Austin, Texas

January 24, 2002

Dishes clattered in the kitchen, accompanied by a radio and Sam's soft, slightly out-of-tune voice.

Inside the small utility room next to the kitchen, an aging washing machine started its second spin cycle, last stop before Sam hauled the clothes out back to dry on the clothesline. This time of year he was likely to have to stick them into the dryer for a few minutes at the end of the day anyway, but he liked the way their clothes smelled after hanging in the fresh air.

Out in the back yard, Rowdy barked furiously, warning the entire block that a stranger was in the neighborhood. The Alsatian next door replied quickly, followed by the Great Dane two houses down. That last kicked off a chorus of furious complaints from old Mrs. Christie's trio of Chihuahuas down the street.

Frowning, Sam looked out the window, relaxing when he saw it was only a strange dog that had Rowdy up in arms. When the stranger had passed by and the uproar settled a bit, he went down the hall and peeked in through the half-open bedroom door to check on his brother.

Still sleeping soundly, Dean didn't stir. Only the tip of his lightly freckled nose poked out from under the covers. The only sounds in the room were little snuffling snores and an occasional contented sigh.

Satisfied that all was well, Sam padded silently back to the kitchen.

SUPNSUPNSUPN

Just after twelve, the smell of coffee wafted in through the bedroom door.

Dean's nose twitched and a sleepy green eye peered out from under the covers. With a muffled groan, he rolled over onto his stomach and buried his head under his pillow.

No longer bothering to be quiet, Sam came into the bedroom, carrying a cup of steaming coffee. He sat down beside the lump in the bed and nudged it.

"Coffee, Dean," he crooned. "Coooffffeeee." He took a sip and moaned appreciatively. "Mmmmmm."

The lump shifted. "g'way."

Sam took another noisy slurp, smacking his lips. "It's your favorite, Dean. Peel the Paint Off The Walls from Dunkin Donuts."

Dean's hand appeared from underneath the blankets, third finger extended, then retreated back under the warmth of the covers.

Unimpressed, Sam plucked the pillow off his brother's head and tossed it into a corner of the room.

Dean groaned. "Bitch." He smooshed his face into the wrinkled sheets.

"Come on," Sam said impatiently. "It's time to get your birthday going. We've got hash browns. And pancakes."

"It's cold," Dean whined.

"Wuss." Sam leaned in. "Bacon, Dean. Lots and lots of bacon."

There was a short silence.

"You suck."

"Yeah, well, you need a shower." Sam snickered. "You stink like sex."

"Whose fault is that?" Dean mumbled grumpily.

"Mine." Sam's tone was smug. "Okay, lazy ass, ten minutes and I'm giving the bacon to Rowdy." He gave Dean's ass a hefty slap and rose from the bed.

With a feral growl, Dean made a grab for him but Sam evaded him easily and bolted from the room, leaving the coffee on the bedside table. "Ten minutes!"

Alone, Dean briefly considered going back to sleep. Then the sound of Sam letting their big Rottweiler in the back door brought him to his feet. He downed the cooling coffee, barely pausing to breathe between gulps and headed for the bathroom.

After relieving himself, he stepped into the shower and stuck his head under the water for a couple of blissful minutes, then dumped a fat glob of herbal shampoo onto his head, humming with pleasure as he worked it through his short-cropped hair.

"Hey, you jerk, are you using my shampoo again?" Sam was a menacing shadow beyond the shower curtain.

Dean shot a quick glance at the nearly empty bottle of shampoo and stuck his head back under the water to rinse away the evidence. "Nope."

"You better not use it up."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch." Dean saw his brother's shadow moving furtively toward the toilet. "Hey! No pranking the birthday boy!"

Sam pulled back the shower curtain, grinning. "Birthday boy?"

"Well, it is my birthday." Dean motioned regally to his nether regions. "And I am a boy."

"Yeah, I noticed. . ." Sam stared down at Dean's cock. It started to plump up under his gaze and he ran his tongue over his lower lip.

Dean smirked. "See something you like, Sammy?"

Eyes glazing a little, Sam started to sway forward and -

BAM!

