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Sam gets better in Heaven.
It sounds like it should be obvious, like, that's what Heaven's for, right? A lifetime of righteous service rewarded, et cetera, et cetera.
But this – this is more than Dean could have hoped for. This isn't just "Sam, at peace and out of danger". This is the disappearance of that infinitesimal hunch that Sam always carried around with him, the need to make himself smaller, lesser out of some mistaken belief that he should be. This is the way Sam's face gradually looks younger, more innocent as wrinkles recede, brows unfurrow, lips lose that slight bit of constant tension. This is the way Sam slowly stops flinching at loud noises, sudden movements, raised voices. At Dean's hand, voice, movement. The way he smiles more, laughs longer, and lets himself indulge in living the way he never would while he was actually alive.
This is Sam healing.
It's Dean healing, too.
The more they heal, the more the armor comes off. They dress like any other couple now, none of the multiple layers that hide weapons, bibles, salt, flasks of holy water. Dean's rocking the rebel-without-a-cause look he's always loved but never wore because it attracted too much attention, white tee and biker jacket and everything. Sam – well, today Sam's wearing swear-to-god actual denim shorts, half-unlaced high-tops and a black tee that looks like someone painted it on his abs and Dean can't get enough of it.
Dean will never get enough of Sam.
They get on the road and just – go. The map in the glove compartment has just two locations, "here" and "there". Dean's doesn't need anything more than that. Destinations mean monsters and cases and killing. "There" means anywhere they feel like going.
"There" means freedom.
Jack's heaven reads their mood as they drive and shifts around to match them. Trees and mountains give way to hills give way to freeways and towns and cities full of people they will never have to save, never have to wonder what they could have done differently. People who will never be their responsibility or their fault.
About two hours before dusk, they're ready to stop. Not five minutes after that, they pass a sign announcing a fair set up just past the next exit.
"What do you think?" Dean asks. Sam looks over and gives him a sunny smile.
They take the exit.
* * *
The fair is exactly two lefts and a right at the traffic light away from the freeway. Long before that last light, the evening breeze already carries hints of cotton candy and fried food, and the traffic noises slowly vanish under the swelling sounds of people having fun – the rumble and roar of rollercoasters, the canned music of the merry-go-round, and the constant murmur of people talking and laughing and squealing with excitement.
The fair itself isn't so much your standard travelling fair with the cracked-out carnies and subtly rigged games – it's closer to the platonic ideal of your standard travelling fair, carnies and games and all. A few crying kids, never too long, never too loud. A little litter that didn't make it into the can. Travelling fairs are special; in order to be perfect, they have to be imperfect. And so is this one.
It's heaven, after all.
They find parking just five rows from the entrance – a spot opens up right as they turn down that aisle, because of course it does. Five rows is just enough time to spend looking for a spot to feel lucky when you find one, and just far enough back that you don't have to worry about being stuck behind all the other cars when you leave.
The night is warm but not stuffy, just a shade over 70 degrees. Sam tries to pay for their tickets but Dean bats his hand away. "It ain't a date if the lady pays." Sam rolls his eyes but can't stop grinning as Dean comes back with a pair of all-you-can-ride wristbands. They'd gotten those once, back when Dean was 16 and Sam was 14 and dad had been away for three weeks. They'd mowed lawns all around the neighborhood to earn the money, just so Dean could tell dad honestly that they hadn't wasted any of the grocery money on something as frivolous as a fair. It had been worth it, even when Sam threw up after his third time around the Ferris wheel with the spinning compartments.
Dean links his fingers in Sam's as they walk, thrilled at the easy way Sam lets him. There's no more hesitation or furtive glances to see who's watching. Now he just smiles and holds on tightly, pulling Dean forward by their clasped hands, like any other couple at the fair.
They go on the Ferris wheel with the spinning compartments, and Sam doesn't throw up this time. So they go on it again, and again. Sam doesn't complain; he's too busy grinning and throwing his hands up in the air as they topple end-over-end in midair.
