there ain't no me if there ain't no you

There’s no reason for the day, not really, just a bottle shared between them and the cigarettes that Sam doesn’t smoke, but he paid cash for them at the liquor store they stopped at just down the street from the bat cave.  The sun is high in the sky and Dean’s being a fucking weirdo, at least, according to Sam, but then again everything Dean does is weird.

"You shouldn’t smoke," he says, nuzzling the 5 o’clock shadow he has against the stubble on Sam’s cheek.  "Be smoking…  The trials…  They’ll, I don’t know, you’re fuckin’ immune system’s weak, ain’t it?  Some kinda…  fuck, I don’t know."

Sam giggles.  Yeah.  Giggles.  ”You’re not high, man, you’re drunk.”  He pushes Dean away and his hand scrambles for purchase on the warmed hood of the Impala.  They were already half drunk and it’s a beautiful day outside, where else were they supposed to sit?

"Yeah, but you’re still…  you’re smoking?  I…"  He shrugs, and grabs another cigarette.  "You’re not even inhaling, are you, ya pussy."

Sam shakes his head and lights the end of the stick as Dean inhales, blows the smoke into Sam’s face, and he blows his air right back with a grin.  

"This is weird," he says, grabbing a cigarette of his own until Dean pushes his hand down.

"Remember Utah?"

Fuck.  Utah.

"Fuck.  Utah."

"C’mere, Sammy."

"I was 15 and couldn’t-"

"-inhale for shit, so I taught you-"

"-and we ki-

"-ssed-"

and then they both stop for a second…  they’re drunk.  

And then they laugh, and it just feels so good because for these 20 seconds, Dean’s not worrying about Sam, and Sam’s not in pain, and they’re not worrying about each other or the monster of the week, they’re just laughing.

And then Dean’s kissing him, soft and rough at the same time and he tastes so much like Dean and so much like the whiskey and like the cigarettes.  Then Dean pulls away, lets his finger trace the swell of Sam’s cheek as he inhales, and then pushes his lips against Sam’s.

The smoke in his mouth feels foreign, not nice like Dean, but Dean’s lips are still against his and he’s certain that he’s melting, until Dean smiles against his skin and wraps his arms around him.

"Utah, Sammy, just like this."

Sam lets his forehead rest against his brother’s.

"Utah.  Well, now it’s…  fuck, it’s here.  It’s home."




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