Notes: Wow, thank you all for the great feedback! I'm really, really happy about all the comments, faves and follows!

So here we are with the half-announced next part. There really wasn't anybody who outright objected to Wincest in the comments. Within the story, however, well, let's just say, I don't see Sam and especially Dean abandoning their stubborn manliness without a sufficient amount of shipping cliches that would force them to face their feeling eventually. This is what brought this on.

So enough with the rambling - enjoy!

A Supernatural Hangover

10 HOURS EARLIER

"Dude, you just let him go like that?" Sam repeated in disbelief as he stumbled into the abandoned storeroom, apparently hurt from fending off a bunch of crazed women but not badly so.

"Yup," Dean agreed and grinned at his brother, "Just like that, he's gone with the wind."

Stepping closer, Sam squinted through the darkness. "Dean, are you drunk?" he asked in disbelief.

Swaying just a tiny little bit, Dean just kept grinning. "Just feeling good for once, man," he hummed and pointed at his brother, "and you should, too."

Now fully alerted, Sam grabbed his brother by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes. "He got to you, didn't he?" he asked in worry, "What do you remember?"

Opening his mouth, Dean took a moment to actually think about the question before he resumed grinning wryly. "I do remember you've got awfully long hair for a dude, man."

Sighing, Sam straightened again. "The same goes for your lashes, Dean," he replied tiredly, looked around the room and sighed once more when he found his brother watching him appreciatively. "We should probably get out of here," he commented dryly and turned towards the door, "I need you sober, man."

He set off, yet was startled to find Dean holding him back by his hand. More importantly, though, he was worried to see the heartfelt expression his brother's grin had turned into.

"You know what I need, Sammy?" Dean all but pleaded, "I need you happy." Grasping his brother's hand with both of his, he pulled him close. "So just let me make you happy, Sammy," he whispered into his ear.

And all of a sudden, Sam started to feel good as well.

NOW

It was dark, warm and quiet. Until something exploded just outside the window, that is.

Startled out of a highly fascinating dream, Dean was hit by an overwhelming wave of headache and nausea.

With his head throbbing and his body still in dire need of sleep, Dean was quick to just deduce that whatever explosion had awoken him in the first place might have been nothing but a car horn or a can dropping anyway. All things considered, he doubted he was up to fighting anyway. Thus, he simply moaned in agony and rolled around to bury his face in the pillow.

He was pleasantly surprised he had manoeuvred himself into a warm and comforting embrace with that motion.

Now, possible danger and explosions were one thing he could just ignore in his drowsy state of mind. A hot body dozing invitingly close to him, however, was a different matter entirely.

Squinting through the darkness, Dean could barely even make out the outlines of the chick he must have picked up at some point last night – all of which he could not quite remember, thank you very much.

Sure enough, she was tall, well-built and dark-haired. Sighing softly – and by no means longingly! - Dean reached out to play with her hair. She seemed alarmingly easy on the eye, had a pleasant aroma to her and must have been enough of a welcome challenge for him to actually feel somewhat sore after whatever exercises they had gone through.

And yet, still looking at her frame, he could not help feeling just a bit disappointed with himself, really. For quite a while now, he had been doing his best to avoid this kind of woman.

The kind of woman that reminded him of Sam.

When a Cupid had shot both him and his brother quite lethally in regards of their love life, they had chosen to blatantly ignore their new-found attraction to each other - not because they did not want it, per say, but because neither brother dared messing up their already strained relationship even further.

Sam might be as delectable as he wanted, but he was still his baby brother. He needed Dean to protect him, not to take advantage of him. And, well, doing the things to his brother he had most likely done with the chick next to him would send Dean spiralling right down a guilt trip of shame and awkwardness.

Altogether, Sam Winchester was not to be touched.

Which, in turn, made any remotely good-looking girls with some kind of resemblance to his younger brother even more attractive to Dean's eyes.

There had been this really hot lawyer with a small mole on her cheek in Illinois. On the next case, three states later, Dean had picked up a freakishly tall girl whose bitchface looked just right for some reason. Another week later, he had met that tattoo freak at a biker pub. She had an abs of steel – and exactly the kind of bedroom stamina he had been looking forward to.

Naturally, Dean had not even noticed what he had been doing until, after several adventurous one-night-stands, Sam had eventually pointed out his brother's interesting change in preferences in a confusingly dispassionate way, "If you do want me that badly, you could just tell me."

