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Of Traditions and Insecurities

@wincestwritingchallenge : Sept 2018 | @hodgepodgesblog vs @Storyspinner70

Prompt: Fall/autumn, Scarves and gloves Pairing: Dean/Sam AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16150439 Word count: 3,513 Rating: T Warnings: misunderstandings, angst, language

Summary:For years Sam has relied on Dean consistently delivering a particular gift to him. When time goes by and it's suspiciously absent this year, Sam fears this could be Dean's way of saying he's finally done with him.Set in some vague time/moment, after the last seal was broken.

The signs that it’s already that time of year again begin on the way to their next case. It starts, as most things do, in the impala.

They’re the only headlight on the tarmac in the bitter night for thirty miles either way when Sam fidgets in the passenger seat. He tries to be discreet, but is well past the stage of being able to hide from Dean, who predictably notices his repositioning out of the corner of his eye. He ignores his restless brother and focuses on the road. The stereo plays on.

Thirty seconds later and Sam shifts again, ending the movement with a minuscule shiver and a shaky sigh. Dean rolls his eyes, turns down the music, and unconsciously shifts himself, putting slightly more pressure on the gas. He eases off.

“If you had to pee, you should’ve gone before we left. Next populated exit isn’t for another twenty miles.”

His voice is gruff and abrupt, jolting Sam from where he had just laid his head against the window.

“No,” he coughs. “It’s not that.”

Dean sighs and cuts his eyes to his baby brother. “We can stop on the side of the road if you really need to, but I know how weird you are about hygiene and crap like that.”

“We hunt monsters for a living, Dean. There are hundreds of monsters who wouldn’t hesitate to attack someone who thought taking a leak in the open air at night over an open field was a good idea.” He shivers again. “Besides, I already told you that’s not it. I don’t need to pee.”

Dean purses his lips. “Well whatever it is needs to stop. Baby doesn’t appreciate you rubbing up on her like that and wrinkling her up. She’s sensitive.”

Sam sighs and turns away from his brother, still shifting in his seat. Dean knows for a fact he also rolled his eyes.

“Bitch.” He pumps the volume louder than before.

“Jerk.” Sam tightens his arms wrapped around himself and shivers.

The next time it happens they’re leaving an interview at the start of noon. The wife of the victim has told them nothing they didn’t already know and seemed as shocked by his death as the rest of the town. She is more thrown though by the proposed “killer,” who’s wasting away in the town’s only jail cell after an un-coerced confession. The whole town was unprepared for it.

It looks like this case might be less about the people dying, and more about the serial killer offing them. According to the rest of the population, he was the least likely person in all of Benson to hurt anyone at all, let alone murder them.

And yet, here they are. The Winchester Brothers. Investigating the suspicious similar deaths of six people in one town in just under three weeks. And their prime suspect is someone who is more likely to be possessed or influenced by the supernatural than acting on his own free will.

So they’re strolling down the residential street back towards Baby—to head over to the jail and interview the only suspect—when a stark cold breeze, far chillier than any they’d encountered this season so far, sweeps over them and Sam’s entire body locks up. He halts his walking and rocks backward as if hit. He plants his feet on the road, as if the strong wind could blow his Sasquatch ass away.

He’s biting his chapped lips—and while Dean would rather bite them for him later, right now his baby boy looks like he’s in pain.

“Sammy?”

“Y-yeah, Dean?”

“You okay over there?��

Sam swallows thickly, and licks his lips, nodding quickly. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Something just came over me is all. A sudden dizzy spell. It’ll pass though.”

“A dizzy spell?” Did his brother think he was a dumbass or something?

“Yeah,” he says more firmly, lowering his arms from their raised position at his side where they steadied his sudden jolt. He takes a few deep breaths and smiles shakily at Dean. “See? Totally fine.”

Dean narrows his eyes, but lets Sam continue heading back to the car first. He stays a few paces behind him to see if he’ll stumble again. He doesn’t.

Dean vows to watch him more closely after this.

Sam doesn’t mean to be a drama queen about this—he really doesn’t. And he knows that he should just casually mention it to Dean so his brother can stop looking at him like he’s going to die at any second.

But … he just can’t.

Letting Dean know that he’s starting to get really cold, like he’s always done as long as he could remember, would only remind Dean of what they don’t do anymore. What Dean doesn’t do for him anymore. It would sound like Sam expects something from his brother.

And he does. Well he doesn’t, but his body does.

For as long as Sam could remember, his body’s always reflected the environment. He runs hot in the summer, and freezes during the fall. It’s easy to just wear less clothing in the summer, but money was always tight for the Winchesters, so autumn, and then winter, was hard for him to get through. It would have been worse if Dean didn’t always make him a matching—as close as his fabric-challenged brother could get to matching—set of gloves and a scarf to wear throughout the colder months. Every year, without fail, he would get them when the temperature started to change. Even when he went off to Stanford—at the start of autumn there was a package waiting in his mailbox or in his dorm room. Sam had thought he broke their relationship forever, but unfailingly every year at the start of the season Dean sent a package showing how much he cared. Sam was certain he would have never survived at Stanford without it.

