A/N: This story isn't really much and I admit.. I am fairly ashamed to even post it. As I grow as a writer, from novice to a better novice; I'm fully aware I have so many better stories to tell. (evidenced by the multiple wips i have which i have been working on forever; some months and others.. years. they're going to be my first, real large fics-not epic like 50g+, but nevertheless, huge for me.
I wrote this little piece for a friend who was depressed. She requested a feel good fic; specifying '...back in time when things were less complicated between the boys.', and that is exactly what this is.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Loving Someone More Than You Love Yourself Can Sometimes Backfire And Get You Compared To A Bitch.
From the time Dean was a small child, it bothered him to hear his brother's complaints about the horrid motels they were so often forced to live in. Dean had always taken Sam's grievances against everything that was wrong their lives,personally. And, just as common as it was for Sam to whine about every little detail to their father; it was just as routine for Dean to defend John's position.
'Look Sammy, dad is doing the best he can okay? At least we're not sleeping in the car again tonight. Right?'
Quite often, although Dean didn't realize it at the time, he made up excuses as to why he himself couldn't provide his baby brother with a decent life.
'I know this place sucks Sammy. I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I couldn't sell those stupid baseball cards either. I was gonna give the money to dad to get us a better room. The jerk behind the counter said I had to be sixteen to sell cards. Sixteen. Can you believe that crud? I'm twelve and already seen more stuff than he can ever dream about."
Sad was young Dean's reality.
He was not any position to provide anything substantial for Sam's survival such as money, clothes or shelter, but there were other things he could do; such as internalize all his brother's problems and never stop trying his hardest to do the right thing.
And to Dean, the only way to accomplish that was to play the big brother role to the hilt. Dean was going to be there for Sam whether Sammy wanted it or not.
As the boys grew older and matured, and with Sam having left for school, it wouldn't take a far stretch of the imagination to believe the dynamics of the boys' relationship would have changed too. But it didn't. The: 'I'm the oldest, you're my responsibility.', mentality stuck with Dean, even after Sam returned from Stanford.
Now, with the recent death of their father, Dean believed more than ever Sam's happiness was solely his charge. Unfortunate for Sam Dean's idea of good and right was not quite in line with Sam's way of thinking; but Dean meant well, and pm the day of Sam's 23rd birthday Sam was about to find out just how different he and his brother truly were.
~~~~~~~~~~OOOO~~~~~~~~~~
Dean stood in the front room of the cabin surveying his own handiwork. He admired the decorations and was proud of the job he had done. Typical endearments of Congratulations and Have A Nice Day donned just about every balloon in the room which was not in the shape of a star, or a bright-yellow smiling face.
Balloons of all colors and sizes occupied most of the free air space the cabin had to offer. Some were tied to the backs of chairs while others floated against the ceiling. Long tails of colored ribbon danced innocently in the spring air, which wafted inward from an open window.
The decorations may have appeared to be a bit over-the-top for most people, but not to Dean.
As he looked around, he was reminded of how much Sam hated all the ran-down motels and abandoned homes they were forced to live in. Sam had complained about housing accommodations from the time he and Dean were just small boys; apparently the time away at college had not changed Sam's outlook towards the Winchester way of living. Since he and Dean got back together, Sam had not stopped complaining about where he lay his head at night.
There may not have been much of anything in the brother's lives which could be considered normal, however, there was at least one thing Dean could always count on; whenever they rented a room, Sam would do the same thing every time.
After entering their latest abode, he would throw his backpack on a bed claiming it as his, look for a table to set his laptop upon; then he would begin to rant.
'The bed is filthy. Great, the entire room smells like gin and twenty-dollar hookers. Another clown painting? What is it with cheap motels and their obsession with freaking clowns? Oh man... I don't even want to know what is growing in that refrigerator.'
Of course Dean could see and smell everything Sam could, but that was one of the main differences between the boys; Dean refused to spend all day complaining about things he knew he couldn't change, whereas Sam would spend all day griping about stuff he had no chance of changing.
Annoying to say the least, but Dean was convinced his brother wouldn't be able to find one negative thing to say about the room this time.