The bathroom door slammed open and Rowdy's black bulk burst into the room. With a wet whuffle, he shoved past Sam and stuck his massive head into the shower, giving Dean's naked thigh a friendly swipe with his tongue.

"Whoa!" Dean squawked. His hands darted down to protect the important parts. "Watch it!"

Laughing, Sam pulled the dog back from the tub and rubbed his head. "Hey, Rowdy boy. Are you hungry? Are you a hungry boy? How's about some bacon?"

Rowdy gave an enthusiastic bark, tail wagging furiously.

"Hey!" Alarmed, Dean turned off the water and grabbed the towel hanging over the shower rod. "Don't you give him my bacon, fucker!"

"Better hurry up, then." With a last look at Dean's manly bits, Sam left the bathroom, Rowdy chugging eagerly along behind him.

SUPNSUPNSUPN

Hair still dripping, Dean hastily pulled on some cut-offs and a faded Bad Company t-shirt and shot into the kitchen just in time to see Rowdy skarfing down the last of a plate of eggs and bacon.

"Shit!" Dean threw himself down into a chair, glaring at Sam. "I can't believe you did that!"

Shrugging, Sam poured out a cup of coffee and put it on the table in front of his sulking brother. "Well, I did say ten minutes – " He burst out laughing. "Oh, man, I can't do it. You should see your face!" He went to the oven and pulled out a plate piled high with eggs, bacon, hash browns and pancakes and plonked it down in front of Dean. "Eat up, birthday boy."

Scowling, Dean picked up a piece of crispy bacon and stuffed it into his mouth. "Think you're pretty funny, don't you?"

Sam dropped into the opposite chair. "I think I'm adorable." He reached out for a piece of Dean's bacon and nearly lost a finger to a quickly brandished fork.

"Hands off, Sammy." Keeping a cautious eye on his brother, Dean reached for the maple syrup and drowned his pancakes. "What other torture you got planned for me today?"

"Oh, nothing much." Sam pulled two tickets out of his pocket and tossed them across the table. "Just Kane."

Dean's mouth fell open and he snatched up the tickets. "Kane? How the – Sammy, these things are like gold!"

"KLBJ had a thing last week. Free concert tickets. I camped out on the phone all week trying to get through on that freaking contest line and finally got through on the last two tickets!"

Dean grinned. "Awesome!" He let Sam take the tickets back, rescuing them from a syrupy death, and shoved another forkful of pancakes into his mouth. Around the sloppy mouthful he asked, "Concert's not until 8 o'clock. What are we gonna do till then?"

Sam's mouth twitched. "Oh, I thought we'd take Rowdy over to the dog park, come home and have massive amounts of sex, and then go for barbecue before the concert."

Dean snorted with laughter and then started coughing, bits of pancake flying everywhere.

"Oh, shit!" Alarmed, Sam jumped up. "Dean, are you all right?"

Hacking up a piece of pancake, Dean coughed a couple more times, then waved a hovering Sam back to his seat. "I'm fine." He took a quick swallow of hot coffee and cleared his throat again. "Uh, yeah, dog park, sounds good. And the other, uh, stuff, yeah." He started eating again, eyeing Sam across the table.

Even with the rest of the day's delights dangling in front of him, Dean lingered over his meal. When he finally pushed his plate back with a satisfied sigh, Sam said, "Dog park?"

On the floor, Rowdy lifted his head, ears pricked hopefully.

Dean shook his head. "No."

Rowdy dropped his head to the floor with a disappointed sigh.

"No?"

"No." Dean's grin was frankly lecherous.

Sam fought back a smile. "What, then?"

"You wanna know?" Smirking, Dean ran his eyes over Sam's lanky frame. "You really wanna know what I want to do? Right now?"

"Uh – " Sam cleared his throat. "Yeah."

Dean rose and strolled around the table. He pulled Sam up and drew him in close, sent a questing hand around to Sam's ass, licked at the spot under his little brother's left ear that he knew drove him crazy.

Eyes glazing over, Sam drew in a trembling breath. "Dean . . ."

"What I want – what I really, really want" - Dean Groucho'd his eyebrows - "is to see what's in that box in the spare room."

