February 14th (Sam/Dean, R)
Title: February 14th
Author: Vera
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Spoilers: AHBL II
Warnings: Mention of (possibly) underage Wincest (Sam’s 16).
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys or Supernatural or anything at all, really. Kudos to Eric Kripke.
Summary: Sam gives Dean a Valentine’s Day card. Every year.
It all started when Sam was five. Dean knew they were making a mistake in letting him stay with the neighbors, but Sam had insisted he wanted a play date. And this way Dean got to accompany his dad on a hunt, which had been pretty exciting. But apparently the evil, pre-teen daughter of Sam’s new best friend had told them some crap about Valentine’s Day and made them do cards. So when Sam got back, he handed Dean a pink, sparkly piece of cartoon paper that read ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ in Sammy’s awful little kid scrawl. And there was silver glitter and hearts stuck all over.
Dean stared at it in horror. “Uh, Sammy…”
Their dad had come over into the living room to see what was going on and gave an amused snort when he saw the card. Then he shook his head and went back into the kitchen. Sam was still holding out the card when he was gone and Dean still didn’t know what to do with it.
“Take it, Dean!” Sam was clearly buzzing with excitement, his eyes glowing as he smiled brightly at Dean.
“But… but Sam…” He reluctantly reached out his hand to accept the card. “Why are you giving me this?”
Sam’s face fell a little. “Because Cindy said it’s what you do. You make a card and you give it to someone special.” He was all hopeful spark again and Dean couldn’t help but smile.
“And you made this card for me?”
Sam nodded. “Don’t you like it?”
“Uh…” Dean scratched the back of his neck and Sam’s bottom lip started to quiver. Crap! “I love it, Sammy. It’s awesome!” Dean faked a bright grin and was rewarded with a blinding smile from his little brother in return. “Thanks.”
And then Sam had hopped away into the kitchen, clearly satisfied. Dean had kept staring at the card, before he shook his head and went to tuck it away in his duffle bag located in their room.
The next year, Sam had handed Dean a card over breakfast. No glitter this time. It was a black crayon drawing of the both of them in the Impala. This time, their dad couldn’t hold it in and cracked up, laughing so hard that Dean glared at him. “Thank you very much, Sam.” He squeezed his shoulder and smiled at him.
Sam kept glancing at their father confused, unsure, but he shrugged and smiled at Dean. “S’nothing.”
”Yes it is, Sammy. Thank you.” Dean felt compelled to point out to their still-laughing father that it was just the two of them in the car, with him nowhere to be seen, but decided against it. He just glared one last time before he got up, wrapping his arm around Sam. “Come on, help me find a place to hang it.” And they hung it up on the wall in their bedroom. Dean took it down and stuffed it in his duffel before they left town, silently regretting that he had ended up throwing last year’s card away, and knowing that he’d probably lose this one, too.
And he did, months later, when he accidentally stuffed it into the laundry machine alone with his dirty clothes. He was just glad that Sam didn’t see him pull out the washed out piece of paper from between a pile of wet socks. But then, he was pretty sure Sam had forgotten all about it anyways.
But he didn’t and the next Valentine’s Day he got a new card. This time when their dad wasn’t around. And just like that, it had become a ritual. Over the years, Sam’s scrawl developed into neat, readable handwriting. However the drawings never got much better. But Dean didn’t care. It was the thought that counted, or so he’d heard, and it was always pictures of the two of them together.
It changed when Sam was ten. They were in the middle of a huge fight, because Sam had snuck along on a hunting trip even if he wasn’t supposed to and Dean had found him hiding in the car. Even though Sam had begged him not to, he had no choice but to tell his dad, who had gotten incredibly mad and yelled at Sam for a good hour. Sam wouldn’t speak to him after that. But what was Dean supposed to do? He couldn’t risk Sammy getting hurt. He’d never forgive himself.
So he wasn’t surprised when this Fourteenth, there wasn’t a card. Dean only found it the next day, secretly stuffed in his duffle bag. The painting was only halfway done and when Dean turned it around, it read ‘Happy Valentine’s Day, but you’re still a big jerk!’ And it was accompanied by an angry smilie. Dean grinned. It was the best card ever. He didn’t mention it to Sam though. For all he knew, Dean hadn’t even found the card.
When Sam was eleven, he decided he was too old for drawings, so the next card only had a hand-written ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ on it. Sam handed it to Dean as if it was the comics section of the morning paper, simply saying “Here,” before he left the room again. When Dean turned it over, it said ‘I forgive you for eating the last cookie’ on the back. Dean chuckled.
With fourteen, Sam had drawn again. A picture of the Impala, the two of them in it. Judging by the haircut the stick figures had, it was Sam on the driver’s side. Dean’s suspicion was confirmed when he turned it around and was greeted by a poem.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Dean.
