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Dean steps off the plane and takes a deep breath. The cramped little hallway–full of people and suitcases and not enough air–isn’t much better, but at least it’s not flying through the air. Sam’s hand lands on his shoulder, warm and firm and reassuring, grounding him in the here and now. There was a time he would have shrugged it off, unable to admit he wanted or needed that reassurance, but they’re past that now. Mostly.
By the time they’ve grabbed their duffel bags off the carousel, he’s feeling more like himself again. He lets Sam take care of renting a car, pulling up the website for Miracle’s doggy daycare while his brother works out the details and clicking on the webcam button. Miracle appears instantly, happily chasing another dog around a grassy enclosure that looks clean and well cared for.
“How’s he doing?” Sam asks, peeking over his shoulder.
“He’s having fun,” Dean admits reluctantly. Miracle was the reason he’d gotten on a plane for their trip to San Antonio–less time on the road meant more time for them. Not that Dean minded a good road trip, but still. He’s got plans, and an extra three days to put them in motion is welcome.
The sound of a throat being cleared drags them both away from watching their baby play.
“First time away from home?” the agent asks sympathetically. “It’s always hard, but you get used to it.”
“First time we’ve left him for this long,” Dean admits, showing her the phone. “But it looks like he’s having a blast, so I feel a little less guilty.”
“He’s…cute,” she says, sounding slightly confused to see a dog on the screen rather than a child. “Now, if you two want to follow me, I’ll take you to your car.”
Dean scowls at her back as she walks away, not impressed by her lackluster reaction to what is literally the most adorable dog on the planet.
The agent escorts them out toward the garage, stopping next to a sleek black Ford Mustang. The top is already down, waiting for them, as the agent walks them around the car checking for marks or scratches. Sam is grinning at Dean, who tries not to look too pleased.
“A Mustang?” Dean says, sotto voce. “C’mon Sammy, you can’t even fit a body in that trunk!”
Sam rolls his eyes the way he’s supposed to, but he’s smiling too, the way he’s supposed to. The agent looks pale and slightly panicked as she rushes through the rest of the inspection and hands Sam the keys before scurrying off, and Dean feels vindicated for her slight of Miracle.
“You’re an ass sometimes,” Sam says fondly, tossing the keys toward Dean. “Pop the trunk, it might not hold a body but these duffels should fit just fine.”
Dean laughs under his breath, opening the car and sliding into the butter-soft leather seat. Okay, it’s not his Baby, but this will do nicely. He’s not gonna tell Sam that, though. Not yet, anyway.
Sam opens his door and eyes the seat for a moment before pushing it back as far as it will go. “Not bad,” he says, stretching his legs out and looking at Dean hopefully. “Not bad at all.”
The way the engine purrs when Dean presses the starter button is almost a religious experience. “Not bad at all,” he says, grinning ear to ear and completely forgetting his previous resolve. “Let's go see what she can do.”
There are plenty of open roads around San Antonio to choose from and they find themselves racing down 281, Sam’s hair whipping around his face and Dean shouting Zepp lyrics into the wind. The car handles like a dream, slipping in and out of the rare knots of traffic like a shark through shoals of fish. After a good twenty miles or so Sam sees a sign for the Real Ale brewery and before long Dean’s pulling into the parking lot. It hits him, suddenly, how surreal it is to be taking a vacation, him and Sam hitting up snooty craft breweries in the middle of the day, Sam deep in conversation with the head brewer about aeration, acidity, and specific gravity and a bunch of other things that Dean knows absolutely nothing about. And doesn’t particularly want to, Michael’s random bar fantasies notwithstanding.
But since he and Sam and Jack defeated Chuck once and for all, there’s been nothing to stop them, really. It’s been six months, and the number of things going bump in the night has dropped sharply, down to all but nothing. A few have hit their radar, but half the time someone’s already there taking care of it by the time they arrive. So they’re basically retired now, which means they can do things like this without too much guilt. Take the time to just have fun, enjoy some time together without the imminent threat of death or dismemberment looming over them.
He finishes his beer–it’s not bad, better than the cheap shit they usually grab off the shelf back home out of habit–just as Sam shows up with six little glasses lined up on a wooden board.
“It’s called a tasting flight,” he says, smiling, and Dean wonders if this was something Sam did Before. If he and his rich friends at Stanford used to hang out at places like this, sipping IPAs and discussing hops. “Here, try this one.”
Sam pushes one of the glasses over to Dean, eyes sparkling. He’s a mess, his hair a bird’s nest of tangles, his cheeks flushed and rosy, and yeah, the Stanford shit doesn’t matter. It’s an old ache, only slightly dulled by time, but he and Sam had talked about it–really talked about it–in the months after defeating Chuck, both of them wondering how much of their lives had been manipulated by the petty little deity and his minions. John’s obsessive quest for revenge, his anger. Sam’s determination to leave, Dean’s determination to stay–how much of it had been real? How had Dean been so angry that the little brother he loved more than his own life had gotten a full scholarship to college, out of the danger John and Dean constantly put him in? How had Sam turned his back on the love between them and shut him out? With what they know now, it seems obvious, and they’d both agreed to leave the past in the past and remember that the only true thing in their lives had always been each other.
And ironically, that’s true now too. Dean had noticed it first, that the calls and emails from Jody and Donna and Eileen had begun to taper off almost immediately–and they both realized that neither of them particularly cared. It’s like the world had come into focus without Chuck around, the two of them glowing brightly while the rest of the world faded away.
They finish off the rest of the flight, Sam making notes on their favorites to maybe pick up on a supply run, then they’re back on the road. Dean lets Sam drive for awhile, because he wants to and so that Dean can watch him without killing them both. They eat dinner at The Texas Cannon, a tiny brewery with a restaurant attached that serves spicy fried cheese curds and Waygu beef fajitas that might be the best thing Dean’s ever put in his mouth, after Sam’s dick. Which Dean makes sure to clarify, just to watch Sam turn pink and dimpled.