Sam's jaw dropped. Then he sputtered with laughter and, throwing a quick "Wait here!" over his shoulder, sprinted for the back of the house.

SUPNSUPNSUPN

Sam carried the box into the kitchen and set it on the table, shoving Dean's breakfast dishes to the side. "Happy birthday, jerk!"

"Thanks, bitch!" Dean rubbed his hands together gleefully. Trying not to jump onto the present like a rabid wolverine, he said again to Sam. "Thanks, baby. Man, I love birthdays!"

"Don't thank me until you open it." Sam handed Dean a short-bladed knife and nudged him impatiently. "Come on, open it!"

Dean carefully slit open the box and looked inside. He drew in a sharp breath. "Oh, man. Awesome! A record player!" He lifted the turntable carefully out of the box and set it on the kitchen table, running reverent fingers over the burnished wood. "Oh, man."

Sam was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. "Do you like it?"

"Are you kidding?" Dean's smile was wide, infectious and absolutely sincere. "I love it!"

Grinning, Sam held out another package - square, lightweight and wrapped in screamingly cheerful Spongebob Squarepants wrapping paper.

Careful not to tear it - he loved the little yellow fucker - Dean peeled the paper away from the treasure inside.

Led Zeppelin's first album. Both album and cover in perfect condition.

"Holy crap!" Overwhelmed, Dean ran his fingers reverently over the embossed logo. "Sammy, this is – amazing. Thank you."

"Look inside!"

"What, more?" Dean peered inside the album cover and, with a questioning glance at Sam, pulled out the envelope nestled inside. Inside that was a gift certificate.

"Out of the Past. New and old albums," he read aloud.

"I knew you'd like the Zeppelin," Sam said smugly. "And they've got a ton of other stuff."

Dean carefully set the album down on top of the record player and lifted Sam off the floor in a fierce hug. "Thanks, Sam. Best birthday ever."

"Better than when Dad gave you the Impala?" Sam laughed at the scandalized expression on Dean's face. "Just kidding, man."

Dean shoved him. "Smart ass."

"You love my ass," Sam retorted. "Listen, let's go set it up." He gestured to the turntable. "It's got built-in speakers, but you can pick up some bigger ones later, if you want."

"Damn right I'll get big speakers," Dean said stoutly. "Blast your freaking ears out."

Once they had the player set up in the living room, Dean eased the new album out of its cover, set it onto the turntable, and placed the needle carefully onto the first track. As Robert Plant's distinctive vocals filled the room the two brothers bumped hips and dropped onto the tatty secondhand couch.

Sam groped for Dean's hand as the first track faded seamlessly into the second, and Dean dropped a light kiss on his cheek. "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam nodded and pressed even closer, hazel eyes shining with pleasure at the success of his gift.

Presents hadn't played a big part in their life when they were growing up. On the road with their father, there hadn't been money for "extras". And even if there had been, there certainly hadn't been room in the Impala to haul anything beyond necessities.

Things were different now. They were both working and, after a tight first year, they were living, if not high on the hog, certainly better than they ever had before.

For Sam's birthday in May, Dean had given him a couple of bookcases and gift cards to several of Austin's new and used bookstores. Dizzy with the prospect of not just buying books but actually keeping them, Sam had taken his time browsing through the literary riches now open to him. It took him hours, almost an entire weekend, to settle on his first book - a worn, hardback copy of The Three Musketeers.

It looked a little lonely that first night on the bookshelf, but it was soon joined by The Last of the Mohicans, The Stand, a fat Dashiell Hammett compilation and several of Robert Heinlein's earlier works, which had Sam cackling in covetous glee for hours. The remainder of the gift cards had gone quickly after that and since then the original two bookcases had been joined by several more, all now stuffed full.

The album's second track ended. The third began.

Sam buried his face in Dean's neck. "I've got one more present for you."

"Sammy . . ."

Sam laid a finger across Dean's plush lips. "Quiet, birthday boy."

He pulled Dean up from the couch and led him unprotesting into their bedroom.