I wish you wouldn’t be so mean,
But let me drive the Impala tomorrow.
Believe me, it would spare you great sorrow.
The next morning, Sam was already waiting next to the car when Dean left the house to drive him to school. Sam was at the driver’s side, giving him a hopeful look. Dean snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think so, Shakespeare.” Sam sulked for a week before Dean gave up and handed him the keys. “But only because you might have to drive me to a hospital after a hunt.” It was the worst ten minutes of his life and he nearly had three heart attacks before they came close to the school and Dean made him stop.
Pale and shaking, he carefully wandered around the car, checking her for injuries. Halfway around, he met up with Sam, obliviously happy. He pulled Dean in for a tight hug. “Thank you, Dean! That was so awesome!” They pulled apart, Dean confused and embarrassed, Sam still buzzing. “Same tomorrow, right?” Dean just looked at him dumbfounded, about to say ‘no way in hell’, but then he just nodded. Later he cursed himself twice over for being such a sucker. But Sam eventually learned.
The February when Sam was fifteen, things were beyond awkward between them. Dean got a generic card, store bought, unsigned. Left in his duffle bag for him to find the Fourteenth. Neither of them mentioned it. That night Dean went out and got laid. Twice. Different girls. So actually, it was five times in total with two girls. It didn’t help. If anything, he felt even worse around Sam. Like he had betrayed him on their special day. At least that’s what the looks Sam gave him that night, when Dean stumbled into their motel room drunk and reeking, suggested.
Things imploded between them weeks later. The next Valentine’s card he got from his brother was more of a coupon offering various sexual favors. Dean had grinned and that evening he lied to their father, who, by stupid timing of course had to be around just that day. But he easily believed that Dean was dropping Sam off for his date before continuing for his own. Instead Dean drove them both to another motel, checking in for the night and collecting everything the card offered and more, because yes, he was a greedy bastard.
The year after that was the only time Dean wrote a card back. He’d spotted one at the sex shop when he was restocking on lube and couldn’t help picking it up. It was stick figures fucking in various positions and had a deep red condom glued to it. ‘One fantasy free,’ Dean scribbled on the back and even though Sam had refused to use the rubber, whining about not knowing how long that had already been there and anyways, he wasn’t gonna use no name brands, it might give him allergies, he had taken full use of the promise.
“You’re a sick fuck, you know that, Sam?” Dean had complained, when a few days later, he found himself tied to his bed, with Sam looming over him wrapped in a dark cloak and trying to look menacing.
“Shut up, Dean. You’re a frightened virgin, remember? So if you want to say something, you better squeal and beg that I won’t bite you.” Sam flashed his plastic fangs, which he thankfully discarded only a few minutes later. Didn’t mean Dean hadn’t ended up with his fair share of bite marks that night, though. After the first one, he had stopped complaining about the fantasy.
Then the Dark Ages started, as Dean liked to refer to them in his head. Stanford. And no more cards on Valentine’s Day. Hell, it was no more Sam at all, no calls, no nothing, so of course there were no cards. Dean had sulked through almost the whole day before he went out to get trashed that night. He’d ended up with a slutty bottle blonde and the worst blowjob of his life.
After dad left, after Dean cracked and went to get Sam, after Sam’s spanking new life went up in flames and he had nobody else left either, so he stayed with Dean, things went back to awkward. They tried to be normal around each other, or what passed for normal before they started their… whatever, tried to be brothers and nothing else, but of course, things had to implode again.
And this time they imploded right on Valentine’s Day. Sam had gotten a card. Or rather, he had made one himself again. Hand drawn, both of them in the Impala, the writing simply saying ‘Happy Valentine’s Day, Dean’. Sam probably thought it was cute, maybe thought it would help lighten things up. Instead it made it worse, chafed, tore, ripped at Dean’s heart and left him raw and open, staring at Sam forlorn.
“Why, Sam?” He asked, card clutched in his hands, not moving, looking down at the cheap motel carpet. “Why?”
”But it’s… it’s Valentine’s Day, Dean.” Sam shrugged, giving him a half-smile, still trying to be cute and playing this down.
“Sam.” Dean looked up again, deadly glare. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” His brother frowned and took a step forward, towards Dean. Dean froze up immediately.
“Don’t.” His voice was ice cold, warning. But Sam didn’t hear, didn’t want to hear, didn’t… just didn’t. He crossed the line and touched his arm and that’s when Dean snapped and he pushed him off violently, the card falling to the floor. “You asshole!”