The sun is just setting as they pull up to their hotel–or rather, the frilly bed and breakfast that Sam had booked for them. The Breckinridge House is one of the first bed and breakfasts in San Antonio–and does in fact offer breakfast, Dean is pleased to note–and is just a few blocks away from both the Alamo and the Riverwalk. He and Sam had visited both years ago, and he can tell that Sam kinda wants to head out and explore a little more, but the words spa tub in every room are rattling around in Dean’s brain and now all he can think about is getting Sam naked and wet and relaxed while Dean takes care of him.
The door to the Mockingbird Suite has barely closed behind them before Dean has Sam pressed up against it, one hand in the tangled mess of his hair, the other already scrabbling expertly at his belt. Sam lets him, more than–gets his hands on Dean’s face, kissing him like they’ve been apart for days instead of on their best-ish behavior for a few hours. His head hits the door behind them with a solid thunk and a breathless moan when Dean gets his hand on his dick, and for a brief moment Dean just wants to drop to his knees and worship every inch of his brother he can reach. But–plans. Dean has them, and he’s going to follow through.
Besides, Sam’s bitchface when he steps back and lets go is pretty priceless.
“Strip,” he orders, and it’s gratifying to see how quickly Sam moves to obey, even after all this time. He gets caught up watching all that smooth, gorgeous skin come into view for a moment, then gives himself a shake and checks out the bathroom. It’s everything their hostess had promised–easily big enough for both of them (okay, she hadn’t promised that, but it was clearly implied in her description) complete with jets and spouts and massagers and accompanied by an assortment of toiletries neatly lined up on the gold shot marble shelf along one side. He turns the water on–just this side of scalding, the way Sam likes it best–just as Sam comes to find him, gloriously naked and already half hard.
“Wow, she wasn’t kidding,” Sam says, dipping a finger in the water and smiling. He studies the various bottles for a moment, then pours a little in the water.
“Hey!” Dean protests–how’s he supposed to see Sam if the water’s full of bubbles? But Sam just laughs.
“It’s just a little bath oil,” he says, stepping into the tub. It’s only about half full, but he settles in with a pleased sigh anyway. He opens his eyes a moment later. “You’re a little overdressed…”
“Later,” Dean says, valiantly ignoring the obvious disappointment from both his brother and his dick. He grabs a few towels to catch drips, grabs all of Sam’s fancy hair shit from his duffel, then nudges Sam further down into the water. “Dunk,” he tells him, and Sam obediently slides under the water, coming up a few moments later and leaning his head against the edge, perfect.
“Perfect,” Dean says softly, picking up the first bottle. Sam’s hair is a mess, so Dean slathers on conditioner first, humming as he patiently works out the knots. “We’re gonna have to get you a hat,” he says when the comb finally runs through Sam’s hair freely. “Now rinse.”
Sam slides under the water again and Dean moves on to shampoo. Sam moans softly as Dean works the silky lather into his hair and scalp, and Dean can tell he’s got a hand on his cock. Dean’s kinda missing their shower at home, Sam’s mouth on his dick while Dean takes care of him, but he likes this too. Likes seeing how much Sam is enjoying such a simple touch, likes knowing that Sam loves being taken care of as much as Dean loves taking care of him. When he’s done Sam reaches for him, tugs him down for a kiss that reminds Dean that he’s wearing far too much clothing.
Pulling back reluctantly, Dean stands up, shedding his boots and clothing as quickly and efficiently as he can. Sam’s eyes are dark as he watches, one hand still moving lazily under the water.
“Hold on,” he says when Dean starts to step into the tub, and disappears under the water again, coming up soap free. “That’s more like it,” he murmurs as Dean settles across his lap. “Been thinking about this all day.”
“If you weren’t such a sasquatch, we could have joined the mile high club this morning,” Dean teases. “Fuck–” The last word comes out breathless as Sam pushes two fingers into him at once, slick with the same oil he’d poured in the water earlier.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Sam asks innocently. He finds Dean’s prostate unerringly, putting years of practice to good use.
Dean’s fingers dig into Sam’s shoulders as he all but melts in his brother’s arms. “Feel so good, Sammy,” he murmurs against Sam’s lips. “Always have.” He rocks down on Sam’s fingers, urging him on, and Sam obliges willingly, pushing another thick finger inside him.
“How many do you want?” Sam asks, biting down on Dean’s ear as he forces his fingers apart, stretching Dean wide. “Want you to feel me tomorrow, think about this while we’re riding around in that pretty new car.”
Dean moans as he gives himself over to his brother. “Whatever you want,” he says raggedly. “I want it all, Sammy, everything you’ve got.”
Sam’s fingers rub over Dean’s prostate one more time before pulls his fingers out. Dean bites down his protest, his hole feels so empty but he knows he’s about to be filled, stuffed completely full by Sam’s gorgeously long, thick cock. Everything about Sam is so fucking hot that sometimes Dean can’t figure out what he wants–what he needs–the most. He loves Sam’s fingers, his mouth, his ass. He loves to top because it’s Sam and he’s addicted to everything that has to do with Sam. But he loves bottoming the most–Sam filling him with his fingers and then his cock. Sam burying himself so deep into Dean that Dean swears he can feel Sam’s cock pressing against his stomach. He loves it when Sam fucks him so rough and thoroughly that he feels it for days. He loves riding Sam, their bodies sliding together, Sam’s arms wrapped around him as his fingers dig possessively into Sam’s shoulders. Sometimes he takes things slow, edges them both for hours, drawing out the pleasure until it becomes something desperate. He doesn't care right now how they fuck, he just desperately needs Sam’s cock buried deep inside of him.