~~~~~~~~~~OOOO~~~~~~~~~~
As the scent of pine trees and vanilla cake filled his senses, a contented smile graced Dean's usually too-serious facial features. He was barely successful at getting all the preparations completed before Sam was due back, but luckily he managed. Actually, it didn't have as much to do with luck as it had to do with a bucket full of white lies and a lot of advanced planning. Dean tapped a balloon with the neck of his beer bottle, enjoying the way it slowly bobbed back and forth. Sam would arrive soon, leaving Dean with nothing to do but drink and wait.
~~~~~~~~~~~~OOOO~~~~~~~~~~~
He could feel himself being watched.
Call it regular everyday-joe gut instinct, or fine-tuned Hunter skills, it didn't matter which; all Sam knew was something or somebody was observing his every move. A quick glance to the left of the cabin door revealed a short, balding man standing in the entrance to the office.
The older man adjusted his glasses by the rim; slightly nodding his head when he and Sam caught eye contact. The man looked as though he could easily fit the part of a manager, so Sam gestured with a return nod of his head before he entered the room.
Before the door had a chance to close behind him, Sam was greeted with an exuberant shout; causing him to jump back startled.
"Surprise!"
Sam reached for the knife under his coat, only to realize it wasn't needed. However, after taking a good long look around the room; he did wonder if he should just turn and run far, far away. Although he was fairly certain his brother hadn't gone fully mad, not yet anyway, he knew just about anything was possible with Dean.
"Very fru fru Dean." Sam stated as he pointed to the plethora of decorations with a wave of his index finger through the air. "Very fru fru."
Dean looked at his brother with a puzzled expression.
"What? I don't see anything wrong with this Sammy."
"It looks a Hallmark store exploded in here." Sam replied.
"Geez! What a kill joy! Well, I don't care what you say, I think it's pretty cool."
Sam looked around thoughtfully for a moment then nodded in agreement. "Yeah, yeah. I guess it is pretty cool, but I know one thing even cooler."
"Yeah? What's that Sammy?"
"The fact that we can finally put to rest the question of which one of us is the girl."
Sam laughed and continued.
"So, from now on you most definitely cannot call me bitch, or even tell me to stop acting like one. Got it? Cuz dude," Sam giggled harder as he pointed up at the balloon-covered ceiling. "Even I wouldn't do something like this."
"Sam?"
"Yes?"
"Quit acting like a bitch and saying no when you really mean yes. You know you love it. It's the first real birthday celebration you've had in years."
Reluctant to hurt his brother's feelings, Sam knew he should be nicer; even if he did feel like he was at a My Little Pony party for a five year old.
"I'm sorry; you're right. It is a real celebration, and hey, I do thank you; honestly. It's a nice change from going to a bar, watching you get bombed while you put your arm around me way too much; spending every dime we have because you start shouting 'drinks for everyone! It's my little bro's birthday!' Then I get to wrap the evening up nicely by being the designated driver."
Dean looked hurt. "Hey, that's not fair. I'm just proud of you man and I-I get a little carried away sometimes ok? Anyway, chick moment over. And now I have to say that I am so glad you like what I threw together for you because there's something I have to admit."
Sam's perfected, skeptical bitch-face look came upon instantly. With glaring eyes; thinly pierced lips and a guarded stance, he replied.
"Yeah? Well, what is this time?"
"Well, your party and this awesome room, has one teeny, tiny little drawback. Before we leave we have to spend one hour with the management having lunch and..and...uh...well..."
"Come on Dean, spit it out. What do we have to do with management before we leave?"
With his head hung low, Dean hesitated before he spoke, if Sam didn't know better, he would say Dean was blushing.
Finally Dean gained the courage to admit what he knew his brother was going to hate him for.
"We, well to be more precise, I have to consult Mr. Lebowitz on how to be more.." he cleared his throat and continued, "..romantic."
"You? Romantic?" Sam chuckled. "What are you talking about? Your version of a date is several dozen tequila shots and you grabbing the woman by the wrist to lead her out of a bar while whispering god only knows what into her ear."