Sam stumbled backwards, confused, unprepared for the onslaught. He’d have fallen down if Dean hadn’t followed, pushed again, shoved, until Sam was pressed flush again the wall with Dean holding him there, holding him upright and trapped at the same time.
Dean’s right arm swung back, fist clenched. Sam closed his eyes, awaiting the blow. But it never came. Instead, Dean’s hands were both suddenly on his face, holding him in place so he could crush his lips against Sam’s. The kiss was brutal, messy. Open-mouthed, more biting and clinking of teeth than anything else.
When Dean let go, Sam’s hands were there, holding his face, bringing Dean back, kissing him with equal ferocity. Everything went fuzzy after that. Dean remembered their shirts half torn open, their pants around their ankles, their combined hands wrapped around their spit-slick cocks, rubbing them together until they both exploded, whitened out, sank down to the floor in a messy heap. Later they were naked, writhing in the grey sheets, getting reacquainted.
Things went pretty much back to normal after that. Their normal. But not quite. Everything was still a little more intense, their fucking more brutal, their arguments colder, the few emotional moments they shared were bitter, darker, all came with a grain of salt. And it took them two years, two deaths in the family, one and a half resurrections, one deal to get to the point where they were now, Valentine’s Day, of course, both of them lying on the hood of the Impala, stargazing at night.
A few hours earlier Sam had handed him his card. Or something like it. It was ripped in half and Dean was holding the upper half in his confused hands. “The hell?” He frowned at Sam but then turned it around to find a rhyme.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Dean
This time it’s me who’s being mean.
But believe me I’m being sincere,
You’ll get the rest of this card next year.
“Sam…” Dean’s hands started shivering and it took a lot to raise his eyes to look at his brother. He didn’t know what to say. But Sam’s smile was so honest, so incredibly hopeful, that Dean couldn’t bring himself to crush it. “Thank you.”
He quickly shoved the card in his back pocket and then crossed the distance between them with a deep kiss. He could feel a sob rising in his throat and clenched his eyes shut, clutching Sam to him, rubbing up against him, trying to keep this as sexually charged as possible before it went somewhere else, somewhere Dean didn’t want to go. Sam had went along and they pretty much fucked right where they had been standing, on yet another cheap motel room floor.
Dean wasn’t really sure why he drove them out here now, to just lie next to each other. It gave Sam way too many opportunities to talk. But Dean just was a masochistic screw-up like that, sometimes. Sam brought out the worst in him.
“They burned in the fire, you know?” Sam started.
“What?” Dean frowned, confused, dazzled. Had he missed part of this conversation somewhere?
“Your cards.” Sam turned to look at Dean, who was still frowning. “I always write you one. Always.”
And Dean understood. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sam.” His voice was sharp. A warning. He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want lies.
“I mean, I couldn’t send them. I knew I couldn’t, but I still had to write them. So I kept collecting them in my desk. I was gonna give them to you.” He snatched Dean’s hand away from his face and tried to interlace their fingers. Dean swatted him away.
“Don’t lie to me, Sam.” He didn’t look, just kept gazing at the stars. “Please.” The last was muted, barely audible.
“I’m not.” Sam huffed and sat up, leaving over into Dean’s field of vision. “I would have send them, if I knew which part of the country you were in.”
Dean snorted, about to say that he fucking could have picked up the phone to ask, but they’ve been over this. Over and over. And he just wanted it to be done already. “Well, they’re in good company then.”
Now it was Sam’s turn to frown. “What?” He pulled back a little.
“The cards. The day you left, I burned the others.” Dean finally turned his head, acknowledging Sam.
“Oh.” Sam sat back upright, confused. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. His jaw clenched and Dean expected to get yelled at for burning precious childhood memories or whatever, but instead Sam whispered, “You kept them?”
“No.” Dean rolled his eyes. Geeze. “I just told you, I burned them.”
“Yeah, but until then day, you kept them?” He smiled. “You really kept them?”
Suddenly Dean felt hot. “Well, not all of them.” He scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed. There were the first two he lost.
“Dean…” Sam’s voice broke and his eyes watered.
“Oh, shut up.” Dean glared at him, even more embarrassed. When Sam was reaching for him, he shoved him away again. But now not out of malice. He just… he didn’t do this, god dammit.
Sam kept grabbing though and because he was such a freak and had the unfair height advantage, he managed to envelop Dean in a hug. Dean kept squirming until Sam finally let go and settled for kissing him instead. This, he could do. Relieved he responded into the kiss and a few minutes later, they were lazily groping.
Until Dean broke the kiss. “Why’d you write them?” Why did he just ask that? Out loud?
“What?” Sam laughed, trying to pull Dean back, but Dean refused.
“No, seriously. Why did you write them? You left me to be normal, so why did you still write the damn cards?” They were part of what started this all. Their… thing.