“Ready?” Sam asks. He palms Dean’s head with one huge hand, drawing him into a kiss.
“Always,” Dean replies. He’s got his hands wrapped around Sam’s neck, his fingers tugging at Sam’s wet hair.
They rarely have a chance to fuck in a bath. Very few tubs are big enough to fit both of them, especially since Sam is the size of a redwood tree, so Dean is damned pleased with Sam for finding this place. The warm water cascading over his skin feels incredible after hours on the plane and in the car, Sam’s slippery, wet body feels amazing rubbing against his.
Sam stands, his hands under Dean’s ass to pull him up too. Dean scrambles to get his legs around Sam’s waist, hoping like hell neither of them are going to end up in the emergency room–either for a broken neck after a slip and fall, or because Dean’s manhandling kink made Dean’s heads–big and small–explode.
“Jesus Christ, Sammy, warn a guy–”
“What would be the fun in that?” Sam says innocently. His hands are big enough that his fingertips are still teasing Dean’s hole as he steps carefully out of the tub, and Dean lets out a whimper that he will deny til his dying day. Dean kisses him so he can pretend any more embarrassing noises are coming from Sam instead, and also because he wants to and having Sam’s tongue in his mouth means that at least some part of Sam is inside him.
Dean’s so caught up in the incredible friction of Sam’s abs on his dick and Sam’s fingers teasing his rim and Sam’s tongue stroking his that he forgets to let go when Sam tries to drop him on the bed and they both go tumbling down together.
“OOF,” Dean grunts, narrowly avoiding Sam’s elbow. No such luck with the rest of Sam–good thing being buried underneath his brother is one of Dean’s favorite things on earth that Sam will never ever know about. Sam’s still laughing breathlessly when Dean kisses him, yanking him closer so that they’re touching everywhere.
“You know,” Sam says, his eyes going impossibly darker as he rises up on his elbows to look down at Dean. He groans a little as he pushes into Dean, their bodies aligning perfectly after so many years together. “You know, this suite has the only king size bed in the whole place.” He leans down to get his mouth on Dean’s pulse, pulling warm blood to the surface in rhythm with the push and pull of their bodies. “And I made very sure that our hostess knew that we only needed one bed.”
Dean shudders underneath him, another one of those embarrassing whimpers trying to sneak out of his mouth and into Sam’s. “Jesus, Sam. You wanna take out a billboard next time?”
Sam gives his hips a particularly delicious twist, nailing Dean’s sweet spot so hard that Dean might be seeing literal stars. He does it again and again and again, harder and harder, both of them gasping and sweating. “Don’t–fuck–don’t need to,” Sam gasps, snapping his hips into Dean again, and suddenly Dean’s aware of a sound–a creaking, squeaking, groaning sound–”Pretty sure the whole damn place already knows exactly what we’re up to–”
The bed actually shifts across the floor, their rhythm unmistakable, and pleasure explodes through Dean like he’s got gasoline in his veins and Sam’s the match. Sam bites down on that bruise he’d sucked under Dean’s jaw and comes, as deep inside his brother as he can get.
They laze a bit afterward, catching their breath and simply enjoying each other’s company. Sam’s lying halfway across Dean’s chest–not the most comfortable position given their respective heights, but it means Dean can play with Sam’s hair, and they both like that. Dean's just starting to think that maybe they ought to get up and start thinking about the whole dinner thing when his stomach growls loudly enough for Sam to hear. He laughs, sounding so smug that Dean smacks his ass on sheer principle, without even knowing why Sam sounds so smug.
“‘S not funny, Sam,” he grumbles. “A man's gotta eat!”
“I know,” Sam says fondly, standing up up up and stretching even taller. Dean whistles, appreciating the very nice view. Sam snags a pair of worn sweats from Dean's duffel and tosses them at his brother’s head. “That's why I ordered dinner to be delivered right…about…now.”
Sure enough, Dean barely has time to hastily pull on the sweats before there's a polite knock at the door. “Just a minute,” he says loudly, then sighs. There's no quick way to make himself look like anything but exactly what he is: a man who just got fucked within an inch of his life. Heat cuts in his belly at the thought. Ah, screw it, he thinks. Let ‘em look.
He opens the door with a polite smile to see an older woman with a wheeled cart patiently waiting for him. One perfectly manicured eyebrow raises slightly as she takes in his state of undress and aroma, but she smiles professionally as she wheels the cart in.
“Where would you like your dinner, Mr. Campbell?” she asks, glancing around. Dean gestures toward the coffee table, one hand creeping up to rub the back of his neck, heat rising in his face.
“It's–uh–Winchester, actually,” he says as she arranges their meal. Everything smells delicious. “We're not…you know…”
“Oh, not newlyweds, then?” She sounds disappointed. “That means you've cost me ten into the pot and the first round of drinks at the Menger.” She winks. “We all drew straws to see who got to deliver after that little show. Just remember, the walls are quite thin.”
With that she's gone, leaving Dean with his mouth hanging open and his dick half hard.
“She sounded pretty impressed,” Sam says, amused. He's a long line of heat against Dean's back, one hand stroking over Dean's tattoo, the other sliding into the waistband of his sweats. “And just think, we were barely trying. Wanna give ‘em something to really talk about?”
