back of one of the sets of shelves furthest from the door.
There is such a thing as too much truth in a relationship, he decided. Although, he was sure that, deep down, Sam was already well aware of all of Dean's less endearing habits and foibles. Such as a tendency to take over and make big decisions without proper consultation, to name but one recent example.
"Sometimes, you just gotta shake things up so they can settle where they belong," whispered Dean, feeling a sense of agreement in return.
~#~
"I had assumed you'd want the ribbon around my neck," said Dean dryly.
"Choking risk, it wouldn't be safe," replied Sam in a stern voice that wavered slightly as he tried desperately to keep a straight face.
Dean smirked. "I could say the same."
Sam rolled his eyes even as he tugged on said ribbon. "Come on into bed, stud."
The bed creaked as Dean practically dived under the covers. The mattress dipped slightly under their combined weight, as Dean snuggled in closer, inevitably taking the big-spoon position for himself.
Baby steps, thought Sam as, this time, he allowed himself to be manhandled and arranged to his brother's content. As Sam's eyelids started to flutter closed, he felt the dreaded, but long missed, chill of cold feet on his calves.
Clearly, he was also going to have to tell Dean to trim his toenails too.
He gave a heavy sigh as he drifted off to sleep.
He'd never felt happier.
THE END
(;,;)