“I left to be normal, Dean. I never left you.” Sam’s look was part surprise, part hurt. When Dean snorted the surprise was replaced by anger.
“Like hell you didn’t.”
“You left me, remember?” Sam jumped off the hood and started pacing around instead. “You told me this was all a mistake and then you sided with dad! You told me it was good that I left and that I should just stay gone.”
“Well, yeah.” Dean threw up his arms. “Because I thought you were safe there and become a happy little geek.”
Sam stopped pacing for a moment, frozen in place. Then he started right back up. “That never excluded you visiting me, god dammit.”
“Of course it did.” Dean slid off the car himself now. “You wanted normal. How could I ever fit in?”
”But Dean, you’re my brother.” They both stopped moving, facing each other.
“Yes. That is the whole damn point. I’m your brother, so you ended it right the second you wanted normal.” His voice hitched. Dammit. He swallowed. “I just made things easier for you.”
Sam froze, froze completely, even his eyes went blank. And just as Dean started to worry, he threw his head back and just laughed. “That’s… that’s…” Sam couldn’t finish his sentence, he just kept laughing and laughing.
Dean watched him, now utterly lost. What the hell? He didn’t know if he should get angry at Sam or laugh along, or just turn and walk away, or maybe he should get the holy water.
“Fuck, Dean.” Sam put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “This is just too much.” He used his free hand to wipe at his eyes and did his best to bite down his last chuckles. Dean waited patiently, at a loss at what else to do, and finally Sam continued. “Listen to me. This, us…” He gestured around. “This is normal.” Dean started to protest but Sam raised his hand. “It’s normal to me. It’s the most normal I have ever felt. On the road or at Stanford. That’s why I wrote the cards. I always do and I always will.” He emphasized the last word.
“But how can this be normal for you?” Dean didn’t want to believe him. It meant they had wasted so much time. So many years. It just hurt too much, especially now that his time was limited.
Sam frowned, looking hurt again. “What, so it’s not normal for you?” His hand fell off Dean’s shoulder.
”What? No! I didn’t say that!” Dean’s eyes grew wide. “Geeze, I just…” He looked around frantic, trying to fix this. But then he saw Sam’s mouth twitch in the corners and he raised his eyebrow. “Ah, fuck you, bitch.” He gave Sam a playful shove and they were both laughing now. And now once he started, he couldn’t stop. It was all just too surreal. Too liberating. It was like years and years worth of crap finally peeled off of them and they were suddenly back to when they started, when this was the best thing that’s ever happened to them, when it was everything that mattered, when there was no doubt.
He laughed until his sides hurt and he had to lean against the Impala to get a grip. The cool metal helped soothe him down. When he glanced up, he found Sam grinning at him.
“You know what I’m thinking?” Sam started and Dean raised his eyebrow in suspicion. “We should just talk more often. Like, really talk. Tell the truth.”
Oh hell no! Dean scoffed. “You know what I’m thinking?”
Sam cocked his head.
“You owe me four cards worth of sexual favors.” He wiggled his eyebrows and Sam laughed again. But this time Dean didn’t join in, he just kept leering at Sam, actually pretty serious about this. Because hell, anything he could use to get Sam to misbehave was fair game.
“I think you might be right.” Sam chuckled, then leaned in for a short kiss. When he pulled back, it left Dean gasping and then moaning as Sam continued downwards, dropping on his knees and opening Dean’s belt bucket. “Hey wait.”
“What?” Dean panted exasperated. What now?
“You owe me, too.” He raked his knuckles over Dean’s bulge, teasing.
Dean really wanted to say no and come up with a good reason, but fuck, Sam was so close and he knew he could be an evil bastard about this. “You still have that vampire kink?”
Sam shuddered. “Ugh, no!” And they were both probably thinking the same thing right now. Gordon.
“Good.” Dean smiled and cupped Sam’s face in his hands to make him look up and distract him from the mental picture the question must have brought up. “I guess then you’ll official get four fantasies for free.” He smirked.
“Awesome.” Sam nodded. “For my first one I want you to…”
The hell? Dean quickly covered Sam’s mouth with both hands. “After I’ve collected some of my favors.” He pulled his hands out of the way and deliberately thrust forward, nudging Sam. “And for the next ten minutes, they only time I want to see that mouth of yours opened is when my cock is in it.”
Sam bit his lip and Dean wasn’t sure if he was biting down a laugh or a remark, but he didn’t really care because then Sam nodded and finally opened Dean’s pants and the night just got so much better. And for the first time in many years, Dean found himself looking forward to the next February 14th. And he allowed himself to hope, not believe yet, but still, he allowed himself to hope that he’d get to read the second half of that card next year.