***
They get a late start to the day, enjoying a leisurely brunch on their patio then cleaning up separately so that they have a hope of leaving their room before dinner. They decide to take a walk around San Antonio, revisit some of the places they saw during their first trip here, all those years ago. Dean actually has a destination in mind, several of them in fact, but he’s not going to let Sam in on his plans–not yet anyway. It’s a beautiful day, sunny and warm and perfect, as they wander through the city hand in hand. Even after all these years, Dean still feels possessive and proud as he holds Sam’s hand, relishing the knowledge that everyone who sees them will know that Sam is his and he is Sam’s. His ass aches pleasantly as they walk; his knees ache too, but not as pleasantly. A reminder that the years keep passing on, that maybe the time to grab every ounce of happiness this world owes them is now.
And Dean intends to do just that. Sam deserves the world and Dean is going to make damn sure Sam gets everything he deserves.
They turn another corner. The bridge is ahead of them. Dean looks up at Sam and he sees the flash of recognition in Sam’s eyes before Sam looks at him. Sam’s smile could light up the whole damn city, it’s certainly big enough to make Dean feel warm all over. And damn proud of himself for remembering the way to the bridge and sneakily leading Sam here. It’s hard to surprise someone who knows every inch of you, knows all your scars and your secrets and your doubts, and who shares almost every one of your memories, all the memories that are important to Dean anyway. But he’s done it and he’ll do it again too, if things go according to plan.
“Do you think it’s still there?” Sam asks. He’s almost vibrating, he loves this kind of shit so much. Sam loves the quiet moments, and he certainly loves all the ways they drive each other crazy with their mouths and their bodies, but he also loves the big romantic moments that are painted with broad strokes and vibrant colors and Dean loves everything Sam loves. “Is this why you wanted to come here? To see our lock again?”
“Actually, I have something else in mind,” Dean says. “But we’ll come back later, I promise.”
“But we’re so close now,” Sam not-whines. He looks down at Dean with his ‘puppy eyes’ which you would think Dean would be immune to after all this time, but no. “I want to see our lock.”
Plans. Very important plans. Dean feels in his pocket, reassuring himself that the keyring is still there. And the very important item he slipped on the keyring a few weeks ago.
“Hey, do you remember that place we ate dinner that night? The one with all the meat-you-can-eat? I’m getting kind of hungry and you know how much I love meat.” Dean glances down deliberately unsubtly at Sam’s cock. He’s rewarded by a faint blush of pink on Sam’s cheeks. Sam does look so pretty in pink. “It just happens to be near here, great place for a late lunch, don’t you think?”
“Fine, okay. But we are coming back to the bridge later. And if you embarrass me at the restaurant, you’ll be sleeping in the tub,” Sam warns.
“Oh, I have plans for that tub tonight,” Dean says, pulling Sam away from the bridge and in the direction of the restaurant. “But It doesn’t involve sleeping.”
****
“It’s so pretty out here,” Sam says. He’s looking out at the river. It’s late afternoon and further down the beach a boat is waiting, but there is time. The cruise doesn’t leave for another hour. Right now, Dean is just enjoying standing out here, with Sam’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, enjoying the view. The river is pretty too.
“Thank you, Dean, for suggesting this trip. It’s been perfect. I really needed this.” Dean snuggles deeper, stealing a moment to relax in the comfort of Sam’s arms. They fit so perfectly. Sometimes, in the past, they’ve forgotten that, but they never will again. Dean plans to make sure of it.
“See, I do have some good ideas. You should listen to me more. I’m the oldest and therefore the wisest.” Dean slides a hand under Sam’s blue-and-black plaid shirt and the black shirt underneath that and rests his hand on Sam’s lower stomach. Sam always feels so warm. So inviting.
Sam snorts. “Do you want to talk about the oh-so-wise idea that led to that fiasco in the shower a few weeks ago?”
“Hey, you’re the one always bragging about being so bendy,” Dean replies. “And it all worked out in the end.”
“My ass was sore for days,” Sam complains. Dean’s hand wanders lower on Sam’s stomach. Sam gives him that look, but Dean just grins up at him, unrepentant as always.
“Welcome to my world,” Dean replies. He turns in Sam’s arms so he’s facing him, so he can kiss Sam because he will never get enough of kissing Sam. “And I wouldn't change a thing about it.”
They stand there, sharing slow lazy kisses because they can. There’s no world for them to save, no big bads to defeat, no place they have to be, nothing they have to do. This is what normal feels like, well as close to normal as two soulmate brothers who love and live for each other can be.
Speaking of love. Dean reluctantly pulls free from Sam’s arms. It’s time for their cruise. He holds out his hand to Sam, and Sam, without even asking where they are going, takes Dean’s hand and follows him down the beach.
***
They are sitting on a table by a port window. It’s dark now, in the distance Dean can see the lights of San Antonio. The table is lit by candles, the soft light dances over Sam’s skin in much the same way the moonlight is dancing over the river. Sam looks so soft, so fucking beautiful.
Their table has been cleared and they are lingering over glasses of some damn fine wine. There are places they could go on the ship, there’s live music and dancing in one room, a bar in another, and there’s the deck with spectacular views of the river and the town.
But Dean’s happy where he is now, sitting across from Sam. Sam’s ever-changing eyes look blue in the candlelight, his lips soft and pink and slightly wet from the wine, his dimples in full display. How the fuck did Dean get so lucky?
“Do you remember the first time we kissed?” Dean asks.
“I remember the first time I kissed you,” Sam says. “Because if I had waited for you to kiss me, I’d still be waiting.”
“I can’t help that I’m more irresistible than you are,” Dean responds, smirking at his brother. He reaches for Sam’s hand and Sam gives it to him.
He thinks of the plans he has for later that night, on the bridge where they had placed their lock so long ago. They had been so young, they had no idea of all the crap they would have to go through. They had been so sure of their love back then, but nowhere near as sure as Dean is now. Sam loves him, Sam is his, as he is Sam’s.
Sam rolls his eyes in that dramatic way only he can pull off. “Anyway, our first kiss was after that werewolf hunt in..uh, Nebraska.”