Dean has been so consistent with this tradition his entire life, that not having it makes him feel bereft. Dean’s trained his body in so many ways, and this was perhaps the first.

He doesn’t know how to function without Dean’s handmade poorly knitted scarves and gloves. Usually he doesn't have to say anything, or even hint at being cold. He’s been spoiled for it.

But now, after Ruby, and the demon blood … Dean’s felt distant.

Sam’s not even sure they’re in a relationship. How do you ask your brother if he still wants to fuck you when just a few weeks ago he could barely look at you? When you stopped fucking because he died, went to hell, and you got high on demon blood and the demon chick he hated because you were grieving?

They share the same bed, but there’s this space between them that wasn’t there before. Sam knows he messed up. Dean’s told him enough times. He regrets ever trusting Ruby, especially when it was the last thing Dean wanted. When it makes Dean still sometimes hesitate to trust him now. But at the same time, what is he to Dean right now?

Does Dean just see him as his stupid little brother who he has to keep an eye on? Or is he the lover that was broken up with, but is still considered a friend? Are they even still lovers?

They only kiss occasionally. Sam feels so touch-starved when his brother sleeps less than a foot away from him. And now fall has started to really set in and it will only get colder and he can’t just ask his brother why he doesn’t love him anymore and why he won’t touch him anymore or knit him a scarf and pair of gloves to keep him warm

So … he’ll just actually buy a set for himself tomorrow morning.

They wrapped up that case with the supposed small town serial killer a couple days ago and were already in a more populated area. Poor guy was being manipulated and influenced by a ghost to kill people. He wasn’t possessed, but he still didn’t have full control of his mind or body. They were able to exorcise the ghost, but there was only so much they could do for the guy when all evidence pointed to him. They threw some fake evidence at the local police to suggest he had a mental break and hopefully that will help him. The whole town seemed to love him.

So they have a few more days to kill while they find another case. He knows there are more pressing things they need to worry about, but for now Sam would prefer the familiarity and nostalgia of salt and burns.

This area seems to have a general store. Hopefully it includes winter wear. It won’t be nearly the same as having Dean’s homemade gifts, but it can’t be that bad.

Stores should not be allowed to sell gloves and scarves. They made them wrong.

They weren’t warm, and ugly, and didn’t slightly smell of grease, gunpowder, and leather, with a hint of apple pie. The gloves didn’t have a string on the inside that was the result of a major error. The fabric didn’t itch when he first put them on. The scarves were too thin, and too well-decorated. They looked like they were actually planned out instead of thrown together in a spur-of-the-moment design that changed in the middle of production.

They were wrong.

And he felt filthy after wearing them.

He only hoped Dean never found out.

So Sammy officially didn’t want his homemade scarves anymore.

Sure, Dean doesn’t come across this knowledge “honestly,” technically. But as Sam’s older brother and past-kind of current-lover, it was his responsibility to make sure he was healthy and well. His shivering all over the place was suspicious and Dean initially thought the worst of it. But now he knows.

His brother is freezing because it’s that time of the year again—of course Dean didn’t forget. Unfortunately, Dean doesn’t get to give him his yearly present.

It’s been burning a hole in the pocket of his leather jacket since he made it when summer only had a few weeks left. He started the project by memory and rote-memory. It wasn’t until he was ready to give it to Sam that he remembered—his brother doesn’t want him to touch him anymore.

Dean understands.

He was an absolute asshole to Sam with the whole Ruby thing. Yeah, he was right and the bitch couldn’t be trusted because she was a total bitch, but Sam was a naive puppy. He already knew that. It was one of the things he always liked about his younger brother.

Those sweet brown eyes can make him do almost anything. And if Sammy just asked him for his scarf and gloves, he would hand them over in a heartbeat. But Sam doesn’t even want to touch him these days.

Sure they share the same bed, and he lets Dean kiss him, but he used to need Dean all of the time. Yeah it sounds conceited as fuck, but it’s the truth. Sam was a needy little touch-starved bitch and Dean loved it. He could understand—kind of—why Sam fell into Ruby’s arm. He always needs affection.

But he hasn’t approached Dean for it like in the past. When they were younger he would always crawl into his lap. Even up until Stanford. After Stanford there were couple of times where a particularly rough hunt made him clingy and he found himself back in Dean’s lap like he belonged there. Of course, he does. Or did.

Dean is unsure if Sam will ever come back there.