Author: Vera
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Spoilers: AHBL II
Warnings: Mention of (possibly) underage Wincest (Sam’s 16).
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys or Supernatural or anything at all, really. Kudos to Eric Kripke.
Summary: Sam gives Dean a Valentine’s Day card. Every year.
It all started when Sam was five. Dean knew they were making a mistake in letting him stay with the neighbors, but Sam had insisted he wanted a play date. And this way Dean got to accompany his dad on a hunt, which had been pretty exciting. But apparently the evil, pre-teen daughter of Sam’s new best friend had told them some crap about Valentine’s Day and made them do cards. So when Sam got back, he handed Dean a pink, sparkly piece of cartoon paper that read ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ in Sammy’s awful little kid scrawl. And there was silver glitter and hearts stuck all over.
Dean stared at it in horror. “Uh, Sammy…”
Their dad had come over into the living room to see what was going on and gave an amused snort when he saw the card. Then he shook his head and went back into the kitchen. Sam was still holding out the card when he was gone and Dean still didn’t know what to do with it.
“Take it, Dean!” Sam was clearly buzzing with excitement, his eyes glowing as he smiled brightly at Dean.
“But… but Sam…” He reluctantly reached out his hand to accept the card. “Why are you giving me this?”
Sam’s face fell a little. “Because Cindy said it’s what you do. You make a card and you give it to someone special.” He was all hopeful spark again and Dean couldn’t help but smile.
“And you made this card for me?”
Sam nodded. “Don’t you like it?”
“Uh…” Dean scratched the back of his neck and Sam’s bottom lip started to quiver. Crap! “I love it, Sammy. It’s awesome!” Dean faked a bright grin and was rewarded with a blinding smile from his little brother in return. “Thanks.”
And then Sam had hopped away into the kitchen, clearly satisfied. Dean had kept staring at the card, before he shook his head and went to tuck it away in his duffle bag located in their room.
The next year, Sam had handed Dean a card over breakfast. No glitter this time. It was a black crayon drawing of the both of them in the Impala. This time, their dad couldn’t hold it in and cracked up, laughing so hard that Dean glared at him. “Thank you very much, Sam.” He squeezed his shoulder and smiled at him.
Sam kept glancing at their father confused, unsure, but he shrugged and smiled at Dean. “S’nothing.”
”Yes it is, Sammy. Thank you.” Dean felt compelled to point out to their still-laughing father that it was just the two of them in the car, with him nowhere to be seen, but decided against it. He just glared one last time before he got up, wrapping his arm around Sam. “Come on, help me find a place to hang it.” And they hung it up on the wall in their bedroom. Dean took it down and stuffed it in his duffel before they left town, silently regretting that he had ended up throwing last year’s card away, and knowing that he’d probably lose this one, too.
And he did, months later, when he accidentally stuffed it into the laundry machine alone with his dirty clothes. He was just glad that Sam didn’t see him pull out the washed out piece of paper from between a pile of wet socks. But then, he was pretty sure Sam had forgotten all about it anyways.
But he didn’t and the next Valentine’s Day he got a new card. This time when their dad wasn’t around. And just like that, it had become a ritual. Over the years, Sam’s scrawl developed into neat, readable handwriting. However the drawings never got much better. But Dean didn’t care. It was the thought that counted, or so he’d heard, and it was always pictures of the two of them together.
It changed when Sam was ten. They were in the middle of a huge fight, because Sam had snuck along on a hunting trip even if he wasn’t supposed to and Dean had found him hiding in the car. Even though Sam had begged him not to, he had no choice but to tell his dad, who had gotten incredibly mad and yelled at Sam for a good hour. Sam wouldn’t speak to him after that. But what was Dean supposed to do? He couldn’t risk Sammy getting hurt. He’d never forgive himself.
So he wasn’t surprised when this Fourteenth, there wasn’t a card. Dean only found it the next day, secretly stuffed in his duffle bag. The painting was only halfway done and when Dean turned it around, it read ‘Happy Valentine’s Day, but you’re still a big jerk!’ And it was accompanied by an angry smilie. Dean grinned. It was the best card ever. He didn’t mention it to Sam though. For all he knew, Dean hadn’t even found the card.
When Sam was eleven, he decided he was too old for drawings, so the next card only had a hand-written ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ on it. Sam handed it to Dean as if it was the comics section of the morning paper, simply saying “Here,” before he left the room again. When Dean turned it over, it said ‘I forgive you for eating the last cookie’ on the back. Dean chuckled.
With fourteen, Sam had drawn again. A picture of the Impala, the two of them in it. Judging by the haircut the stick figures had, it was Sam on the driver’s side. Dean’s suspicion was confirmed when he turned it around and was greeted by a poem.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Dean.
