Word Prompt: Roses

Warnings: Wincest, schmoop, slight angst


The human hum of Metallica could be heard streaming through the closed dorm room door as Sam, tripping over the blue denim that refused to fit and stay on and struggling to put his white v-neck on, hastened to answer the loud knock that accompanied the music.

As he closed in on the door, nearly stumbling over himself in his hurry, the knocking, more insistent, resounded through his dorm.

"I'm coming!" Sam shouted before he finally reached the door and straightened himself out; trying to create the impression that he was not too excited or hopeful. That he had not just tripped over his socked feet and too-long and baggy jeans to answer the familiar tune awaiting him on the other side.

Once his jeans and shirt and everything were as straight as he could make them and he was presentable, a shaking hand grasped the door knob tight. He took a deep, stabilizing breathe, turned the knob, and pulled the wooden door open with a small squeak.

"Geez, don't you ever oil that thing, Sammy?" a pseudo-calm Dean joked, as if it had not been months since he last visited his baby brother or days since he had last called, or tried to, before hanging up.

Sam tried to chuckle, but could not bring himself to let it out. He took in another steadying breath at the sight before him, letting the hope that he refused fully feel just hearing the tone of his brother's hair band music slide fully over his entire being. He took a moment to simply soak up the presence of the brother that he so terribly missed over the past few years at Stanford. He took a moment to simply look at the divine being before him; at his brother.

His brother whose eyes still glittered like an emerald. Whose lips were still rosy red and so kissable. His brother who stood before him, toned body hidden by a gorgeous black suit, white undershirt, black slacks, a tie, and fancy leather shoes.

His brother, carrying a bouquet of sinfully dark, red roses.

"Dean?" Sam gasped, trying to get his breathing back under control; the shock at having his brother, especially dressed so exquisitely, at his door overwhelming him.

"So, you gonna let me in, or what, Sammy?" Dean tried to joke, but Sam, having known Dean his entire life, could tell he was nervous. Dean's fingers flexed around the stems of the roses and teeth began to gnaw at smooth lips.

Sam, though still shocked, could not help the enormous grin that threatened to take over his entire face. With but a moment's hesitation, large arms swept open and he drew his brother into the dorm with his a gentle pull, widening the entrance.

"It's Sam," Sam responded teasingly as Dean crossed the threshold. But the vigor and anger at the nickname was no longer there. Since leaving, every little gesture, every bit of affection was craved.

"Right. Sam. Sorry," Dean responded with nervousness, sidling his way into the room.

"Woah, nice place you got here, college boy," Dean stood in the middle of the room, awed at the sight before him.

"Dean, it's just a room. Not even decorated. See," Sam said as he indicated around them at the plain walls and minimally furnished d├ęcor.

"Still, Sammy, it's a home."

Sam sighed at the obvious wistfulness clouding Dean before maneuvering around his still brother and taking refuge on the couch, hoping that his brother will get the hint and get comfortable.

"You know, Dean," Sam began slowly eyes downcast starting intently at his shaking foot, "it could be your home, too."

The moment the words sunk it, Dean's swiveling gaze halted as he stared intently at his brother for but a mere moment before dropping his gaze to the flowers held limply in his hand.

With an unseen constriction of his chest and voice hitched, Dean struggled to respond, "No, Sammy."

A moment of silence hung thickly as the rest of words caught in Dean's throat, chest so tight he could barely breathe. The words that finally managed to escape tumbled forth, "I can't, Sammy. I have to-," he instantly regretted his words, and rushed to fix it, plowing on, "I want to keep hunting."

But Sam had heard what he thought his brother meant loud and clear. He heard "have to" and knew that Dean could never be happy with him and with this life. But it was the "want to" that rang so clearly in Sam's mind that no other sound, that Dean turning his back on him to hide the tears that began to pool in his eyes, that no other anything could invade.

The "want to" was clear.

To Sam, it meant that Dean did not want to be with Sam. That Dean chose their Dad over him. That he still felt angry and upset at Sam for leaving; for choosing a different life.

The guilt and heartache and disappointment clutched and suffocated Sam. Breathe escaped him as drops of salty tears began their descent down his cheeks, rough hands immediately finding their tracks, scrubbing them away before Dean could turn back around and see how weak he was.

