Fic: Improvements
Title: Improvements
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word count: Around 1,300
Beta: slothfulzel - thank you!
Summary: Written for the prompt: ‘Sam/Dean - first kiss’
Warning: Vague spoilers for S6.
A/N: Written for calmena . I really hope you enjoy this!
Scowling, Dean slammed the door behind him. The pictures on the walls rattled. The pile of books that had been on the floor behind Bobby’s desk for as long as Dean could remember swayed but stayed intact. Ignoring Bobby’s cursing, Dean placed his shotgun down on the table and turned back around to check Sam over. Blood running down his face and grimy from hitting the muddy ground, Sam had been damn lucky to get away with nothing else.
“I’m fine, Dean.” Pulling away, Sam dropped down into the nearest chair. “It’s nothing.”
“It could have been something. You need to stop putting yourself on the line so much.”
“You’re kidding, right? You’re telling me that?”
He shrugged and walked over to the window, looked out at the same rusty cars that had been there for years. “Things are different now - the stakes aren’t so high. That werewolf - you could have let it go and we would have tracked it down no problem.”
“Would you have let it go?”
“Probably not. But you’re meant to be the sensible brother, not me.” Without looking at Sam, he knew that he was shaking his head, ticked off.
“I don’t think either of us qualify as sensible anymore, Dean.”
“Exactly.” Bobby thudded a book down on top of his desk. “So how about you two chuckleheads stop trailing dirt all over my floor and go and get cleaned up?”
Meeting Sam’s gaze, he smirked back at him and they both saluted at Bobby before heading for the stairs. He stood aside at the bottom to let Sam walk up first, eyes fixed firmly on the back of his brother’s head as he followed behind him. Cleaning up after a simple hunt was a familiar routine but something that they hadn’t done in too long. For months - years - now there had been complications; a looming apocalypse, a soul to get back, a friend to save.
Sam was already pulling his shirt off over his head as they walked into the bathroom and Dean busied himself by filling the sink with warm water to stop himself from watching. He needed to get a grip. Just because there were no added complications on top of their screwed up lives, didn’t mean he could go back to lusting after Sam the way he had before Stanford. It wasn’t right. He turned back around as Sam stepped up behind him and handed him a cloth.
“You okay to handle that cut?” He knew he hadn’t sounded as carefree as he had meant to when Sam frowned.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Good. I’m going to clean the guns.”
“What about-”
“I’ll grab a shower once you’re done.”
He left the room without giving Sam a chance to answer, or to stop him, and headed straight back down the stairs towards the guns. If he didn’t give himself time to think, just focused on the guns and the job and nothing else, it would go away.
Bobby shot him a glance as he entered the room; half-exasperation, half-concern. He ignored it and picked up the nearest shotgun, started to go through the motions that his Dad had drummed into him. It didn’t matter what had happened on a hunt or how tired you were, looking after your weapons was essential. Just like not freaking out your little brother by jumping his bones was essential.
“Everything alright, Dean?”
“It’s fine. Sam’s just cleaning up.” He could feel Bobby’s eyes on him but he wasn’t going to turn around and meet his gaze, wasn’t going to lie right to his face.
“Sam’s just finished.”
He didn’t need to look up, knew that Sam would be leaning against the doorframe, shaking his head at Bobby. Walking across the room, he shoved the shotgun into Sam’s hands before leaving. It had been alright when they were hunting; they had both been focused and it had been easier to pretend that the hand he’d placed on Sam’s back had been to steady him rather than just to touch.
Privacy had never been something they had been able to have on the road but, this time, he locked the bathroom door before starting to strip off. Knowing Sam, he’d come storming up to see what was wrong and he wasn’t ready to face that just yet, needed to get the mask back in place before he spoke to his brother.
He let his clothes fall to the floor and stepped into the shower, turning the temperature up so that it was just hot enough to make him wince when the water hit his shoulders. It ran down his back, still not quite enough to soothe the ache in his muscles.
Opening his eyes, he turned the water off - Sam was probably pacing around downstairs, wouldn’t wait much longer and it wasn’t like he could ever really get clean anyway. He pushed open the shower door and took a step back.
“Fuck, Sam. Ever heard of a thing called privacy?” He took the towel that Sam held out for him and turned away, avoiding his gaze.
“Ever heard of honesty, Dean?”
And that was a low blow. It really was. “Trust me, you don’t want the truth.” He wanted to take the words back as soon as he had said them, the admission that he was lying, that something was wrong. Sam wouldn’t understand, had always wanted to be normal and he wouldn’t get it.
“Maybe I already know the truth.”
“Whatever you think you know, you don’t. Just leave it.” He needed Sam to leave it, to just let things rest and then they could carry on hunting. The past few weeks had been simple, had been good and he wanted it to last.
He cursed as Sam grabbed his shoulder, spun him around. “What the-”
“Stop acting like I don’t know you. I know what you’re thinking, Dean. I know you - you’re not the only one that wants this.”
His arm froze halfway towards pushing Sam away. “What?”
“I think I know what you want and, if I’m right, I want the same thing.”
“But-”
Sam shook his head. “We can’t do this here. Let’s - let’s take a drive and we’ll talk.”
If Sam hadn’t guessed right then it was going to be messy; they’d fight and argue and Sam might leave again.
“I don’t think I can do this.”
Sam considered for a moment and then reached out to brush a hand across his shoulder. “I think we can.”
---
The first time they kissed wasn’t before Stanford - it didn’t scare Sam away, didn’t leave Dean feeling rejected for any other reason than that his little brother had walked out on their family.
It wasn’t just after Stanford either - it didn’t make Sam feel like he had betrayed Jess or Dean feel like he was second best. They didn’t spend the search for their father feeling guilty or wrong or worried about what he was going to say.
They didn’t kiss during Dean’s last year. Not with Dean desperate to enjoy himself and Sam desperate to save him.
Or during the race to stop the apocalypse, their vessels on either side of the fight. Dean trying to forgive Sam, Sam trying to find redemption.
It didn’t even happen when Dean got Sam back with his soul intact - it wasn’t a result of his relief or of Sam’s pain at his memories of Hell.
It happened on a dirt road two miles south of Bobby’s place, the light just beginning to fade around them as they leaned against the hood of the Impala. It happened when they weren’t at risk of anything more dangerous than the things they hunted from day to day. It happened when they had put everything else in the past, had lost almost everyone but themselves and Bobby.
They kissed when everything was good and it made everything better.