I wish you wouldn’t be so mean,
But let me drive the Impala tomorrow.
Believe me, it would spare you great sorrow.
The next morning, Sam was already waiting next to the car when Dean left the house to drive him to school. Sam was at the driver’s side, giving him a hopeful look. Dean snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think so, Shakespeare.” Sam sulked for a week before Dean gave up and handed him the keys. “But only because you might have to drive me to a hospital after a hunt.” It was the worst ten minutes of his life and he nearly had three heart attacks before they came close to the school and Dean made him stop.
Pale and shaking, he carefully wandered around the car, checking her for injuries. Halfway around, he met up with Sam, obliviously happy. He pulled Dean in for a tight hug. “Thank you, Dean! That was so awesome!” They pulled apart, Dean confused and embarrassed, Sam still buzzing. “Same tomorrow, right?” Dean just looked at him dumbfounded, about to say ‘no way in hell’, but then he just nodded. Later he cursed himself twice over for being such a sucker. But Sam eventually learned.
The February when Sam was fifteen, things were beyond awkward between them. Dean got a generic card, store bought, unsigned. Left in his duffle bag for him to find the Fourteenth. Neither of them mentioned it. That night Dean went out and got laid. Twice. Different girls. So actually, it was five times in total with two girls. It didn’t help. If anything, he felt even worse around Sam. Like he had betrayed him on their special day. At least that’s what the looks Sam gave him that night, when Dean stumbled into their motel room drunk and reeking, suggested.
Things imploded between them weeks later. The next Valentine’s card he got from his brother was more of a coupon offering various sexual favors. Dean had grinned and that evening he lied to their father, who, by stupid timing of course had to be around just that day. But he easily believed that Dean was dropping Sam off for his date before continuing for his own. Instead Dean drove them both to another motel, checking in for the night and collecting everything the card offered and more, because yes, he was a greedy bastard.
The year after that was the only time Dean wrote a card back. He’d spotted one at the sex shop when he was restocking on lube and couldn’t help picking it up. It was stick figures fucking in various positions and had a deep red condom glued to it. ‘One fantasy free,’ Dean scribbled on the back and even though Sam had refused to use the rubber, whining about not knowing how long that had already been there and anyways, he wasn’t gonna use no name brands, it might give him allergies, he had taken full use of the promise.
“You’re a sick fuck, you know that, Sam?” Dean had complained, when a few days later, he found himself tied to his bed, with Sam looming over him wrapped in a dark cloak and trying to look menacing.
“Shut up, Dean. You’re a frightened virgin, remember? So if you want to say something, you better squeal and beg that I won’t bite you.” Sam flashed his plastic fangs, which he thankfully discarded only a few minutes later. Didn’t mean Dean hadn’t ended up with his fair share of bite marks that night, though. After the first one, he had stopped complaining about the fantasy.
Then the Dark Ages started, as Dean liked to refer to them in his head. Stanford. And no more cards on Valentine’s Day. Hell, it was no more Sam at all, no calls, no nothing, so of course there were no cards. Dean had sulked through almost the whole day before he went out to get trashed that night. He’d ended up with a slutty bottle blonde and the worst blowjob of his life.
After dad left, after Dean cracked and went to get Sam, after Sam’s spanking new life went up in flames and he had nobody else left either, so he stayed with Dean, things went back to awkward. They tried to be normal around each other, or what passed for normal before they started their… whatever, tried to be brothers and nothing else, but of course, things had to implode again.
And this time they imploded right on Valentine’s Day. Sam had gotten a card. Or rather, he had made one himself again. Hand drawn, both of them in the Impala, the writing simply saying ‘Happy Valentine’s Day, Dean’. Sam probably thought it was cute, maybe thought it would help lighten things up. Instead it made it worse, chafed, tore, ripped at Dean’s heart and left him raw and open, staring at Sam forlorn.
“Why, Sam?” He asked, card clutched in his hands, not moving, looking down at the cheap motel carpet. “Why?”
”But it’s… it’s Valentine’s Day, Dean.” Sam shrugged, giving him a half-smile, still trying to be cute and playing this down.
“Sam.” Dean looked up again, deadly glare. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” His brother frowned and took a step forward, towards Dean. Dean froze up immediately.
“Don’t.” His voice was ice cold, warning. But Sam didn’t hear, didn’t want to hear, didn’t… just didn’t. He crossed the line and touched his arm and that’s when Dean snapped and he pushed him off violently, the card falling to the floor. “You asshole!”
Sam stumbled backwards, confused, unprepared for the onslaught. He’d have fallen down if Dean hadn’t followed, pushed again, shoved, until Sam was pressed flush again the wall with Dean holding him there, holding him upright and trapped at the same time.