But Dean did not see the tears or the attempts to hide them, for he, with his back turned on Sam, struggled to hide his own; to hide his true desires. Limp fingers tightened painfully on the rose stems; his anchor, his connection to his Sammy, as his mind unwittingly began to flash image upon image of a joyous life with Sam. Of a normal life in a beautiful house, alone with his brother, the only person who Dean could ever want. Could ever love.

"O-okay, Dean," Sam struggled for normal; hoping to bring back the air of casual that hung when Dean first walked in.

Both brothers dried their tears; their hands scrubbing at their own faces simultaneously before Dean turned back around to face Sam. To face the moment of heaven on earth that he was willing to let himself have.

Footsteps echoed in the silence as Dean crossed the short distance of the room to sit himself next to his brother. No space separated the brothers; arm to arm and leg to leg, they touched. Yet they did not look at one another, instead staring intently at their own hands, clutched together in their own laps; Dean's clenched around the roses.

"This isn't why I came here, Sammy," Dean whispered, knowing his brother could hear; was listening.

"Then why did you, Dean?" The curiosity took over as Sam dared a quick glance, hoping to see something in his brother's shielded gaze.

Teeth found rosy, blistering lips as Dean stalled.

Finally, when the tension seemed thick enough to suffocate, a slightly choked voice responded, "I just," a breathe, "I missed you, Sammy. I-," and another, "I wanted to spend Valentine's Day with my brother...With my..." he trailed off.

"Valentine..." Sam left the thought hanging in the air before turning to face his brother fully, taking in the suit and roses once more. The flowers were tugged from Dean's hands and dropped unceremoniously on the table in front of the boys. The younger boy moved to thread his hands with Dean's, letting the feel of their interwoven fingers become home; letting the warmth of the boys become their hearth.

"Dean," Sam questioned, letting the ghost of his breathe wisp around Dean's ear; Dean, who still sat in the same position, forward, his, and now Sam's hangs resting between stone knees. "Dean, please look at me."

It was the plea that broke the spell on the emerald-eyed boy.

Dean shifted and the boys sat, one knee touching, hands interwoven, green eyes locked on hazel, each trying to look as deep into the other as possible.

"Sammy," he started.

"I know," Sam interrupted, "Yes."

"You'll be my..."


The teeth that played with chapped lips stopped as a smile overtook Dean's face; another lighting Sam's.

Emerald eyes dropped back to their laced fingers and a thumb gently, reassuringly caressed his younger brother's.

A comfortable silence echoed through the room; the warmth of fingers and the love in their hearts making the cold dorm feel like the dearest home.

"You know I can't stay," Dean whispered, breaking the silence, but the love still hung true.

"I know," the younger responded. "You know I can't leave."

Hazel eyes, too, dropped to their hands, trying not to look at the emerald that he so feared would hold rejection and hurt.

"I know."

The hurt was there; the two words, so broken. But there was understanding. Understanding that made Sam's heart soar.

Sam pulled Dean just that little bit closer, "This will always be your home, Dean."

Sam brought one hand, still clutching Dean's to his chest, right above his heart, letting his brother feel the beating; the heart that beat just for Dean.

Dean let his forehead fall gently against his brothers, "Thank you, Sammy," he trailed before taking a deep breath, gathering the courage, before resuming, "I know you want a normal life, but Sam," emerald locked deep with hazel, "I don't care what Dad said or what happened. You're always welcome to come back. The Impala, it's still your home. And no matter where you are or what you're doing or what I'm doing, I'll always be here," Dean tapped against Sam's chest where their hands lay. "I am always with you. I will always love you."

"Dean," Sam hesitated, "I-I love you, too."

The confines, the chains and ropes that Sam had caged his heart in broke as he let the words that he longed to say, the words that be had always lacked the courage to say, free.

The smiles retuned full force as Dean allowed his head to dip, his lips capturing Sam's in a full-fledged, passionate kiss, letting the love envelope them both, the comfort of each other wrap around them, keeping the pain of real life and the rest of the world at bay. Letting Sam and Dean be what they longed to be. Brothers. Valentines. Lovers.