Unable to even process a comment - or was it an invitation? - as blunt as that, Dean had failed to come up with any response whatsoever.

Sam Winchester was not to be touched.

Ever since that fateful day, however, Dean had at least taken his baby brother's words into consideration in picking up the kind of shorter, busty women he had used to prefer before, well, before Sam.

It had been a good change of pace, and he had felt less perverted. Naturally, these chicks reacted just as badly to being called "Sam" as those before them had, but never mind. Dean had been at ease with his libido for the first time in a long while.

Then he woke up with an epic hangover and no recollection of the night before next to a woman whose outline looked so much like Sam's it could actually be him.

On that notion, the leg brushing against his was awfully hairy for a woman's.

The arm draping itself around his back was awfully muscular for some random stranger.

The voice whispering a sleepy "Just a little longer" into his ear was awfully unmistakable in its own right.

Any former comfort forgotten, Dean froze.

"Well, shit."

THREE WEEKS AGO

"Dude," Dean whined as he heard the door to their motel room opening and closing, "Please tell me you found something edible. Would you believe they even shut down the freaking gas station at night in this backwater town?"

True enough, as he finally appeared in his brother's field of vision, Sam was holding something. "As a matter of fact, I considered the possibility before sunset," he announced and tilted his head when he tried to distinguish Dean's body from the denim-coloured sheets he had somehow gotten entangled in when he had unceremoniously dropped on them an hour earlier.

The day had been draining at best, yet at the prospect of food, Dean bothered struggling up again. "So what've you got?" he asked, eyeing the bag eagerly.

"Oh, you know, nothing special," Sam stated with a shrug as he pulled out the bag's contents, "Just some bacon sandwiches and the best apple pie in town."

Staring at the food as if it were a miracle, Dean accepted it graciously. He unwrapped the pie with all the urgency of starving man and took a hungry bite off it. "Oh man, this is awesome," he swooned and grinned at his brother with his mouth still full, "Seriously, dude, I could kiss you for this."

Unpacking his own meal, something that looked suspiciously vegetarian - again! - Sam arched an eyebrow.

"Not that I would, of course," Dean added hastily and took another far too huge bite, "Don't get your hopes up." He waved the sandwich in the air, "Right now, this baby is my only love interest."

TWO WEEKS AGO

It was just one lone werewolf. So how exactly had it managed disarming both Winchesters?

"Dude, grab your gun!" Sam called out as he kicked the creature off himself.

"I can't see shit!" Dean shot back angrily, trying to blink his eyes clean of whatever he'd been sprinkled with. Not quite succeeding at that task, he felt around the floor in the feeble attempt to at least get a hold of the gun, "Where is it?"

Reacting quickly, Sam struggled up and dashed towards the weapon himself, grabbing it just as Dean did. Unprepared for the sudden resistance, though, he sacrificed his balance in favour of the gun and shot the werewolf mere seconds before he stumbled backwards and right into Dean's arms. Now both sprawled awkwardly against each other, they were breathing heavily thanks to both the battle...and the sudden tension between them.

"Now I get why Crowley calls you moose," Dean broke the silence at last, "You weigh a ton, man."

At least that made Sam finally regain his composure. "Are you all right?" he asked and quickly struggled up again.

"I'll live," Dean replied as he rubbed his eyes and was grateful to find his vision clearing up, "but I'm not sure how quickly I'll recover from smelling your shampoo, man. What's it called? Pink fairy dust?"

"That's not my shampoo," Sam corrected him, "It's the stuff on your face." He bit back a laugh. "You're glittering, Dean."

ONE WEEK AGO

"Dude," Dean complained through gritted teeth, "have your fine motor skills always been this crappy?"

"My hands are shaking because you nearly gave me a heart attack," Sam explained wearily and took a deep breath before pushing the needle through his brother's skin for the fourth time. Watching Dean flinch in pain, he added quietly, "I thought you were dying, man."

"Man's gotta be allowed a death cry," the older Winchester objected gruffly, "In my defence, these Angel Blades do hurt as hell."

"I'm just glad it's only left a relatively shallow cut," Sam commented before setting the final stitch.

After bearing the pain with manly dignity, Dean allowed himself a small chuckle. "I guess you saved my hide again, huh?" commented good-naturedly, "Though I have to admit, you went pretty barbaric on that Angel even by our standards."