Dean’s right arm swung back, fist clenched. Sam closed his eyes, awaiting the blow. But it never came. Instead, Dean’s hands were both suddenly on his face, holding him in place so he could crush his lips against Sam’s. The kiss was brutal, messy. Open-mouthed, more biting and clinking of teeth than anything else.
When Dean let go, Sam’s hands were there, holding his face, bringing Dean back, kissing him with equal ferocity. Everything went fuzzy after that. Dean remembered their shirts half torn open, their pants around their ankles, their combined hands wrapped around their spit-slick cocks, rubbing them together until they both exploded, whitened out, sank down to the floor in a messy heap. Later they were naked, writhing in the grey sheets, getting reacquainted.
Things went pretty much back to normal after that. Their normal. But not quite. Everything was still a little more intense, their fucking more brutal, their arguments colder, the few emotional moments they shared were bitter, darker, all came with a grain of salt. And it took them two years, two deaths in the family, one and a half resurrections, one deal to get to the point where they were now, Valentine’s Day, of course, both of them lying on the hood of the Impala, stargazing at night.
A few hours earlier Sam had handed him his card. Or something like it. It was ripped in half and Dean was holding the upper half in his confused hands. “The hell?” He frowned at Sam but then turned it around to find a rhyme.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Dean
This time it’s me who’s being mean.
But believe me I’m being sincere,
You’ll get the rest of this card next year.
“Sam…” Dean’s hands started shivering and it took a lot to raise his eyes to look at his brother. He didn’t know what to say. But Sam’s smile was so honest, so incredibly hopeful, that Dean couldn’t bring himself to crush it. “Thank you.”
He quickly shoved the card in his back pocket and then crossed the distance between them with a deep kiss. He could feel a sob rising in his throat and clenched his eyes shut, clutching Sam to him, rubbing up against him, trying to keep this as sexually charged as possible before it went somewhere else, somewhere Dean didn’t want to go. Sam had went along and they pretty much fucked right where they had been standing, on yet another cheap motel room floor.
Dean wasn’t really sure why he drove them out here now, to just lie next to each other. It gave Sam way too many opportunities to talk. But Dean just was a masochistic screw-up like that, sometimes. Sam brought out the worst in him.
“They burned in the fire, you know?” Sam started.
“What?” Dean frowned, confused, dazzled. Had he missed part of this conversation somewhere?
“Your cards.” Sam turned to look at Dean, who was still frowning. “I always write you one. Always.”
And Dean understood. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sam.” His voice was sharp. A warning. He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want lies.
“I mean, I couldn’t send them. I knew I couldn’t, but I still had to write them. So I kept collecting them in my desk. I was gonna give them to you.” He snatched Dean’s hand away from his face and tried to interlace their fingers. Dean swatted him away.
“Don’t lie to me, Sam.” He didn’t look, just kept gazing at the stars. “Please.” The last was muted, barely audible.
“I’m not.” Sam huffed and sat up, leaving over into Dean’s field of vision. “I would have send them, if I knew which part of the country you were in.”
Dean snorted, about to say that he fucking could have picked up the phone to ask, but they’ve been over this. Over and over. And he just wanted it to be done already. “Well, they’re in good company then.”
Now it was Sam’s turn to frown. “What?” He pulled back a little.
“The cards. The day you left, I burned the others.” Dean finally turned his head, acknowledging Sam.
“Oh.” Sam sat back upright, confused. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. His jaw clenched and Dean expected to get yelled at for burning precious childhood memories or whatever, but instead Sam whispered, “You kept them?”
“No.” Dean rolled his eyes. Geeze. “I just told you, I burned them.”
“Yeah, but until then day, you kept them?” He smiled. “You really kept them?”
Suddenly Dean felt hot. “Well, not all of them.” He scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed. There were the first two he lost.
“Dean…” Sam’s voice broke and his eyes watered.
“Oh, shut up.” Dean glared at him, even more embarrassed. When Sam was reaching for him, he shoved him away again. But now not out of malice. He just… he didn’t do this, god dammit.
Sam kept grabbing though and because he was such a freak and had the unfair height advantage, he managed to envelop Dean in a hug. Dean kept squirming until Sam finally let go and settled for kissing him instead. This, he could do. Relieved he responded into the kiss and a few minutes later, they were lazily groping.
Until Dean broke the kiss. “Why’d you write them?” Why did he just ask that? Out loud?
“What?” Sam laughed, trying to pull Dean back, but Dean refused.
“No, seriously. Why did you write them? You left me to be normal, so why did you still write the damn cards?” They were part of what started this all. Their… thing.