Five rollercoasters, two bumper car rides and a tilt-a-whirl later, even Dean's ready to take a break to get something to eat. He pigs out on everything fried and greasy – hot dogs, hamburgers, fried Oreos, fried Twinkies, even fricking fried zucchini. Sam tries them all, laughing, and never once mentions cholesterol or listeria, even if he can only manage a bite of the Twinkie before it's too sweet for him. Sam comes back with garlic fries and a pastrami sandwich that's so tasty Dean's almost sorry to be full. He can always get his own later, anyway. There's no food like fair food.
On their second pass around the midway, Dean realizes the one thing that the fair is missing – there are no clowns. Not a single smidge of greasepaint, bulbous red nose or big squeaky shoes is in sight. He almost thinks he sees one once, when Sam is distracted losing at ring toss – but the minute Sam turns back to look at him, the clown shimmers and turns out to be an older woman with maybe a smidge too much makeup.
That's the genius to Jack's heaven. You see what you want to see, who you want to see, when you want to see them. If you don't want to run into someone, they'll never show up at your door. They won't even remember that they might want to, too busy doing other things that they enjoy. You'll never see that awkward ex, or that old boss you hated, or a clown. Heck, some of the other folks at the fair here are probably laughing their asses off at a clown show right now – but Sam's heaven is clown-free, and so for them, the fair is too, and that won't change until and unless Sam decides differently. Who knows? Maybe someday he won't be afraid of them. Stranger things have happened.
"Let's go on the merry-go-round next," Sam says, breaking Dean's train of thought, and nods his head towards the gigantic carousel ahead of them.
Dean makes a token protest – merry-go-rounds are kid stuff, after all – but gives in easily enough when he sees the twinkle in Sam's eye. A minute later, they're stepping up onto a colorful herd of wooden horses and unicorns and zebras.
Sam drags Dean over to the biggest horse he can find, some kind of an oversized black Clydesdale, and fidgets impatiently until Dean has hoisted himself up and gotten comfortable. And then he hauls himself up into the same horse, straddling Dean's lap facing him.
"I always wanted to try this," Sam says mischievously. Then he presses even closer to Dean until they are plastered chest-to-chest and kisses him, deeply and passionately.
They never kissed this way in front of anyone back on earth. They rarely kiss any other way now.
Dean wraps his arm securely around Sam's waist as the ride starts up, enjoying the way their crotches grind together as the horse goes up and down to a song Dean's mind absently identifies as by the Bachman-Turner Overdrive.
I met a devil woman, she took my heart away
Sam's arms go up around Dean's neck, lips parting eagerly as Dean's tongue probes inside.
She said I've had it coming to me, but I wanted it this way
After a minute, he pulls back far enough to grin at him.
"They would totally have kicked us off the ride for this," Dean says with a laugh as the singer croons about good loving, then paraphrase-sings the next lyrics back at Sam, "Then he looked at me with those hazel eyes and said-".
Sam raises an eyebrow mischievously and then grinds his hips down over Dean's cock as he sings the lyrics right back, "You ain't seen nothing yet, b-b-b-baby, you just ain't seen nothing yet-"
Holy hell, his baby brother is giving him a fucking lap dance. On a carousel-fucking-horse.
It's Dean's turn to glance around, just on reflex – but there's no kids around them on the merry-go-round, and no one even giving them a second glance. Fuck it.
Sam's wicked with his hips, swiveling them in a maddeningly slow motion as he runs his hands down Dean's chest and then back up, under his jacket, all the while mouthing the words to the song. It's sexy as hell, but truth be told, all Dean can think of is the two thin layers of denim separating his cock from his brother's sweet, sweet ass.
As if reading his mind, Sam raises his hands up above his head and holds onto the carousel pole, obligingly lifting his hips up and looking pointedly down until Dean unbuttons the fly on his shorts. It's a frenzy of movement after that – Sam's cock pops free and then Dean's scrabbling at his own zipper, pulling out his cock with one hand as his other dips down the back of Sam's shorts, sliding them down just far enough to reach his ass, and-
His fingers come back slick with lube.