As he began carefully covering the wound in bandages, Sam did not bother looking up and phrased an absent-minded reply, "I told you, I panicked."

Arching an eyebrow, Dean could not help releasing a low whistle. "I like it when you get all protective over me," he grinned, if only to lighten the mood.

As expected, Sam paused and sent him the look. "Maybe I'll just let you suffer a bit longer next time, then," he retorted and finished the bandaging at last.

Even though he winced slightly when pulling his shirt back down, Dean kept grinning. "Kinky bastard," he commented with a wink.

Shaking his head, Sam sighed and got up.

As he spent an unnecessarily long moment watching his brother taking a gulp of the whiskey he had just cleaned the wound with, Dean suddenly felt the urge to phrase something he had intended not to ever mention. "There I say stuff like that and you don't even flush any more," he observed slowly, "So that means things are finally getting back to normal, right? Between us?"

Frowning deeply, Sam stopped fiddling with the items to meet his brother's gaze. "I guess so," he replied with a non-committal shrug, "I mean, unlike some weeks ago, me touching you didn't bother you enough for you to moan my name."

Shaking his head, Dean laughed the matter off. "Been waiting for that to happen, have you?" he countered and chuckled to himself.

But if he was honest – the suturing had been so agonizing he was proud of himself for not crying out at all. Thus, moaning anything had been far from his mind in that moment.

He would not have minded Sam kissing him better, though.

As a matter of fact, he had concentrated on that thought when trying to ignore the pain.

But of course, they had an agreement.

He would never tell Sammy about any of these thoughts.

NOW

Unable to keep staring but failing to tear his gaze away, Dean gulped.

He was screwed.

He had not even gotten far enough to stomach the implications of waking up naked next to his friggin brother when said friggin brother opened his eyes sleepily. "Dean?"

Far too close for comfort – and he certainly wouldn't forget the view of Sam's bedroom eyes nor the sound of his raspy morning voice up close any time soon – Dean shook his brother's arm off himself and skidded a safe distance away. "Dude," he began, clearing his throat to get rid of the awkwardness but made things only worse with his next words, "Please tell me you're not as naked and hungover as I am."

Blinking again, Sam sat up with a puzzled expression and did not even notice the sheets sliding down his body, "What do you..." He trailed off as soon as he was awake enough to notice his older brother staring at his bare torso in a mixture of admiration and terror. Paling, he pulled the sheets back up. "This...isn't really what it looks like, is it?" he asked slowly.

"You tell me," Dean demanded and buried his face in his palm. "The last time I had a blackout this huge," he added helpfully, "I'd banged everything that moved for an entire night."

Closing his eyes, Sam took a moment to gather his thoughts. "For starters, I don't remember much myself," he offered numbly, "But I don't feel sore, if that's any consolidation."

"Good for you," Dean grunted and rubbed his temple, "I'm sore enough for the two of us anyway."

Sam's eyes widened. "Oh god, Dean," he rambled as all colour drained from his face, "I mean, you're small and handy, but I never meant to –" Stopping himself before saying anything worse, he mustered his best puppy dog eye, "I'm sorry."

Dean, on the other hand, was at least equally confused with the entire situation. "What are you even talking about?" he retorted with a frown and pointed at a large, nasty bruise on his shoulder, "Were you the one who beat me up?"

Gulping, Sam laughed weakly and looked away. "No, of course not," he clarified as he looked around the room.

Meanwhile, Dean grew suspicious. "But...?" he prompted.

"Well, you said you were sore," Sam offered with a slight grimace, "and we were talking about a different kind of sore."

This time, it was Dean's eyes that widened in shock. "Dude, what the hell," he ground out and jumped up from the bed, still wrapped in the sheet, "I'm sore everywhere but there."

He stomped a few angry paces before he realized he had never even seen this room before. Any prior agitation forgotten, he turned back to face his brother.

"Where the hell are we?"

As he glared out of the window at an empty parking lot, all colour drained from his face at last, "And where the hell is my car?"

The drive back to their actual motel was a quiet one – if you did not count a suspicious elderly couple accusing them of stealing a car, that is.

Nonetheless, and after puppy dog assuring them that they had been forgetful enough lock the key inside the car, the Winchesters were the road once again.

"Dude, about earlier," Dean began.

"The earlier we don't remember or the earlier this morning?" Sam quipped unhappily.