“That’s right. Your first hunt and you killed two werewolves, all by yourself. I was so fucking proud of you that night.”
“I was scared out of my mind, but I knew you were there and…the only reason I could do that hunt at all is because I had you by my side.”
“Okay, now we are wandering dangerously close to Hallmark movie territory,” Dean teases. He rubs a finger over Sam’s palm, doesn’t miss Sam’s slight shiver.
“You are the one who wanted to go down memory lane,” Sam points out. “Plus, you love Hallmark movies.”
“I was just thinking about that night. I wanted to kiss you so bad, had wanted to since forever.” Dean links his fingers with Sam’s. “That kiss ruined me for all others, just so you know.”
“I remember our first kiss. I remember how hot you tasted, how I knew then I would never get enough.” Sam’s voice lowers, a sweet purr that goes straight to Dean’s dick. “I remember the first time you let me taste your cock. I remember the first time we made love and the fireworks during and after. I remember how I had to wait for what felt like forever, until I was eighteen, until you finally fucked me, and how you made it worth the wait. I remember everything, Dean.”
Dean shifts uncomfortably in his chair. This time it’s Sam who is smirking at him.
“Any chance we can go find somewhere dark and quiet?” Dean asks.
Sam laughs. “Maybe…but first tell me, why are you feeling nostalgic all of a sudden? We aren’t at the end of anything, Dean. We have years and years to spend together, to do everything we’ve always dreamed of doing.” Sam leans over the table and whispers in Dean’s ear. “To do to each other everything we’ve dreamed of doing.” Sam’s tongue licks the inside of Dean’s ear before he sits back up, smugly smiling at Dean.
Sam is a tease and Dean fucking loves it. But Sam’s right, this is the life they’ve fought for. This is the life they deserve.
“I’d never thought about what life would be like for me after forty,” Dean admits. “I mean, it was never even a possibility.” Sam’s looking at Dean so serious and gentle. “But look at us now. Old and wise, other hunters coming to us for advice and counsel. Hell, we’re practically Bobby. But you know, I wouldn’t mind taking another step back. Maybe moving here. We both really love this town. We’ve got plenty of money, thanks to the Men of Letters and their need to hoard money and valuable shit. We could buy a small house, one with a fenced-in backyard for Miracle. We could maybe find civilian jobs, or maybe we don’t and we just go on long walks and spend time out here by the river. We could be openly together here, it’s not like anyone knows or cares who we are. We could settle down.” Dean knows he’s babbling, but he can’t help himself, not when Sam is looking at him like that.
“That sounds wonderful,” Sam says. He’s looking at Dean curiously, tilting his head like he does when he’s trying to figure something out. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were proposing to me.”
What the hell. Dean reaches into his pocket, pulls out his keychain. He planned to do it later, on the bridge, but this feels like the perfect time and place. “Well, now that you mention it…”
Sam gasps and Dean slips the ring off his keyring. He keeps their hands interlocked as he slips off the chair and gets down on one knee.
All around them, the chatter stops. Even the waiter that is taking an order at the next table stills. That’s all right, he wants everyone to see this. Everyone to know this special, beautiful, perfect man is his.
“I have loved you for so long that I have no memory of not loving you. You are my rock, my reason for fighting, the light that has always shown me the way. I want to spend the rest of my days with you by my side and in my bed.”
Sam looks around the room at the last word, his cheeks turning pink, just the way Dean knew they would.
“Sam Win–uh Campbell, will you marry me?”
The room is so silent that it feels like no one is even breathing. All eyes turn toward Sam.
Sam stands up and with one strong, fluid motion pulls Dean into his arms.
“Hell, yes.”
The room erupts in cheers and applause. Dean wraps his arms around Sam’s neck and pulls him into a kiss.
***
An hour later, they are standing in front of a wedding chapel. Dean can’t remember the last time he’s seen Sam this nervous or this excited. Sam keeps looking at his ring, then at the chapel, then Dean.
“Are we really going to do this?” Sam asks, hope and nervous disbelief making his voice shake a little.
“It’s going to close soon, so we have to decide now.” Dean turns to Sam. He holds Sam’s hand, the one with the ring on the finger. “I love you, Sammy. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know we feel married already, and it’s just a piece of paper, but I’d really like to do this. If you aren’t ready, that’s okay. We can come back tomorrow, or even wait til we get back to Kansas, which is kind of what I’d planned on, to be honest.” He smiles up at Sam, letting his brother see just how much Dean loves him. “I know what I want, so it’s all up to you.”
“How are you not nervous?” Sam asks.
Dean lifts up on his tiptoes and brushes his lips against Sam’s. He stays that way, staring into Sam’s beautiful eyes. “Because all my life, all I’ve ever wanted–all I’ve ever needed–is you.”
Sam takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay, let’s do this thing.”
“What a very romantic way of talking about pledging our eternal love,” Dean teases. “Give me back the ring.”
“What? No!” Sam pulls his hand back from Dean’s, cradling it against his chest like Dean might steal the ring right off Sam’s finger.
“So I can give it to you during the ceremony,” Dean explains patiently. His brother might be a genius, but sometimes…
“But you don’t have a—”
Dean pulls out the keyring and hands the second ring to Sam. They are matching, steel gray, and very simple. Inside both of them, Dean had their initials engraved, just as they are on the lock they placed on the bridge.
“Oh, and take this.” Dean pulls out his wallet and searches through the IDs until he finds the one he’s looking for. He hands it to Sam.
“Sam Campbell,” Sam reads. “I can’t believe you came prepared with rings and a fake ID and everything. How long have you been planning this?”
Dean shrugs. “There’s also a birth certificate for you under Sam Campbell, in case we need it for something. But the IDs are all we need here, I checked.”
