Hello! It's been awhile. I still don't have a beta-reader, so please excuse the typos. (If you are reading this, justagirlwholikestowrite, I tried sending you something, but I'm not sure you ever saw it.)
I don't own the Winchester brothers (sadly), but any mistakes are mine.
I still think this is going to take another scene or two to wrap up. Should I go along with canon and leave the boys estranged at the end?
Stay safe, stay well, and thanks for reading. :)
Cross-posted at Archive of Our Own.
Dean clomped down the stairs to the basement apartment, running a hand over his newly shorn head. He'd never understood Sammy's obsession with long hair. Favoring a near military cut meant one less potential point of conflict with John Winchester. Not to mention, Dean happened to agree with their father that hair below the shoulders provided far too easy a target for a fugly to yank in the heat of battle.
A hiss escaped his lips as Dean downed the last two steps. The long walk up to the barbershop and back, coupled with his earlier outing with Sam, had winded him. Whether it was due to the high elevation or the fact that he was barely out of the hospital, Dean didn't know. His brain only registered that he needed pain medication now, perhaps a stiff drink - preferably both - and some time to get acquainted with Sam's laptop. Alone.
Leaning on the nearest brick wall, Dean tried to open the apartment door with his non-dominant hand. He turned the knob, but it refused to move. Fortunately, the hunter was well versed in picking locks, and John, drill sergeant that he was, had made Dean practice one-handed. This knob, however, was easy to jimmy. It only required a deliberate jolt followed by a quick jiggle and twist to open.
As Dean made his way toward the pill bottles calling his name from their spot on the kitchen counter, he wondered where Sam had gone.
Probably out with Jessica, he thought. Damn, that chick is hot. And bossy. Reminds me of Cassie. Dean sighed.
The older brother marveled that Sam had landed himself a wild one - he would have figured that any long term partner of his Stanford-struck sibling would be the demure, geeky type. Dean fumbled his way into the pill bottle, sucked down two tablets, and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Frowning at the bottle cap, Dean glanced at his sling. No way to use his silver ring to open the bottle now - he wasn't even sure where his jewelry was at the moment.
Walking in a slow circle, a smile curled Dean's lips as he made his way to the front door. He placed the top of the bottle flat against the strike plate and made sure the cap caught against the metal edge. Then, he yanked the bottle back, pleased when the bottle cap bounced free with a ping and only a small splash of beer on his boots. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a greedy swallow.
Ahhh. Finally some alone time.
Dean was just about to pop open Sam's laptop and search for Busty Asian Beauties when he heard a decidedly feminine giggle coming from the bedroom.
The injured man raised an eyebrow, but stopped moving his facial muscles abruptly when pain hit from one of the chains of stitches on his face. Hearing a second, deeper laugh, Dean turned his head to look at the closed bedroom door. He chuckled to himself.
"You sly old dog, Sammy."
More giggles, and then a low, throaty growl.
"Oh, Sam!" a breathless voice rang out.
Dean set the empty bottle down and shoved his left fist into his mouth before he burst out laughing.
Oh, this is priceless.
Dean wondered if Sam had stocked their apartment with popcorn. It was shaping up to be quite a show.
"Mmmm, Jessssss."
But upon hearing the desire dripping from brother's voice, Dean quickly revised his plans. Nope, no way could he stand by and listen to Sam sound like that. This was far worse than the time Dean had inadvertently walked into the bathroom to find his 14-year-old little brother, red-faced, clutching one of Dad's favorite skin mags. He'd longed to scrub his mind with brain bleach after that incident, and this situation had the potential to be far more incriminating.
Grabbing a second beer out of the fridge and tucking it into his sling, Dean slipped back out of the apartment.
Or rather, he tried to. Maybe the pain medication had acted faster than he'd anticipated, because the next thing he knew, Sam was in his face, sweaty and bare-chested with a blanket clumsily draped around his middle.
"Dean?" Sam's ridiculously long hair flopped around in consternation.
Sam turned and waved Jessica back to the bedroom. "It's okay, honey." As she drifted back to bed, Sam flipped around. Dean watched his sibling's expression morph from fond to furious. "It's just my stupid brother."
Sam snatched the sealed beer bottle from Dean's sling and threw it back into the fridge with a clatter. Dean could hear his brother's careful breathing as Sam fought for control.
"What. Are you. Doing here?" Sam wrapped the blanket more tightly around his midsection and ran his free hand through his hair. It did nothing to tame the wild bed head he was sporting.
Dean rolled his eyes. "I live here, Dipshit."
Sam snorted. "I locked the door. I left a note on the door! And - I left you a phone message!"
Dean shrugged and leaned against the wall. "Diddin get it," Dean slurred, wishing he could figure out how to get all of the consonants back where they belonged. He belched.
Sam grabbed the empty bottle from the counter. "What are you thinking, mixing pain meds with beer?" He slammed the bottle into the trash with enough force to shatter the glass. "Is it so much to ask that I get five minutes alone with my fiancée?"
Dean's grin was lewd. "Tha'all it takes, S'mmy?"
"You're disgusting!" Sam's nostrils flared.
Dean shrugged and reached back toward the fridge for his beer. "So've been tol'." Sam smacked his hand away.
Jessica walked out of the bedroom then, hair tame and fully clad. "Sam, could you drive me home? I don't need the car tomorrow."
Jess put in an earring and tugged on her strappy sandals. Dean shared a smile with her, noting with amusement that Jess didn't seem nearly as embarrassed about this interruption of their sexy times as his prissy little brother.
Seeing his brother's smirk, Sam gave Dean a look - We are so not done talking about this! - before turning to his girlfriend. "Yeah, let me get my stuff."
"We need to finalize plans for our family dinner tomorrow," Jess said, pushing aside her blond waves as she slid in the other earring. At Dean's surprised expression, she hastened to add, "You're invited, Dean. My brother's going to be there." Jess pulled the thin straps of her purse over one shoulder.
Sam raised his eyebrows at his fiancée and tipped his head. "Jess? We agreed to talk about this later." Dean frowned, unclear on the subtext, but knowing that whatever it was, it probably wasn't good. Nonetheless, between the medication and the beer, Dean was finally starting to relax. Taking advantage of Sam's distraction, he pulled open the fridge.
Jess gave Sam a flinty look. "There's nothing to talk about, Sam. I think our brothers will get along fine."
Dean stepped away from the refrigerator, second beer in hand. "Awesome guy, huh?" He tipped the bottle up to his lips, but belatedly realized that the cap was still on. Dean grinned ridiculously wide as Sam snorted.
"James is a recovering alcoholic, Dean," Sam muttered. The older brother looked surprised, then shrugged.
Jess chuckled and shook her head. "That's not why, Sam, and you know it." Turning to the older Winchester, she said, "You two have a lot in common. James lives on the road, loves his car, likes to travel."
"Oh yeah? Whassee drive?"
"'65 Mustang."
Dean shrugged.
"Shelby GT 350," she added with a small smile.
"Now, you're talkin'." Dean grinned. He walked over to the door and repeated the process of opening his beer using the switch plate.
Sam rolled his eyes when the bottle cap leapt across the linoleum. "Dean, can I talk to you?"
Dean waved his brother off, eyes fixed on Jess. "What time tomorrow?"
"6 pm," Jess replied.
"We'll be there."
Dean failed to notice Sam's deep frown.