"Both, probably," Dean replied and tilted his head, "The sore-thing, you know."

Slightly troubled, Sam looked out at the street. "I panicked, okay?" he warned, "Just let it go."

Glancing at his brother, Dean chose to try a different approach. "So how exactly am I small and handy?" he asked playfully.

Sighing deeply, Sam forced out a small chuckle. "Dude, you were the one to suggest we might have broken that particular taboo," he explained heatedly, "I felt pretty unharmed and you were complaining, so of course I assumed it could have only gone one way."

"And you're so wrong, man," Dean replied, "FYI, if anything had happened between us, you wouldn't have felt pretty unharmed." He grinned. "You would have felt fucking amazing, that's what."

Rolling his eyes, Sam sighed yet again. "Too much information, Dean," he told him, "Nothing happened, and nothing is going to."

Now that comment had Dean frowning. "So you're saying," he drawled at last, "the whole Cupid thing's worn off at last? No dreams, no jealousy, no attraction whatsoever?"

Sam sent him a funny look. "Yeah, pretty much," he offered simply.

Tilting his head, Dean chuckled lightly, "Dude, be glad you don't know what you're missing."

Of course he had noticed Sam watching him attentively lately, but with all the shit they had gone through, he could no longer tell whether his younger brother was being concerned or fascinated. Considering his own Cupid-induced crush had worsened rather than worn off, he had half-expected Sam to share the same fate.

But it was probably better that way. As long as at least one of them got a hold of the situation, that was absolutely all right with him.

"So apparently," Sam reported while scanning his most recent browsing history, "we've been hunting Dionysus, the Greek god of wine, ritual madness and ecstasy."

Looking up from their father's journal, Dean sent his brother a wry grin. "Sounds like a great guy to me."

"You remember the party crashers that had us driving here in the first place, right?" Sam prompted.

"Yeah," Dean replied slowly, "Three young, attractive women dead of a heart attack – each during an orgy of some kind." Grinning pervertedly, he added, "Top priority case, that."

Nodding, Sam shut the laptop. "Apparently, those meetings were a bit more intense than actual orgies," he explained, earning a low whistle from Dean which he quickly ignored, "The lore speaks of Dionysian Mysteries, a kind of trance induced to remove inhibitions and liberate the individual to its natural state."

"So that god just, what, got a bit too enthusiastic and overexcited those poor girls?" Dean summarized, "I mean, I could imagine worse deaths." Frowning, he corrected himself, "As a matter of fact, this is probably the best way to die ever. But still, we gotta find the guy." Clapping his hands, he got up with a predatory grin. "Time to do some in-action investigating, right?"

Sighing, Sam looked at his brother tiredly. "You do realize that's what got us these major blackouts, don't you?"

"Still, we don't exactly have any new leads except for some awkward early morning bromance," he replied and stalked towards the door, "So I say we do this and just, you know, decline the invitation this time."

"You can't be serious," Sam all but whined, yet got up to follow suit eventually.

"Wait," Dean asked, halting in his step, "How do we even kill it?"

Sam chuckled humourlessly, "We sober him up."

"Ah," Dean replied and turned back toward the exit, "Figures."

Frustrated to find yet another former hideout of their current target abandoned, Dean dialled his brother's number.

"You got anything?" he heard Sam's voice answering.

"Aside from a fortune on coke and meth, I got nada," Dean grunted, "You?"

"I found a long-term lover of his, Brenda Greensward," Sam reported, "For some reason she kept complaining about how his last great gift was entirely wasted on – " He hesitated briefly, but Dean had a feeling it was exactly the time he needed to get his bitchface going. "– the likes of us."

"So you're saying we made some kind of deal with him?" Dean spluttered, "What do you mean, last great gift?"

"Apparently he left town as soon as we received whatever gift she was talking about," Sam stated and paused yet again, "I don't know, man, we might've just let him go because he was harmless."

"Or he might have drugged us and ran," Dean offered helpfully.

Sam sighed on the other end of the line. At least on this one, they agreed. "Still, I don't think we can find him again," he stated, "I've checked him online. He seems to have gone underground as soon as he left us in that hotel room."

That got a gasp out of Dean. "You're saying some beardy guy in a tunic undressed me while drunk?"

Sighing yet again, Sam changed the subject. "Anyway, I got the address of yesterday's event," he offered, "If we're lucky, we might remember something after all."