Sam cups Dean’s face and kisses him. ”I love you so fucking much.”
“I know,” Dean says, grinning up at his brother. “Now let’s go get married.”
A few minutes later, they are inside the chapel, filling out the paperwork that will unite Sam Campbell and Dean Winchester in holy matrimony.
The woman helping them is maybe five feet tall on a good day. She’s got silver streaks in her hair and a motherly air about her that endears her to Dean when she introduces herself as Carole.
“You two make such a beautiful couple,” she says as she checks over the paperwork.
Dean wraps an arm around Sam’s waist and yanks, pulling Sam close. “My Sammy’s so pretty that he makes me look good.”
She laughs as Sam tries to glower, but only ends up blushing.
“Alright, one last thing.” Carole hands them each a questionnaire and a pen. “These are some of the decorations and popular elements that we have right now,” she says, pointing to the list. “You can specify which religion you would like, if any, if you’d like music–there’s a song list on the back–if you’d like a sand or twin flame ritual, a chuppah, that sort of thing. Just fill it out and we’ll get everything ready for you. Oh, and if you’d like, we have cake bites to choose from as well.”
Sam and Dean take a seat on the couch, holding the paper between them. “Well, I’m never saying no to cake,” Dean says firmly, checking the box next to chocolate and the box next to carrot. He grins at Sam unrepentantly as Sam rolls his eyes fondly. “Don’t worry, I’ll eat yours if you don’t want it. Now, what else have we got here?” They scan the list, but aren’t even halfway through before they’re both trying not to laugh. “Foot washing? This can’t be real.” Dean looks up at Sam. “I think we can safely say this whole list is one big pile of nope,” he decides, but Sam takes the paper back before Dean can crumple it up.
“I want to do this,” he says quietly, pointing to an option close to the bottom.
“Twin flames,” Dean reads. “When you meet your twin flame, your life completely changes on an intense spiritual level. Your need to be together overrides all other needs or desires. The chapel will provide three candles, two lit and one unlit that represents the coming together of your souls.” He glances up at Sam. “You believe this?” he asks curiously.
“I dunno,” Sam says, biting his lip. “But I’ve read about it and…Yeah. It kind of fits. There’s never been a single moment in my life when you weren’t the most important person in it, when I didn’t think about you every single day. You helped make me who I am, and…I think I did the same for you.”
“Huh. Twin flames and soulmates. You think that’s some kind of record, Sammy?” He takes the pen and checks the box, then notices the option directly underneath it. “We’ve kinda already done this one, handfasting. But we could do it again, if you want.” Part of him hopes Sam will say no–Sam, broken and worn down in body and soul isn’t a memory he likes. But at the same time, it had meant something to both of them, pledging themselves to each other and binding themselves together in a way they never had before–with God himself listening in and blessing their union.
“No,” Sam decides. “Like you said, we’ve already done that one. And a lot of the time, handfastings were temporary arrangements.” He kisses Dean, short and sweet. “I’m done with temporary, and with memories of Chuck. I like what we’ve got.”
Dean nods, feeling the rightness of it down to his bones. Sam’s right, they’re done with temporary. Today is about forever. He starts to stand up, paper in hand, when he sees the writing on the back and remembers–music. A quick scan and yep–there it is. Dean furtively checks the box and hands it to Carole, who looks it over.
“That’s it?” she asks, surprised.
“Yeah, we kinda want to keep things simple,” Dean says, flashing her his most charming smile. “We already have everything we need, you know?”
“I do,” she says, giving Sam a soft smile where he’s seated across the room.
“Now, now,” Dean chides. “That’s my line!”
She rolls her eyes good naturedly. “Go sit. We’ll be ready in a few moments. And I see you’ve checked that you have your own vows, so this is a good moment to go over them.”
Dean returns to Sam’s side with a slightly panicked feeling in his gut. Vows? Sam must have checked that one, and knowing Sam he’d probably made something up when he was twelve and has been waiting ever since. But Dean had completely blanked on the idea. He starts humming Metallica under his breath, trying to calm down, then stops when Sam gives him an odd look. He hasn’t had nearly long enough to think before Carole comes back out, beaming cheerfully at them.
“Go on in, he’s ready for you,” she says, crossing to the door and flipping the sign to Closed.
For some reason, Dean was half expecting something out of a Vegas horror story. But there’s nothing cheesy or sad on the other side of the chapel door. It’s brightly lit, but not garish, with a modest altar at the far end. Three benches line each side of the short aisle, all empty, and for a very brief moment Dean feels a slight pang. But then again, there’s not really anyone he wants to explain this to, is there? He’s got everyone he needs right here. As they pause in the doorway, the song Dean had chosen starts playing.
Oh thinkin' about all our younger years
There was only you and me
We were young and wild and free
Now nothing can take you away from me
We've been down that road before
But that's over now
You keep me comin' back for more
Baby you're all that I want
When you're lyin' here in my arms
I'm findin' it hard to believe
We're in heaven
And love is all that I need
And I found it there in your heart
Isn't too hard to see
We're in heaven…
Dean glances at Sam for his reaction, and sure enough, he’s shaking his head over Dean’s sappy behavior. But he’s smiling too, and looking at Dean like he’s the most amazing man in the world, and that’s pretty much all Dean’s ever wanted out of life. He puts a hand on Sam’s arm–stay--and Sam gives him a confused look. “You’re the bride, Sammy,” he whispers from the corner of his mouth, and oh yeah. That’s an epic bitchface. Dean strolls down the short aisle at a leisurely pace and stops when he reaches the altar, turning to face Sam.
