Small Moments

by Nomelon

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Sam/Dean

Summary: Sometimes it's all about the small moments.

Setting/Spoilers: s3

Disclaimer: all belongs to CW & Kripke. No money is being made, yadda yadda.

~~~

Looking back, Sam thinks maybe it should have been something bigger. Something momentous. Something... more.

It should have been one of the countless frozen moments at the end of a hunt: drenched in adrenaline, their hands on each other, injuries catalogued and dismissed as minor, amazed and relieved that they were both still breathing. It should have been years ago, a pivotal moment in their childhood, old enough to know better, still young enough not to give a damn. It should have been the first thing Sam did when he woke up on Wednesday morning in Broward County and saw Dean standing in front of him.

It should have been when they climbed out of hell, shoulder to shoulder, not looking back. It should have been when Sam crawled into Dean's bed every night for a month after he came back, laying his palm over Dean's heart, letting the strong, steady beat of it lull him to sleep. It should have been all those times Dean didn't complain, didn't brush Sam off, just letting him look and touch, drink his fill, reassure himself that Dean was real and alive and not going anywhere.

Instead it happens on a sunny Thursday afternoon in Michigan, still an hour or so's drive before they hit Lake Huron. Sam's folded into a crappy plastic lawn chair, his nose in a book, killing time while Dean tinkers with the Impala's engine.

Sam's gone, completely lost in what he's reading, a beer dangling forgotten from his fingers. The sun is warm on the back of his neck and distant birdsong floats down from the trees. His guard is down. They have nowhere they need to be.

Dean kicks at Sam's boot and Sam looks up, blinking. Dean is glowering out from under the Impala's hood. He has his hand held out expectantly and looks like he's been standing like that for a while. He's reaching across his body to Sam, his other hand stuck somewhere deep in the engine, probably holding something very important in place. He has a black smudge on his cheek and a scowl on his face. Sam grins, overcome with stupid, happy fondness for his big brother.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Any time you're ready."

Sam just lifts his shoulders, lost.

"Socket wrench, dude. Three-quarter inch. C'mon. A little hustle."

Sam leans back on the chair, not entirely sure if the cheap plastic is strong enough to hold him up on two legs, and snags what he thinks is maybe the wrench Dean's looking for. He holds it out, already going back to his book, but Dean's fingers close around his wrist and don't let go.

Sam looks up again, has to toss his hair out of his eyes to read Dean's expression, but what he sees there has him on his feet, letting Dean pull him in, his book lying forgotten in the dust, pages turning lazily in the gentle breeze.

Sam drinks down the tiny noise of surprise Dean makes when their mouths meet. Sam can't think, can't breathe, his hands hovering in the air, still holding the wrench, not sure if he can touch, not sure if he should. There's a clatter-thud of something metal falling through the engine and hitting the dirt below, then Dean's hands are twisting in Sam's t-shirt, tugging him closer, boots scuffling, pushing him up against the side of the car.

Sam drops the wrench and gets his hands on Dean's face. Dean's mouth is soft and coffee-sweet, made for kissing. Sam's chest swells, too tight and too full of emotion he's not sure he can put a name to, but it's good, it's perfect, and he doesn't ever want it to stop.

He laughs into Dean's mouth, happy and breathless, a little overwhelmed. Their foreheads touch and Dean laughs with him, nervous, but not pulling away, leaning into Sam with his whole body. They breathe each other's air, kissing again, lips and tongues and teeth, soft words, hands content to drift and settle, tentative and trembling.

Maybe, Sam thinks, this is exactly how it was meant to be. Sometimes it doesn't have to be the end of the world. Sometimes it's all about the small moments.

The end.