Work Text:
Dean pulled into the street and up to the familiar driveway, something relaxing in his chest at finally having arrived home. He’s been looking forward to the holidays. It had been a long few years traveling all over the states for work without getting a long enough break, and he hadn’t been able to see his family for the holidays in a few years.
This would be a nice change of pace.
He looked over to the passenger seat, where his overstuffed duffel and the gifts he’d brought sat. He gathered them in his arms, particularly careful with the one wrapped for Sammy. It was a book on the collected speeches and decisions by Thurgood Marshall, and a fuzzy pink pen that reminded Dean of something Elle Woods would use. What else do you get someone about to graduate and go to law school? Dean had even taken time to wrap them together neatly and got a glossy red bow to put on it.
He couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he opened it. Dean didn’t think he could ever top the amulet Sam gave him when he was eight, but he tried every year that they could see each other. He hoped this time Sam would be impressed and touched by his choice in gift.
More than anything, Dean just couldn’t wait to see Sam.
Said brother was waiting in the window like an excited puppy, disappearing from view as soon as the Impala pulled into the driveway.
Dean rushed out, carrying his things with him, and had barely reached the door when Sam threw it open.
Dean stepped back to get a good look at Sam, doing a double take to make sure he’d pulled into the right house. When Dean left, Sam had been a spindly nerd that Dean still had a few inches on. But it seemed that in the last four years, Sam had shot up and filled out — he towered over Dean now by a few inches. His hair was still as stupidly long and shiny as ever, but his face had matured; his jawline a little more square. He looked good.
He wrinkled his brow. “I must have the wrong house,” he said, confused. Sam rolled his eyes, grinned, and pointed at himself, “Brother!” like he was reminding Dean who he was, and establishing who he was to some invisible audience. Maybe God was a voyeur, who knew. It was totally normal behavior and Dean took it in stride, hugging Sammy close to him, the two of them laughing at their little joke. “I missed you so much,” Sam admitted.
“I waited up all night for you, you know,” Sam said as he closed the door. Dean shook off the snow and followed the aroma of coffee into the kitchen.
“It’s a long way to drive,” Dean reminded him, as if Sam hadn’t known where he had been.
He dropped his bag and leaned over where the treasured coffee maker was busy percolating on the counter, taking a deeper inhale. “Ah, real coffee,” he sighed. He’d been living off gas station sludge and the powdery just-add-water instant stuff that motels sometimes used.
Upstairs, Mary shot up in bed, alerted by her mother-senses tingling and the smell of fresh coffee. “He’s here,” she said to John.
Dean didn’t wait for the coffee to finish brewing and poured himself a cup, putting the pot back so the drips would stop spitting and hissing as they hit the warmer plate.
“I brought you something from the road,” Dean said, looking up at Sam through his lashes. Sam had decided to sit on the kitchen counter like a kid despite his age, making his gigantic form that much taller. He had nothing but eyes for Dean. “Really?”
Dean shyly passed the gift over to Sam. Sam looked down at it, sneaking a glance at Dean who was busy sipping his coffee, pretending he wasn’t waiting to see Sam’s reaction. There was a moment of tension before Sam, in a fit of bravery, took the ribbon off the gift and stuck it on Dean’s shoulder.
Dean huffed. “What are you doin’?”
“You’re my present this year,” Sam said simply.
Dean softened his gaze. They shared a long look, all their years of missing each other and unspoken wishes mounting, neither making a move—
and Mary walked in followed by John, breaking the tension. Dean hugged his Mom and Dad, distracted. Sam kept smiling regardless. He meant what he had said.
Having Dean home for the holidays was better than any gift he could’ve been given.
On the counter, the coffee pot clicked off.