Sam, to his surprised gratitude, follows his lead. He doesn’t do the step–stop–step that brides do, but then he’s not wearing a thirty pound dress either. He just strolls down the aisle slowly enough to let Dean–to let both of them–savor the moment and enjoy the view, even if it is just tight black jeans and a button-down plaid shirt.
The song is ending by the time Sam reaches the altar and takes Dean’s hand. They both turn to face the officiant, a kindly looking older man in all black with a spot of white in the middle of his collar. “Welcome,” the man says warmly. “I’m Father Tom. Carole tells me you are Sam Campbell and Dean Winchester?”
Dean nods, his heart in his throat, as Sam says, “Yes, that’s correct.”
“Excellent. Carole, whom you already met, and Jeremy–” he indicates a tall, friendly looking man to his right that Dean hadn’t even noticed, some hunter he is– ”will be our witnesses today.”
Dean doesn’t even realize how nervous he is until he feels Sam’s fingers wrap around his. All the tension drains from his body at that warm touch, and he focuses on that point of connection as Father Tom begins his little speech.
“Friends, we have come here today to witness the union of Sam Campbell and Dean Winchester in the eyes of God and men. Love is love, no matter its form or recipient, and we are here, in these moments, to celebrate that love.” Father Tom turns to Dean with a smile. “Dean, you may say your vows to Sam now.”
Dean clears his throat nervously and turns to face Sam fully. Sam takes both his hands and smiles encouragingly. “You know, Sam,” he starts. “It’s…uh…it’s always been me and you. Right from the very start, for as long as I can remember. And I’ve never wanted anyone or anything else. We’re no strangers to love, Sammy–you know the rules and so do I. A full commitment’s what I want, you won’t get that from any other guy.”
Dean can tell the instant Sam gets it, his expression priceless. One of the witnesses laughs abruptly, stifled immediately, and that just eggs Dean on. “I just want to tell you how I’m feeling, and make you understand. Sammy, I’m never gonna give you up. I’m never gonna let you down again. I’m never gonna run around and desert you. I’m never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye, never gonna tell a lie or hurt you.” Dean lifts Sam’s hands and kisses them both, the worn and scarred skin familiar and warm against his lips. “You can take that to the bank, Sam. I’m going to be with you for the rest of your life, and neither Heaven nor Hell can stop me.”
“That was…very moving, Dean,” Father Tom says diplomatically. “Sam, you may…tell Dean how you feel now.”
Sam sighs, a resigned smile on his face. “I love you,” he says simply. “Even when you’re infuriating, even when you rickroll me at my own wedding. You’re never too much, never more trouble than you’re worth, or any of those other things I know you wonder about sometimes.” His grip on Dean’s hands tightens, and there are tears in his eyes. “You’ve stood beside me at my best and my worst, and your love has never faltered. So, to quote a famous musician…I’m never gonna let you go either, Dean. Never gonna let you down. You belong to me and I belong to you, and I want everyone to know that. No matter what’s happened before or what might happen again, I’m the luckiest man that ever lived because we’ve got each other.”
“Beautifully said, Sam,” Father Tom says, then turns to Dean. “Now. Do you, Dean Winchester, take Sam Campbell to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, in sickness and in health, til death do you part?”
“And beyond,” Dean quips, shooting a quick glance at Sam. “Death ain’t getting you out of this relationship, Sammy.”
Father Tom’s smile is starting to look a little strained but he steps up to the challenge. “And do you, Sam Campbell, take Dean Winchester to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and cherish from this day forward, in sickness and in health, until death and beyond?”
“I do.”
“Please present the rings,” Father Tom instructs, and both brothers pull them out of their pockets. “Sam and Dean, you have chosen these rings to exchange with each other as a symbol of your unending love and devotion, until death and beyond. Dean, as you place this ring on Sam’s finger, please repeat after me: With this ring, I thee wed and pledge you my love, now and forever.”
Dean obediently repeats the words as instructed, sliding the ring onto Sam’s finger without further traumatizing the poor Father. It looks damn good there, if Dean does say so himself, a hot little flare of possessiveness rising up inside him at the knowledge that now everyone knows Sam is his.
Father Tom not quite sighs in relief. “Sam, as you place this ring on Dean’s finger, please repeat after me: With this ring, I thee wed and pledge you my love, now and forever.”
Sam slides the ring onto Dean’s finger and keeps Dean’s hand, seemingly unable to let go as they face the priest once more.
“To symbolize your joining, you have requested candles that will guide your life together.” Father Tom lights both tapers, and Sam and Dean each take one. Dean watches Sam closely, not wanting to screw up the one thing Sam had asked for, following his lead as they touch their flames to the central wick at the same time, lighting the candle together.
“Now, this is just a formality,” Father Tom says, smiling a little mischievously, “but it’s a traditional part of the ceremony.” He raises his voice slightly. “If anyone here knows of any reason why these two should not be married, let them speak now, or forever hold their peace!”
Dean’s heart does a shaky little fear dance inside his chest, because there’s no way Father Tom could know exactly how dangerous those words are. A moment passes, then two, without any demons or angels or witches or any other potentially invisible creatures popping out of the woodwork to rat them out, and Dean breathes a little sigh of relief. He hears Sam do the same, and stops himself from shaking his head. Their lives are so weird.
“No one has come forth or offered an objection,” Father Tom announces. “Therefore, by the power invested in me by the State of Texas and God Himself, I pronounce you husband and husband. You may now kiss!”
Father Tom, Jeremy, and Carole applaud politely as Dean pulls Sam into a very thorough kiss that ends with the sharp clearing of a throat.
“Sorry, Father,” Dean says, not sorry in the least. “Gotta start as you mean to go on, right?”
“An admirable sentiment,” Father Tom says dryly. “Now, how about some cake and champagne? We also have sparkling cider if you’d prefer.”