“I left to be normal, Dean. I never left you.” Sam’s look was part surprise, part hurt. When Dean snorted the surprise was replaced by anger.
“Like hell you didn’t.”
“You left me, remember?” Sam jumped off the hood and started pacing around instead. “You told me this was all a mistake and then you sided with dad! You told me it was good that I left and that I should just stay gone.”
“Well, yeah.” Dean threw up his arms. “Because I thought you were safe there and become a happy little geek.”
Sam stopped pacing for a moment, frozen in place. Then he started right back up. “That never excluded you visiting me, god dammit.”
“Of course it did.” Dean slid off the car himself now. “You wanted normal. How could I ever fit in?”
”But Dean, you’re my brother.” They both stopped moving, facing each other.
“Yes. That is the whole damn point. I’m your brother, so you ended it right the second you wanted normal.” His voice hitched. Dammit. He swallowed. “I just made things easier for you.”
Sam froze, froze completely, even his eyes went blank. And just as Dean started to worry, he threw his head back and just laughed. “That’s… that’s…” Sam couldn’t finish his sentence, he just kept laughing and laughing.
Dean watched him, now utterly lost. What the hell? He didn’t know if he should get angry at Sam or laugh along, or just turn and walk away, or maybe he should get the holy water.
“Fuck, Dean.” Sam put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “This is just too much.” He used his free hand to wipe at his eyes and did his best to bite down his last chuckles. Dean waited patiently, at a loss at what else to do, and finally Sam continued. “Listen to me. This, us…” He gestured around. “This is normal.” Dean started to protest but Sam raised his hand. “It’s normal to me. It’s the most normal I have ever felt. On the road or at Stanford. That’s why I wrote the cards. I always do and I always will.” He emphasized the last word.
“But how can this be normal for you?” Dean didn’t want to believe him. It meant they had wasted so much time. So many years. It just hurt too much, especially now that his time was limited.
Sam frowned, looking hurt again. “What, so it’s not normal for you?” His hand fell off Dean’s shoulder.
”What? No! I didn’t say that!” Dean’s eyes grew wide. “Geeze, I just…” He looked around frantic, trying to fix this. But then he saw Sam’s mouth twitch in the corners and he raised his eyebrow. “Ah, fuck you, bitch.” He gave Sam a playful shove and they were both laughing now. And now once he started, he couldn’t stop. It was all just too surreal. Too liberating. It was like years and years worth of crap finally peeled off of them and they were suddenly back to when they started, when this was the best thing that’s ever happened to them, when it was everything that mattered, when there was no doubt.
He laughed until his sides hurt and he had to lean against the Impala to get a grip. The cool metal helped soothe him down. When he glanced up, he found Sam grinning at him.
“You know what I’m thinking?” Sam started and Dean raised his eyebrow in suspicion. “We should just talk more often. Like, really talk. Tell the truth.”
Oh hell no! Dean scoffed. “You know what I’m thinking?”
Sam cocked his head.
“You owe me four cards worth of sexual favors.” He wiggled his eyebrows and Sam laughed again. But this time Dean didn’t join in, he just kept leering at Sam, actually pretty serious about this. Because hell, anything he could use to get Sam to misbehave was fair game.
“I think you might be right.” Sam chuckled, then leaned in for a short kiss. When he pulled back, it left Dean gasping and then moaning as Sam continued downwards, dropping on his knees and opening Dean’s belt bucket. “Hey wait.”
“What?” Dean panted exasperated. What now?
“You owe me, too.” He raked his knuckles over Dean’s bulge, teasing.
Dean really wanted to say no and come up with a good reason, but fuck, Sam was so close and he knew he could be an evil bastard about this. “You still have that vampire kink?”
Sam shuddered. “Ugh, no!” And they were both probably thinking the same thing right now. Gordon.
“Good.” Dean smiled and cupped Sam’s face in his hands to make him look up and distract him from the mental picture the question must have brought up. “I guess then you’ll official get four fantasies for free.” He smirked.
“Awesome.” Sam nodded. “For my first one I want you to…”
The hell? Dean quickly covered Sam’s mouth with both hands. “After I’ve collected some of my favors.” He pulled his hands out of the way and deliberately thrust forward, nudging Sam. “And for the next ten minutes, they only time I want to see that mouth of yours opened is when my cock is in it.”
Sam bit his lip and Dean wasn’t sure if he was biting down a laugh or a remark, but he didn’t really care because then Sam nodded and finally opened Dean’s pants and the night just got so much better. And for the first time in many years, Dean found himself looking forward to the next February 14th. And he allowed himself to hope, not believe yet, but still, he allowed himself to hope that he’d get to read the second half of that card next year.