Dean turned to the table which was full of too much confetti and grabbed a beer from the bucket filled with ice. He flicked the lid across the room before answering.
"Yes Sammy, me. I'm romantic. (chuckles) What? You think I'm not? Before you reply, wait. I need to get something straight first."
"What's that Dean?"
"Just out of curiosity, what is it you think I'm actually telling those women?"
Sam shook his head from side to side.
"I don't know, but I'm pretty sure it's X-rated and definitely not something Mr. Lebowitz would consider romantic, more like down-right dirty. I just can't see an old man using one of your pick up lines."
Dean laughed heartily. "You think I talk dirty to get them to sleep with me? Dude you're so off. I tell them..."
Indicating he didn't want to hear it, Sam jerked his arms quickly up into the air, waved his hands back and forth, then grabbed a cupcake from the table.
The boys were standing just a few feet from each when Sam continued.
"Honestly man, I don't want to know okay?" He then took a bite from his birthday treat and stood with full mouth, icing draped across his upper lip. To Dean, Sammy looked no older than maybe ten and he couldn't help but think his brother was annoyingly adorable.
"Aww, come on Sammy boy. Aren't you just a bit curious as to why he wants my advice?"
"First, stop calling me Sammy. Second, not really Dean. I've seen you operate and I'm pretty sure your version of a good time is a six pack of cheap beer, an even cheaper motel and a pocket full of condoms."
"Gee, thanks. Once again you're close Sam, but ultimately wrong. The manager doesn't want that kind of advice from me. He's not looking for words and pick up lines. Like I said, he's looking for advice, but it's on how to maintain the relationship he's currently in."
With a look of confusion, and cupcake crumbs upon his shirt, Sam stated,"What are you talking about, a permanent relationship? You've never had one of those in your life."
"Mr. Lebowitz thinks I have."
Sam, although having fun with the craziness of their conversation, began to get tired of the crypticness* and wanted to know just exactly what was going on.
~~~~~~~~~~OOOO~~~~~~~~~~
Spying the ice-cold beers in a shiny pail on the table, Sam gratefully reached for a beer.
"All right Dean. That's enough, you win okay? Tell me what's going on and just exactly what kind of crap did you lay on the manger?"
A devious grin stretched from ear to ear on Dean's face. If Sam wasn't so curious about what sort of trouble his brother had gotten them into this time, he would of pointed out how Dean looked exactly like the Cheshire cat.
"Well Sammy, after I made the arraignments to get the cabin and when I went to pay for it, he told me he was impressed with all the effort I was going through. Securing a nice room, and how I got actual bakery fresh cupcakes instead of just freakin boxed Ho Hos. He seemed most impressed, for some weird reason, about all the balloons. I think he might have a thing for Latex."
In true form of Sam's morbid attention to detail and constant desire to prove his brother wrong, Sam retorted, "These balloons are made of Mylar, not Latex."
Dean laughed so hard, he was certain he felt a tear form in the corner of his eye.
"Dude! You are slower than mud sometimes! Don't you get it? Me, man. You, man. Cabin in the woods together... manger wants romantic advice? I think he has a thing for Latex? Are any of these clicking in your brain yet Sherlock?"
Sam's face instantly went pale.
"Holy crap. Again? You let someone think that, again? Damn it Dean! I'm sick of you pretending I'm your boyfriend in order for you to get a free room."
Dean finished the last swig of his beer, then proceeded to lean in so close to his brother, Sam could feel the warmth of Dean's breath against the exposed flesh of his throat.
With a well-practiced low and husky drawl, Dean whispered into Sam's ear.
"Aww, what's the matter honey? Don't you love me anymore? Can you really look me in my big, round soft eyes as I flutter my long, beautiful lashes and tell me that you couldn't go a few rounds in the sack with me?"
"Dean?"
Dean took a step back.
"Yeah?"
"You're sick. You're a sick, sick, cheap, devious, lying, frugal whore."
Proud of himself, Dean grinned.
"I know, and I also know you wouldn't have it any other way. Happy Birthday Sammy, Happy Birthday."
-end-
* yes, crypticness is a word in my world.