SUPNSUPNSUPN

Well past midnight - post- dog park, barbecue, Kane concert and truly massive amounts of hot sex - Sam woke with a sudden jerk. Trembling and slick with a cold sweat, he couldn't remember the dream that had woken him, but knew from experience that sleep was done with him for the night.

Fighting to bring his breathing back to a normal rhythm, he looked to the other side of the bed, fully expecting to see Dean looking back at him with anxious eyes, but the rest of the bed was empty.

"Dean?"

Pushing down a whisper of panic, he pulled on a pair of ragged sweat pants and hurried down the dark hall. Hearing the sound of cutlery scraping across china, he found Dean at the kitchen table, working on a piece of whipped cream-laden apple pie.

Relieved, and feeling stupid, Sam dropped into the chair opposite him. "Dude, how are you even eating that? I'm still stuffed full of barbecue!"

Dean forked up the last bite. "Never too full for pie, Sammy," he mumbled. Pastry crumbs sprayed across the table.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're a class act, bro."

"Ah, you love it, Sammy. I'm one sexy freakin' bitch," Dean said complacently. "And I'm the birthday boy."

"It's after midnight. Birthday's over."

"Nope," Dean disagreed. "It's my birthday till we wake up in the morning." He winked lewdly at Sam. "You know what that means, don't you? More birthday sex - oh, that reminds me, Bobby called."

Sam made a face. "Birthday sex reminds you of Bobby?"

Dean smacked his brother on the side of the head. "Ass. Bobby coming reminds me we need to have lots of sex before he gets here, 'cause we are not having sex while he's here."

Sam nodded, in complete agreement on that one. "Got it. No sex with Bobby in the house."

"He should roll in Saturday morning." Dean ran a finger over the plate, licked off the last of the whipped cream. "He wants us to take him to The Yellow Rose."

Sam gave him a pained look and Dean snickered. "Hey, just 'cause chicks don't float our boat doesn't mean we can't enjoy the scenery."

"Just keep your hands off the scenery." A little too casually, Sam asked, "Any news?"

Dean interpreted this correctly as Sam-speak for, "Is Dad okay?" and reached across the table to rub a reassuring thumb over his brother's hand. "Everything's fine. Dad checked in with him a few weeks ago."

Sam hesitated for a moment. "Is he still hunting the demon?"

Dean clocked a quick look at him, big brother radar starting to ping. They didn't usually talk about John and his ongoing hunt for their mother's killer. It brought up too many bad memories; memories they were working damned hard to keep in the past.

Before Dean could answer, Sam shook his head. "Never mind. Stupid question. Of course he is." He offered Dean a tentative smile. "It'll be good to see Bobby."

"Yeah." Dean stared at him. "I was thinking we'd take him out to the Quarries on Sunday morning, get in a little fishing."

"In January?"

"He lives in South Dakota, Sammy. January in Austin's gonna feel like summer to him."

"Yeah, I guess." Brow furrowed, Sam stared absently into space.

The pinging got louder. Dean's eyes narrowed. "Dude, what's up?"

Sam straightened, looking surprised and a little guilty. "What? Nothing."

"Are you upset about Bobby coming here? He'll make sure nobody follows him, Dad or anybody else."

"Dean, no," Sam protested. "I want to see him. It's been too long."

Dean studied him for a long moment. It had been a long time, but . . . "Nightmare?"

Flushing, Sam looked away.

"Oh, hell, no!" Dean got to his feet and rounded the table. He took Sam by the chin and forced the younger man to meet his eyes. "Let's try this again. Nightmare?"

Sam nodded, eyes shadowed. "Yeah. I don't remember what it was about, but – yeah."

Dean's mouth tightened. He'd begun to think, hope, that Sam's dreams were gone for good, driven away by their new, normal, life. "You said you'd let me know if you had any more," he said, suddenly suspicious. "You haven't been holding out on me, have you?"

"No, Dean. No. We promised no hiding stuff. I wouldn't do that." Shaken by the sudden sideways turn the night had taken, Sam said, voice trembling, "I just – I didn't want to fuck everything up. We were having such a great day. I would've told you."

Studying him, Dean knew Sam was telling the truth. There was no lie in Sam's face. Pain, fear, and frustration, but no lies. "I'm sorry."

