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justinedelargeAuthor: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
justinedelarge
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warning: Wincest (Sam is a few months shy of legal age)
Word Count: 1600
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Just for fun.
Summary: Ever wonder how Dean started talking dirty? The genesis is in the way Sam and Dean make their feelings for each other physical. This story has dirty talk, all the feels you can handle, infinite love and even a plot that develops into a nail-biting narrative, with the best kind of hurt/comfort.
Chapter Summary: I am jumping ahead here, but I needed to write a little Thanksgiving moment to post ON Thanksgiving. As a thank you to all of you, because one thing I'm most thankful for this year is the Supernatural family, and in particular, all you people who see that Wincest is LOVE, not perversion, and know it to be one of the most beautiful love stories ever told.
“Keep your hands off the pie, Dean. We haven’t even had dinner yet.”
Dean eyed the apple-pecan pie cooling on the countertop.
“You baked that?”
“Yeah. I baked that. But that’s for everyone. So hands off.”
“It just looks so freakin’ good.”
Sam looked at the crowd of hunters assembled in the living room with John and Bobby, all caught up in a board game, of all things, and took Dean’s hand. “Come on,” he whispered, tugging Dean upstairs to their room and locking the deadbolt behind them.
There, on the table next to Dean’s side of the bed, was a small, individually sized apple pie. On the bed itself were two folded towels.
Sam bit his lip, hazel eyes locked on Dean’s green ones. “Think we have time?”
Dean groaned, staring at the apple pie. The towels. At Sam.
Sam stuck two fingers into the pie, coating them with sweet cinnamon-scented syrup, and brought them to Dean’s mouth. Dean licked and sucked them without an ounce of shame, not caring how debauched he looked. Actually, he did care. And loved it. Loved seeing how Sam’s eyes darkened, how his breath sped up, how his hand trembled.
“Sam. Marry me.”
“Yes.”
Dean had been joking. He thought.
Sam was joking too. He thought.
A second later, they realized neither one had been joking at all.
“I know we can’t do it legal, Sam, but…”
“We can do a ritual.”
Dean pulled Sam to him, claiming his mouth, smearing pie filling all over Sam’s lips, kissing him hard, sweet and messy. Sam melted into him, kissing him for a long, long time.
Sam pulled away, just a bit. “Two things. First, I want a ring and a date.”
Dean smiled. “Ok. What else?”
Sam pressed up against Dean. “Probably should wait until I’m 18, huh.”
~
The kitchen was a hive of activity. Bobby checked the temperature of the 28 lb turkey, stuffed with his grandfather’s secret stuffing recipe, swathed with butter-soaked cheesecloth. Bosie pinched the ends off a giant pile of green beans. John poured a generous dose of Barbados rum into the huge crockpot filled with simmering apple cider with orange slices and cinnamon sticks.
Reggie stood over the biggest cast iron pan Sam and Dean had ever seen, whisking the browned mixture of flour and butter, adding turkey juices Bobby had poured into a fat separator an hour before.
Sam and Dean exchanged private glances over the large heap of potatoes on the kitchen table, peeling the leathery skins off in long strips. Under the table, Dean bumped Sam’s knee with his leg.
Sam stared at the pile of potatoes, but his smile, achingly sweet, was all for Dean.
~
Two hours later, the potatoes, mashed not beaten (“Keep your damn mitts off it, John. Too important to screw up.”) by Bobby were placed on the long dining room table, along with a dizzying array of side dishes brought by the motley crew of hunters that had made the pilgrimage to Bobby’s house, in honor of the boys. Jeweled cranberry sauce, orange-and-pink fresh cranberry relish ground with whole oranges and walnuts, a heavily spiced chutney of some sort, maple syrup yams dusted with cayenne (“That’s my own personal recipe,” Reggie had said with a wink.), stuffed sweet potatoes with pecans and bacon, creamed pearl onions, marinated cucumber salad, roasted Brussels sprouts with bacon, thick Southern-style biscuits, Bobby’s secret-recipe stuffing, corn pudding....
Bobby’s turkey was set before him at one end of the table, and a massive glazed ham on the other end, in front of John. The table bristled with bottles of various liquids: red wine, white wine, champagne, non-alcoholic cider, cranberry juice, and mugs of spiked apple cider. A fire blazed in the fireplace, and ruby tapers in candlesticks were placed along the cranberry-colored runner down the middle of the table.
John stood. “Thank you all for being here. I’m more grateful than I can say. It’s not often that me and my boys get to have this kind of thing. And I know it’s the same for all of you.” He looked around the table at the assortment of people, people who had sacrificed so much to keep the world safer, given up having families of their own, normal lives, all to be hunters.
