Warnings: established consensual incestuous relationship
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Summary: Sam and Dean are having a surprisingly peaceful few days, but Dean can't find his ring.
For: [livejournal.com profile] no_ones_sleep



When Sam leaves the motel shower that morning, having scrubbed the smell of Dean out of his skin, he is pleasantly surprised to find his brother on all fours. Unfortunately Dean is scrounging around under the bed looking for something rather than getting ready for a re-enactment of the night before, but it’s still a nice sight.

Sam watches the firm buttocks wiggle about as Dean fidgets and contemplates whipping that fine ass with his towel. Dean would either retaliate in terrible and creative ways, or they’d be back in bed. He had just showered though…

“Sam, if you’re done gazing at my ass like it’s the last two baby tomatoes at the salad bar, you could lend a hand.”

That’s just too sweet an opportunity to go to waste. Sam dutifully lends a hand, slapping it down onto his brother’s butt.

Dean yelps and bumps his head against the wooden bedframe. “Son of a bitch!”

He wriggles out from under the bed and immediately grabs for Sam’s towel, beginning a whipping war of truly epic proportions.

When they’re both panting on the bed – and yes, dirty again – Sam cuddles his sated brother in close and asks, “What were you looking for?”

“My ring,” Dean says through a yawn. They only got out of bed just over an hour ago and already they’ve exhausted themselves again. It is just too easy to cuddle up, to fall into one another’s warmth. It has become habit, ingrained so deep now that even Dean ‘Macho’ Winchester has no complaints as he presses his back to Sam’s chest and pulls his brother’s arm tighter around him.

Sam welcomes all the chaos and tragedy in their lives if it is the price of this peace.

“We’re staying at least a couple of days,” he murmurs into his brother’s ear. “We’ve got time to find it.”

“Guess so.”

“Let’s go get some breakfast,” Sam says with a squeeze of Dean’s thigh. “You choose where.”

Thoughts of bacon wake Dean up quicker than any supernatural threat.

*

Sam relaxes back against the diner booth chair, sipping his coffee contentedly while Dean simultaneously stuffs his face and reads the paper.

“This means the death might have actually been in the street,” Dean says with his mouth full, crumbs going everywhere. “The cops just said hospital because it covers up their mistake.”

“Would make sense,” Sam agrees. “They had enough of a scandal on their hands already.”

“That still doesn’t explain why he’s haunting some old lady’s bedroom five blocks away. He has no connection to the room, no connection to the lady.”

“That we know of.”

“You think we missed something?” Dean asks, looking up at Sam through his lashes. It’s entirely unintentional, the way he gazes up so that the sunlight falls through the blinds and lights him up from the right. Dean doesn’t even know what Sam is seeing. They’re in the crappy diner that Dean chose, on an irritating hunt, on an average day, and Sam is looking at the most beautiful man in the world. It just hits him sometimes, like a punch in the gut.

“Sam?”

“Sorry, yeah. We should probably check Mrs Hart’s home again.”

Then Dean smirks at him, like he knows exactly why Sam had spaced out. “Girl.” And he swipes the last of Sam’s pancakes. Today Sam allows it. He wants today to be perfect.

*

A haunting can never be entirely harmless, but occasionally the Winchesters find themselves handling a case before it’s lethal. Sam is happy to find this is one such situation. Their ghost is simply a befuddled old man, so accustomed to waving his white stick ahead of him that even in death he won’t move on without it. They try to explain the situation to him, to break it to him gently, but he can’t grasp it.

They have to take Mrs Hart’s second-hand stick out back and burn it. While they’re both kind of saddened by the necessity of it, it’s nothing compared to some of the tragedies they’ve seen and Sam knows they will both have forgotten about this by tomorrow night.

With any luck, he’ll have put much better thoughts into Dean’s head by then.

Dean must be in a pretty good mood anyway, as he insists on giving Mrs Hart a ride to the aid shop before it closes so she’s able to get hold of a replacement white cane.

“Maybe we could stick in town for a few days until we find another case somewhere,” Dean suggests in the car on the way back to the motel.

Sam smiles at him warmly, barely able to believe how smoothly the last few days have gone. For the first time since the averted apocalypse, life is running exactly in accordance with his plans. It just makes him all the more certain of what he has planned. It’s like it was meant to be.

“What’s with you today?” Dean asks. He doesn’t sound worried, which makes for a nice change. Usually conversations that start with that question are laden with concern and suspicion. “You’re all dopey.”

“Just relaxed,” Sam replies. “We’ve had a nice few days.”

“Great, now you’ve jinxed it,” grumbles Dean as he turns the car into the motel parking lot. “Besides, it’s not been perfect. I still need to find my ring, remember?”

“I know. How about we order some pizza then search while we’re waiting?”

“You’re the man with a plan, Sammy.”

They put the plan into action, Sam phoning up the pizza place and ordering them each a pizza. He orders some drink and some sides and desserts too. Hopefully they’ll be for celebrating, but pizza works just as well for commiserating.

When Sam hangs up the phone, Dean is shifting aside everything on the table in hopes of finding his ring. Sam slides his hand into his pocket and runs his fingers along the ring box he had found down the back of a sofa in a different room, a few months before. He had the idea then and there, and has been building up courage ever since.

“Maybe the cupboards?” he suggests.

Dean pulls his best approximation of a bitchface. “Why would it be in the cupboards?”

“You went in there for the salt, I don’t know.”

With a sigh, Dean heads over to the small kitchenette and stretches up to look in the cupboards, which contain nothing by salt and an ancient tin of beans.

No time to waste. Sam hurries over and gets down on one knee behind him, producing the ring box with a flourish. He opens it up.

“Found it.”

His brother turns around and blinks with surprise at Sam’s pose. “Uh, Sam?”

Sam had an entire speech planned, but looking up at Dean’s startled green eyes, he forgets the whole thing. He just stares up at his brother and says, “Well?”

“Uh…” Dean reaches out slowly to the ring in the box.

“If you take it, you’re saying yes,” Sam says, suddenly painfully aware he sounds like a child.

Dean snatches his hand back, a move that hurts Sam more than he’ll ever admit. “I have to marry you to get my ring back?”

It’s not exactly the proposal Sam had planned, but he’s started so he’ll finish. He nods.

There is a moment of silence as Dean thinks this over. Then he grins and takes the ring from the box.

“Guess I’ve got no choice then, huh.”

He slides it onto his finger then ruffles Sam’s hair.

“I’m not wearing a dress though, bitch.”

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