From the outside, it looked like your average family home.

From the inside, though, it was anything but usual.

"Sweet mother of God," Dean breathed in awe as he turned around repeatedly, taking in every detail of the most imaginative love den he had ever seen. "You can say about this guy whatever you want," he gaped and looked back at Sam, "But he's got class, man."

Maybe even because his brother did not seem to share his enthusiasm, Dean's grin only widened. "The only thing missing's a crowd of hot chicks," he mused playfully.

"The only thing missing," Sam corrected his brother and clicked his tongue, "is our recollection of the place."

"Experiencing his power for the first time tends to cause mental or physical confusion to most," they suddenly heard a voice behind them and whirled around to face the establishment's owner, a short, middle-aged woman with a carefree smile, "and yet, do you not feel refreshed from your experience?"

Tilting his head, Sam took a moment to consider her words. Dean, on the other hand, objected right away, "I don't know about you, but I don't see anything refreshing about getting drugged into oblivion."

Her eyes widened slightly, but did not lose their warmth. "Then your experience must have been so wonderful it felt like a dream," she all but beamed.

Dean, on the other hand, grew increasingly restless. "Listen, Lady, if you think it's a blessing you got yourselves into this kind of cr –" he ranted when he was suddenly cut off by a hand on his arm.

"Dean," Sam urged, but kept his face alarmingly blank, "Let's just go."

"What are you –," Dean protested, but was cut off once again.

"Thank you for your time," Sam told the house owner and made a beeline for the exit.

Dean's worry increased as he jogged after his brother, but he only raised his voice once they were outside again, "Sam, what the hell?"

Instead of a proper answer, he received a cheaply made leaflet shoved into his hands rather brusquely. "Mountainside lookout," he read aloud and eyed the overly photoshopped pictures of what appeared to be considered a tourist attraction sceptically before redirecting his frown at his brother, "It's got the view, it's got the privacy, it might be straight out of your average chickflick." He cracked a lopsided grin that vanished quickly when his brother did not seem particularly amused. "What is this, Sammy?" Dean demanded more seriously as he waved the paper around.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "It's a leaflet I did not bother picking up from that love den's lobby yesterday because I knew you would dismiss it as girly anyway," he explained tensely.

"Well, you can't deny that," Dean countered with a shrug.

Sam sighed deeply, "In any case, I'm pretty sure that's where we ended up going nonetheless."

Dean opened his mouth to leave a quirky remark, but chose to hold his tongue after all. "How come?" he asked carefully as he led the way to their borrowed car.

Sam met his gaze with a tired expression. "She sais that what we dreamt is basically our most prominent memories from last night, right?" he summarized and shrugged, "So here we are: I dreamt about it."

Dean's eyes widened as his worst fears quickly arranged themselves to a finished puzzle – limited self-restraint, the privacy of the Impala's backseat underneath a brilliant starry sky and a cozy and naked morning after only allowed for one valid conclusion, really.

"We were stargazing," Sam added quickly upon noticing his brother's troubled expression and sighed softly – almost forlornly, "Just like we did in the old days."

When they reached the otherwise vacant lookout, the sun had long set. Not that Dean particularly cared for either daytime or scenery.

"Baby!" He exclaimed in sheer relief as he ran up to the familiar shape of the Impala and stroked her fondly, "I can't believe we ditched you here."

"We didn't," Sam offered as he strolled towards the railing and stared down at the small village below, "at least, not intentionally." He nodded towards the other side of the Impala, where a rather steep hillside led directly into the river below. "You got off the car on the wrong side and tumbled into the water," he explained with a small smile and went on, "I tried getting you out, but in the end, we were both washed to a riverbank close to the hotel we woke up in this morning." He nodded towards some lights half a mile down the river.

Sitting down on the hood of the Impala, Dean took a moment to contemplate the new information. "You 'dreamt' about all those details and didn't bother mentioning it?" he asked at last.

"I dreamt about us looking at the stars," Sam clarified and approached the car again, "the rest is just deductive reasoning. Some of our clothes were still wet in the morning, after all."

Chuckling softly, Dean stared up at the starry sky. "And there I was thinking your drug-induced self had coaxed my easily-convinced self into a clichéd make-out session when it turns out we really just relished in nostalgia," he mused both in guilt and relief, speaking more to himself than to his brother, and he allowed himself to enjoy the view at last, "Then again, this is pretty amazing."