Sam's nod was barely perceptible.

Wanting to let it go, but needing to ask, Dean said, "Do you think it was him?"

"No. Fuck, I don't know. How the hell would I know?" Frustrated, Sam started to get up.

Dean held on to him, kept him in the chair. "Hold on. It's not your fault. It's not like you can control your dreams."

"I know. I'm just – " Sam gestured helplessly. "Things are going so good. Why - " A rush of rage and pain washed over him. "Shit, why am I such a fucking freak!"

"Sam!" Dean snapped. "First of all, don't talk that way about my baby brother or I'll kick your ass!"

He waited until Sam nodded.

"Second, I just remembered, the last time you had a nightmare was on your birthday."

Sam's face went blank with surprise. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "Yeah, I remember."

"So, birthdays."

"Huh."

Dean dug a little. "What is it about birthdays?"

"How the hell would I know?"

Dean gave him a look and Sam flushed. "I don't know." He grimaced, thinking back over the last couple of days. "Maybe - maybe they make me think too much."

"About what?"

"You. Me," Sam said reluctantly. "Our life, I guess."

"The small stuff, huh?" Dean gave him a teasing poke and Sam batted his hand away.

"Cut it out."

"Baby, we don't have to celebrate birthdays if you don't want," Dean offered. "It's no big deal."

Sam smiled wryly at Dean's proffered sacrifice, an obvious lie. "Nah." He sighed. "It's only been, what, eighteen months? I'll deal. This place is good, it's just - I don't know how long it's gonna last. I don't know what's gonna happen, if the demon is gonna find us, or hunters looking to blow me away. Or Dad . . . " He stopped, catching the quickly hidden pain on Dean's face. "Don't, Dean, it's okay, it is. I made my peace with it a while ago." He shrugged. "Mostly."

Knowing there was nothing to be said about that particular clusterfuck that hadn't been said way too many times before, Dean grasped Sam's hands. "None of that shit matters, Sammy," he said earnestly. "We don't know what's gonna happen. We could stay here another year, another five - we could be gone tomorrow. But while we're here, it's fucking good and we gotta take this for as long as we can get it. Just let the rest of that old shit go." He placed a soft kiss on Sam's knuckles. "Whatever happens, we'll handle it. You and me."

Sam nodded.

They sat quietly for a while. Sam staring into the middle distance; Dean watching him intently, knowing that Sam was worrying about more than outside forces working against them. Knowing from long familiarity the kind of self-doubt likely to be eating at him,

When Sam moved at last to get up, Dean didn't stop him. He watched as Sam picked up the plate and fork from the table and dumped them into the sink. Watched as he stared silently through the window over the sink into the darkness outside.

He rose and stood behind his little brother; stood close enough to touch him, but didn't. "One more thing, Sammy."

Sam didn't turn.

"Someday you're gonna get it," Dean said gently. "I'll just keep saying it until you do. I love you. Brother. Lover. Whatever. You're it for me."

Sam just listened, staring at his brother's reflection in the kitchen window.

"Listen to me, baby," Dean went on. " I'll never leave you, no matter what. And you know why? Cause there ain't no me without you." He slipped his arms around Sam and pulled him back tight against him, needing Sam to hear him, to believe him. "Sammy, there's nothing without you."

Sam's breath caught in his throat. Face working, he turned blindly into Dean's arms and the two clutched each other and held on tight. No more words needed, at least for now, they stood together; each safe in the arms of the only home they would ever need.

Brothers.

THE END

Done. Holy crap. Thanks to all who've stayed with this story, throughout the long delays and broken promises. I hope that this ending does it for you. I hope it flows with the rest of the story. I'm a different writer than when I started, hopefully a little better.

I found out something important. From now on I am going to stick with fun stuff, angsty stuff, hunts and adventures. I still want to write Wincest, but I won't be writing any sexually explicit stories. Gonna have to go for a good "R" rating from now on. I found that it was taking away from the fun of the story. Good sex is just too damned hard to write!

Anyway, thanks again for reading. I've got almost fifteen drabble challenges to catch up on now that this is in the can which I will start posting in the next day or so. God, it's good to be back. RL can suck it!