For the Fifth Time

When Sam is thirty, he unexpectedly falls in love again for the fifth time. It happens one glorious dawn as the sun rises over the Great Canyon. Yellow and orange submerge the flat lands in a wash of warm colours as Sam wakes up on the hood of the Impala. He fell asleep on it eight hours ago when his brother decided that they would camp out, something they haven't done since bunkering down in Kansas.

For what seemed like an eternity, they watched the stars sitting side by side in stiff silence. It wasn't like it was before where they did so drinking beer in the comfort of each other's presence. Their lives have changed since then and although the experience was nostalgic, Sam didn't know if he wanted to go back to that point. They were older now, but probably not more the wiser, and they feel the burden of being blood; they feel the burden of being responsible for so many lives lost.

No words were exchanged as minutes and hours slipped by, which wasn't unusual but the part that was frustrating was that they wanted to. They didn't know to communicate without getting angry at each other. They didn't know how to talk anymore even though there were a dozen things to say because it was getting harder and harder to speak. None of them wanted to break the silence first. So, their lips stayed sealed. Their eyes and ears, on the other hand, stayed open.

They could see the rise of the other's chest before it falls and caught each other's every movement in their peripheral vision. They either ignored it or adjusted to it accordingly. If Dean happened to sit closer, then Sam let it be; if Sam so happened to lean back until his shoulders touched his brother's, then it was so.

They could also hear each other breathe, hear every creak on the car as they moved, every rustle of clothes moving, and every sharp hiss of new can of beer they opened. Their minds were filled with sight and sound until their heads no longer held any thoughts of life and death or duties and burdens, because right then there was nobody else but them, their ride, and the kingdom of stars.

Sam opens his eyes sleepily, feeling the cool morning breeze sweep over him. He isn't as cold as he thinks though since there is a blanket over him. It hadn't been there last night. He glances over to Dean and is held there by his brother's stern sleeping face covered in Sam's shadow. Arms crossed, Dean is laying on his side towards the taller man with only half a foot of distance between them. Even in slumber it doesn't seem like the older man is able to escape his problems; Sam knows that he's the direct cause and it strikes him as painful that Dean is still trying to make sure he's warm as the taller man slept. Big brother still looking after the little brother…Sam wonders if that will be the rest of their lives. Hell, he thinks, it's happening right now.

Part guilty and part everything else (worry, curiosity, familial love), Sam lifts his aching arm up to touch his brother's face with no particular reason. He half expects the older man's eyes to fly open in alarm, but they don't. Feeling more daring, Sam stretches his thumb to smooth out his brother's frown. He doesn't know if it'll work, doesn't know if he can bring any comfort, but Sam hopes he does. If he can bring pain, then maybe he can also erase it, theoretically speaking.

"Sammy…" Dean murmurs groggily, and Sam thinks that the older man didn't even realize he just spoke. Sam is relieved though to see his brother's facial muscles relax under his touch. He keeps rubbing between Dean's brows in gentle strokes until sunlight finally passes over Sam's shoulder. His brother leans into his fingers right then; it's so subtle that the taller man isn't too sure if he moved or Dean did, but it feels as if Sam is holding the Sun God in the palm of his hands.

He pulls away and stares at his brother in awe.

Dean's skin is lit up like a field of golden wheat at sunrise and Sam remembers how he used to see his brother as a little god. He remembers how he used to look up to Dean and listened to the man's every word, believed all his tall tales, and trailed after him wanting to be just like him. When did it all stop? When did his god become a mere man?

Maybe it was the first time Sam saw his brother bleed during a hunt. Maybe it was the first time he saw Dean kiss a girl. Or maybe it was when Sam saw what it was like to have a normal family. At some point growing up, Dean was no longer indestructible.

Looking at him now though, Sam feels differently. Dean isn't necessarily a god but more like an angel—one who stands over his shoulders and has been guiding him for most of his life. At least his brother acted like an angel more than the hundreds of angels out there. But Sam isn't too sure if he wants to be guided to where Dean seems to have dragged him in to.

The younger man is still pondering that thought when his brother slowly blinks awake. The colour of Dean's eyes is obscured where sunlight hits it, reflecting only gold and warmth; Sam has seen his brother wake a thousand times, yet there's something different about this time. It's the whole waking to sunrise in a grand landscape, something Sam has always wanted to do with someone he loves. It's how Dean's frown disappeared and it's how Dean's eyes opened with the man's body being lit up by morning. It's how Dean just stares at him for a long minute before pulling the blanket higher on to Sam's shoulder.

"…You still cold?" Dean mumbles sleepily as if Sam is still six years old but also as if they were already lovers waking up together in bed on a Sunday morning. It's precisely at that moment that Sam falls in love.

People have done so for stranger reasons, inexplicable reasons, but not Sam. Even though he has heard those words a dozen times, and a thousand more along the same intentions, none of them are taken as quite the same as this very moment. The younger Winchester has changed, for better or for worse is indeterminate, but Sam knows that something in him has distorted to allow such emotions in where there was no room before.

His heartbeat doesn't even race and his skin doesn't even sweat but Sam knows that he's in love. He doesn't feel anger and he doesn't feel guilt because somehow Dean has washed it all away just by being his usual big brother self. It helps that they're lying beside each other as the world around them turns a monotony of fiery hues.

Ignoring the question, Sam shifts himself closer to Dean, throws his arms around the man's head, and tugs him close for a brief kiss. Warmth fills Sam's belly and content unlike any other fills his soul to the brim. When he draws back and looks at Dean's unwavering eyes, he knows something in his brother has altered too. And for once, luck is on Sam's side as Dean uncrosses his arms and slides it around Sam's back and waist to bring himself in. They kiss again slow and sure, their hands roaming over each other until Sam's head is reeling from all the sensations.

Indeed Sam has fallen in love for the fifth time and he prays to every god out there that this one won't burn to ashes like the four other ones did. Because as Sam tastes Dean's mouth, presses into his embrace, and feels his hair being pulled, he knows, just knows, that his brother will be the last.

For as long as Sam will live and breathe, there will never be another.