“So today means a lot. And it means a lot more, what with what my family has been through over the last month.” John looked at Sam and Dean. “I’m thankful for all of you and the help you gave us. But most of all, I’m thankful for my two sons.”
All eyes turned to them.
“I did the best I could to raise them without their mother. And I know—“John’s voice cracked. “I know I messed it up. Let Mary and you boys down. But you turned out so well anyway. Probably because you had each other. And Dean… you really… I can’t even thank you enough. For how you took care of Sammy. Better care than I did.”
Dean swallowed hard, trying to retain some semblance of composure.
“I always knew they were exceptional boys, but they proved themselves to be exceptional men, and fine hunters.” John’s face shone with pride and love. “I love you both, and I’m so proud to call you my sons.”
Sam and Dean both wiped their hands across their eyes.
Dean cleared his throat. “We love you too, Dad.” He went on. “Um, I want to say thanks to all of you. For what you did for Sam.” Under the table, he put his hand on Sam’s knee. “Sam’s…” Dean bit his lip, looking at Sam. “He’s the best brother anyone could ever hope to have. And I’m damn lucky he’s mine.”
Sam beamed, squeezing Dean’s hand under the table. The specific phrasing Dean had used was not lost on Sam.
And Sam was not the only one at the table that caught that.
Quickly, unnoticed by everyone else present, Bobby and Reggie exchanged a glance.
Sam spoke next. “I don’t even know how to begin to thank all of you. You’ve done so much.” He looked at every one in turn. “I can’t ever pay you back. But I’ll try.” He took a moment. “First off, I’m thankful I’m still here.”
No one said anything, but nodded.
“And I’m thankful I met Reggie. Who’s awesome.” Reggie grinned, chewing on his toothpick.
“And Bobby. And Dad.” Sam searched for words. “I love you guys.”
Sam turned his eyes to Dean. He didn’t even have to say anything. But he did. “And Dean. All my life, I wanted to be as good as him. At something.” An expression of pain flickered across Dean’s face. “I’m serious. You’re so good at everything. Shooting, fighting, running, hunting, driving, everything. And you were just the coolest thing ever.”
A ripple of laughter issued from the people at the table.
“I just tried to live up to him. And I know you guys were all, wow, what you did when they took you was amazing. But I…” Sam’s voice thickened, and he paused to let the emotion subside. “That wasn’t really me. That was Dean. All I did was try to do what I thought Dean would do in that situation. Live up to his example.”
Dean tried to remain cool, but he couldn’t prevent the tear from rolling down his face.
“People can make you better or worse. And Dean makes me better. He’s the best brother ever.” Sam’s eyes were wet. “And I’m glad he’s mine.”
Bobby raised his glass again. “We’re glad you boys have each other.”
Reggie raised his glass as well. “You two make a hell of a pair.”
John raised his glass. “To Sam and Dean.”
Everyone at the table raised a glass or mug. “To Sam and Dean.”
Sam and Dean turned red under the weight of the attention, but sat up straight and let it wash over them. Under the table, Dean twined his fingers in Sam’s.
Bobby stood. “Sam. We’d like you to carve the turkey.”
Sam was stunned. Carving the turkey was what the man of the house did.
John nodded, his face lit up with pride. “Go ahead, son. You’re a man now.”
Sam stood, cheeks stained pink, and moved to the head of the table. He took the carving fork and knife Bobby handed him. He stood there for a moment, all eyes on him. Then deftly, as though he had practiced this a hundred times, he sliced off the leg and wing, flipped them onto the empty platter, and began carving perfect, even strips of white meat.
“Damn, son. I should have had you do this all along.” Bobby shook his head.
Dean watched Sam elegantly carve the turkey, slicing medallions of dark meat off the thigh, separating the drumsticks, all techniques absorbed simply by watching others do it over the years. Because Sam was just that smart.
He watched Sam, the memory of their secret kisses earlier still tingling on his lips, the scent of Sam all over him. Sam at the head of the table, bathed in love and praise.
His Sammy.
Dean closed his eyes, folded his hands under the table, and from his lips issued a prayer of thanks.
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Date: 2012-11-22 10:53 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2012-11-23 02:24 am (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2012-11-23 06:16 am (UTC)<3
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Date: 2012-11-23 11:51 pm (UTC)Bobby & Reggie = awsomeness
John = well. it's about time he got his head out of his ass on one thing. He's making me like him. When does he screw it up again?
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Date: 2013-08-10 01:53 am (UTC)The boys' hidden meaning in their toasts (not to Bobby or Reggie :D) was definitely a squee moment for me. Well done!