Sam's prepped for this, like the good little boy scout he never was.
Dean squeezes Sam's ass and slides his hands under Sam's thighs, lifting him up even higher, just so he can drop him down, impale him, on his cock. Sam's skin slaps against Dean's as his hole just opens up and sucks him in, soft and warm and slick. He throws his head back and moans, hands still firmly wrapped around the pole to keep himself in place.
Dean waits. This is Sam's show.
At first, Sam stays as perfectly still as he can, Dean's hands clamped on his hips as the motion of the horse itself drives them together and apart. It feels like it's not just Dean fucking Sam, it's the carousel itself. Like they're cogs in some greater machine whose only purpose is pleasure. It's slow. Torturous. Glorious.
Sam licks his lips and leans in for a kiss. "Do you know how many hard-ons I had to hide on this as a teen, fantasizing about us doing this?"
Dean likes the thought of that, the idea of desperately horny and virginal fifteen-year-old Sam riding this and imagining it was Dean below him. "How's it stack up against the reality?"
Sam clenches around him and arches his back, pure joy on his face. "Better than I imagined, that's for sure."
"That's right," Dean thrusts up just a little and nibbles on Sam's neck, making him shiver. "And don't you forget it."
They make love like that, slowly, inexorably, until the desperation rises and Sam can't help himself. Then Sam's hands drop down onto Dean's shoulders to steady himself and it's all Dean can do to passively let Sam just take his pleasure. Public sex on a merry-go-round – not the way he'd planned to end the evening when he'd suggested stopping at the fair, but he should have expected it, should have remembered that Sam was once full of nothing but questions and imagination and love.
Was, and is, and will be, forever and ever, A-fucking men, and thank you Jack.
Sam plunges himself down on Dean's cock over and over again with abandon, moving opposite to the horse's motion so Dean almost slides out entirely before shoving himself down to the root. Twice, he takes them to the brink of coming before backing off, until finally, Dean can't take it any longer.
"Stroke yourself," he growls. "Let me see those fingers wrapped around that beautiful cock of yours." Almost shyly, Sam obediently licks his right palm and drops it his lap, biting his lower lip as his fingers curl and stroke. Dean braces his feet in the carousel horse's metal stirrups and leans forward, tilting Sam's hips up so his back is against the horses neck and his knees are pointed towards his chest. His leans forward to kiss Sam's face, jaw, neck, driving them both over the edge until he spurts inside Sam and Sam spurts all over his black t-shirt.
Then Dean slows, stops, keeping himself firmly inside Sam until he can feel Sam's muscles stop spasming. "Look at that," he slips his hand free and scoops some of Sam's cum up with his fingers, then licks it off them, never dropping his gaze. "Better clean this up or everyone's going to know what we've been up to."
"Good. I want them to." Sam squirms then, seemingly only just noticing how the wooden ripples of the horse's mane dig into his back. Luckily, the merry-go-round has slowed with them at the back, hidden from view by the column in the center, so Dean's got a little privacy as he awkwardly dismounts first Sam and then the horse. By the time he's put himself to rights, Sam's shimmied his shorts back up and wiped the worst of his cum off the shirt so it just looks like streaks.
Dean kisses him tenderly. The ride may have stopped, but Sam can still make his head spin.
"C'mon," he says, taking Sam's hand and leading him off the merry-go-round. "There's still time for cotton candy, and then I've got an idea for the Ferris wheel."
"The one with the spinning carts?" Sam asks with a grin.
"Yeah, that's the one."
Sam throws his head back and laughs, and Dean realizes he hasn't once looked around worried to see if anyone saw them on the ride. Hasn't even given it a second thought. "Fuck it," Sam says. "What's the worst that can happen?"
And for once, the answer is – nothing. The worst that can happen is... nothing.
This is heaven, after all.
~fin~