At the sound of bottle caps popping, he turned to find Sam rounding the car with two bottles in his hand and accepted his with a sly grin.

"Of course it is," Sam agreed as he leant against the hood as well, "We used to do this, you know."

"Yeah," Dean hummed as he took a sip of his beer.

"And then we fell for each other and things like this became too awkward for you," Sam added more quietly.

What the...

Gulping down the beer in his mouth, Dean stole a glance at his brother. He was guilty of all charges, of course, but what could he do?

"Seriously, man," Sam went on and ran a hand through his hair, "the whole line of But we're brothers! argumentation kinda looses its foothold once we stop being brothers because of it."

As Dean took a deep breath, he felt his heartbeat fastening. "What are you saying, Sammy?" he asked, and he hated how hoarse his voice had become within a few moments only.

"I'm saying that I can't take this any longer," Sam announced quietly and heaved a sigh. "We're both quite obviously still attracted to each other," he elaborated and took a gulp of beer, "But you won't allow yourself to pursue that affection, so I lie about it to make it at least bearable on both of us."

Dean's eyes widened. "You do?", he rasped.

Sam sighed deeply. "The thing is, our entire approach to this is bull," he summarized and finally met his brother's eyes again.

Dean inhaled sharply when confronted with that raw emotion.

"So what does it take to make you see it?," the younger Winchester asked softly and placed his hand on Dean's, "to make you understand that there's no reason to feel bad for sharing moments like these?" A tiny, playful and absolutely mesmerizing smile was forming on his features. "For sharing more than that?"

Once again, Dean's breath hitched. "Sammy," he rasped, his gaze torn between between his brother's demanding eyes and that offending hand sending waves of heat through his body.

But he could not just...

He couldn't...

Could he?

"Nothing else, Sammy," he replied at last, and his voice broke just as his self-control did. Grabbing the hand resting on his own, Dean used it to yank both their bodies closer to each other.

As he dug his fingers into hilariously long hair, as he saw his own wanting reflected back at him in those eyes, as he heard a low hum of agreement, he gave in at last.

He finally claimed those lips as his, and it did not only feel absolutely right - it felt fucking amazing.

They were sitting on the hood of the Impala, gazing at the starlit mountainside before them, each brother lost in his own thoughts.

Eventually, though, Sam's voice broke the silence. "What are we doing about Dionysus?" he asked softly.

Next to him, Dean released a quiet sigh. "I don't think he meant to kill those women," he explained leisurely, "As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure he promised to behave before he pulled that stunt on us."

Sam furrowed his brows. "You remembered?" he asked slowly.

"It was in my dream," Dean replied with a shrug, "Bits and pieces, but as you said – deductive reasoning, right?" Grinning lazily, he stole a glance at his brother, who started laughing for some reason.

"We've been high all night and this is your most memorable experience?" Sam asked good-naturedly, "I would have expected...less of you, really."

Watching his brother's features, which he had grown to admire against his better judgement, Dean could not help grinning back. "As I said, I caught bits and pieces – of a couple of different episodes, actually," he elaborated with a soft chuckle, "But you're right, there is really one part of the dream that struck me as particularly mind-blowing."

Sammy smiling.

Sammy looking all right for once.

Sammy being happy.

"...and I certainly wouldn't mind you stripping for me again, Sammy," Dean grinned brilliantly.

Watching his brother rolling his eyes and chuckling a soft reply of "You'll have to earn that," Dean could not help appreciating the view. Asides from the night before, he had not seen such a genuine and carefree smile on Sammy in many years.

And he fully intended to see it more often from now on.

He could not claim to be entirely comfortable with the situation, but after all the inner torment and his brother's recent speech, he finally understood that giving in was not just the only way for them to overcome the Cupid affair with their sanities still intact, but it might also turn out a blessing rather than a curse.

And he was not even bothered by the fact that this was no longer a matter of false bodily attraction and confused brotherly love. They had been given a chance to make things right at last – and maybe even a chance to a happy end.

END

Notes: Seriously, Sam and Dean deserve something going right with their lives for once. So here we are with them finally overcoming their denial.

I'm considering adding a third installment on this about what I think their established relationship would look like. But again, I can't promise anything (I'm working on another SPN piece right now), so I hope you're happy with how this turned out so far.

Thank you all for reading, and please feel free to drop a line if you liked it :)