“Bubbly all around sounds good to me,” Dean says. He’s got a stupid smile on his face that matches Sam’s, and he can’t stop touching the ring on his left hand as they each take a bite of cake and sip champagne from small plastic flutes. A round of handshakes all around, and then it’s over. Done. Sam is his husband in name as well as deed.
Dean’s not sure he’s ever been happier.
It’s not a long walk from the chapel to the bridge but, as stupid and cliche as it sounds, Dean feels like he’s walking on air the entire way there. He keeps looking at their clasped hands, the matching wedding rings. He knows he has a dopey smile on his face, but when he looks up at Sam, Sam’s wearing an identical dopey smile on his face so it’s all okay.
It’s late enough that the bridge isn’t too crowded. Sam stops at the edge of the bridge and Dean takes the opportunity to kiss his husband. His husband.
“I can’t believe we’re married,” Sam whispers, reading Dean’s mind or maybe his heart and bending his head down to kiss Dean again.
“Believe it,” Dean replies. “And I’m expecting a hell of a wedding night.”
“Do you want to be carried over the threshold?” Sam teases. He runs his hands down Dean’s back, quickly cupping Dean’s ass before moving his hands to Dean’s back.
“Fucking right I do,” Dean snarks right back. “Even though, and let's be clear, you were the bride in that little wedding. You are even taking my name.”
“It's my name already, Dean,” Sam says, presenting Dean with bitch face number five.
“Semantics.” Dean reaches up and runs his fingers through Sam’s hair. “I'm very glad your luscious locks weren't hidden by a veil though.”
“You’re an idiot,” Sam says, but his smile is fond.
“Yes, but I'm your idiot.” Dean tugs on a strand of Sam’s hair and smiles up at his brother.
Sam laughs. He lets Dean go and Dean immediately misses Sam’s body pressing against his. This is going to be a quick trip to the bridge, he’s ready to start his honeymoon.
“Do you think we’ll be able to find our lock?” Sam asks. “There must have been so many added since then.”
“I know exactly where it is,” Dean replies confidently. He takes Sam by the hand, tugging him along until they reach the spot where they’d left it, all those years ago.
They walk down the bridge, Dean is so fucking happy he smiles at everyone they pass by, and they all smile back, charmed by his joy.
Right where the lock is, two men are standing. He can’t see them very well, they have their backs to him. One of the guys is tall, like Sam-sized, but of course not exactly as tall because no one is as big as his Sam, but this guy comes really close. Has messy too-long chestnut hair too…
Dean feels a bit uneasy, so he turns his attention back to Sam. “We have to wait until these guys move, but until then—”
“Don’t you dare,” Sam says quickly. Dean grins up at him.
“Excuse me, everyone,” Dean says loudly. Dean raises the hand that is holding Sam’s, their wedding rings in clear view.
“This gorgeous man right here has just done me the great honor of becoming my husband. We just got married a few minutes ago.”
Just like on the ship, there is loud cheering and clapping. Dean loves the attention, loves everyone knowing just how damn lucky he is. And he knows, despite Sam’s protests and his whispered promise of delicious retribution, Sam loves it too.
When he looks over at where their lock is, the men are still there. They are kissing–the smaller man on tiptoes. He can’t see either of their features clearly, but still…
“What is it?” Sam asks.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” the taller man says. “And for keeping your promise.”
“Always.” The shorter guy, who isn’t short at all, grabs a handful of the other guy’s hair and pulls him into another kiss.
Dean has a sudden vivid memory of being thrown into bizarro land, where everyone thought they were actors…
“Dean?” Sam asks. He sounds worried.
Dean shakes his head. It doesn’t matter. Those people don’t matter. All that matters is that he and Sam survived being shoved into that world, survived all the shit Chuck threw at them. Dean deliberately turns his back to the couple.
He pulls Sam into a kiss. He hears one of them say “Congratulations” as they pass them by.
Sam breaks the kiss and turns his head to look at them, but Dean has spent all the time he plans to on people who are not them. He distracts Sam with another kiss–he’s had a lot of practice distracting Sam that way and he’s damn good at it.
Sam’s breathing is a bit fast and shallow when Dean stops kissing him, his face flushed. Sam licks his lips, which look wet and a bit swollen, and Dean’s very, very ready to be back in their room so they can be alone.
“You are just trying to distract me because you don’t remember where the lock is,” Sam teases.
“Wanna bet?” Dean asks. “We could make it interesting.”
“I think our night is going to be interesting enough.” Sam steps away from Dean. “Okay, if you are so damn sure you know, show me.”
Dean walks over to where the two men were standing, Sam trailing behind. He runs a finger over the locks and then stops at the right one. “Here it is.”
“You didn’t even look to see if it has our initials on it,” Sam objects. He bends his body practically in two so he can look at the lock. Many, many images run through Dean’s mind and he can feel his cock responding.
“Well?” Dean asks. He swats Sam’s ass because it’s sticking out there and is begging to be swatted. Sam stands quickly.
“You were right,” Sam admits. “It’s still here.”
“And so are we.” Dean reaches up and traces a hand over Sam’s dimpled cheek, over to his lips. “My miracle, my everything.”
“Are you comparing me to your dog?” Sam asks, but he’s teasing.
“Consider it a compliment,” Dean replies. “Now, take me home, husband. I am in dire need of a good ravishing.”
“You are my miracle too.” Sam kisses Dean softly, a promise of so much more to come. “I think I would like to move here. This town is perfect for us.”
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Tonight we have some celebrating to do.”
Dean thinks about stopping at a liquor store on the way back to the bed-and-breakfast, but he has everything he needs standing next to him. His husband. His Sammy. His all.
They walk off the bridge hand-in-hand.