He wants his Sammy there, but he doesn’t know how Sam could look at him and let him touch him like that after everything he said to him. And now Sam is buying a scarf and gloves from someone else. He never buys those things. It’s Dean’s job to take care of that for him. But it looks like he doesn’t want him to anymore. And that hurts like a sonuvabitch more than he thought it would.

“How’s the new scarf?” Shit, did he say that out loud?

Sam sharply looks over at Dean, his beautiful brown eyes blown wide in shock and … fear?

“Um—what? What scarf?” Sam shakily asks, looking nervous for some reason.

Dean supposes Sam wants to know how he figured it out. It hurts to say, but they need to get this over with so they can clear the air about their relationship. And how apparently it was over.

“I—uh,” he doesn’t want to continue. Doesn’t want Sam to think he followed him because he didn’t trust him. “I was worried about you. You’ve been acting a little weird and seemed in pain sometimes, so I just wanted to see you were fine. I saw you go to the winter section.”

He chances a look up at his brother, and when did he even look down at the ground, but Sam looks dumbfounded but also frightened. Dammit, he didn’t think he would get mad at him for choosing not to continue their relationship, did he?

“It’s alright, you know.” It’s important Sam understands that this is not on him. This shitfest is on Dean. “To not want me to give you something from the past. And to not want to have anything to do with me. I did make you your yearly gloves and scarf—I even tried to include a hat this time—but I know you don’t want them, or to have anything to do with me. And I understand. I was a complete asshole to you Sammy and I am so sorry--”

“Dean,--”

“--about that. I should never have treated you like that, no matter what you did. And I could have tried to understand you more. I mean,” he laughs darkly. “It took me no time to sell my soul to a demon when you died. Taking blood from one when I did seems par for the course. Not really—because eww Sam, you didn’t even know what she had. But I’m over it. Kind of. I’m over your part in it. I still want to find Ruby and--”

“Dean, what do you--”

“--kill her slowly, rip her throat out for daring to touch you, and see how she likes the taste of her own blood, because you are mine and everyone needs to know that. Or you were mine but now I don’t get to touch you, because I said those things and treated you like shit, but I still love you Sammy, you have to know that I do and--.”

“Dean, please shut the hell up!”

Sam is standing there in their motel room, breathing harshly, tears in his eyes, body back-lit by the fading sun casting rays through the parking lot and into Sam’s hair, his face. His brother is so beautiful. Even when angry, or frustrated, and God does Dean not want to lose this.

Sam takes a deep breath, because he doesn’t know if he can deal with this.

Dean sounds like he was breaking up with him, but also not breaking up with him. He just wants them to be them again.

“What do you mean you saw me buying a scarf?”

Dean looks pained at the question, and Sam hated asking it, but he needs to know. Needs to know that what he’s feeling is still reciprocal. That they can fix this. That they aren’t broken, but can still be the SamandDean only they knew.

“Like I said I followed you.” He clears his throat. “And I saw you go to that section. And I figured, why do I need to see more? You clearly don’t want to touch anything I make anymore.”

The laugh that claws its way out of Sam’s throat feels relieved, outraged, and angry simultaneously.

“You asshole! I only want what you make. I did try the scarf on.” Dean winces. “And the gloves. But they were wrong. So horribly, completely, and undeniably wrong. I only ever wanted what you give me. That’s all I will ever want. But I thought...”

Dean is looking at him closely now.

“I thought you didn’t want me.” He runs a hand through his hair. And God why does he always feel like crying all the time? And why do his legs feel shaky?

“I thought you were done with me. That you didn’t want to touch me. I will always need you, Dean. Every day, and every night. I rely on you, depend on you. To think, to eat, to breathe, to live, to stay sane...to stay warm. But you haven’t been as affectionate with me since...you know. And the things you said. I know you don’t mean them now, but they felt so right back then and you looked like you felt it. I thought I didn’t deserve your gift and that you not giving it to me meant you were done with me. And I thought, hey he has every right.”

At some point Dean has moved closer, because he is kneeling in front of Sam who is sitting on the motel bed—when did that happen—and cupping his face, and stroking his cheek, so Sam leans into it because God is this perfect and what he’s been missing, but he needs to finish this so Dean can understand how much Sam will need him forever.

“So, I was cold. I was so cold. And I wanted to ask you about it, but I felt so selfish. You owe me nothing, and are so good to me. So I chose to stay cold. If you couldn’t warm me, I needed to feel cold. And I know that’s so emo, but Dean … I—I”

“I love you so much, baby boy. Don’t you ever doubt that. I may shout and say some stupid shit, but I will always love you. And I will never be done with you.”

He peppers kisses along Sam’s cheeks, forehead and nose. Sam closes his eyes and smiles tremulously.

“I have your gift right here,” he pats his jacket pocket, “to show how much I will always love you. I made it weeks ago. So open your eyes, baby, and see what I did.”

Sam does as instructed, feeling Dean move around in front of him, and cracks a truly happy smile.

They scarf looks too thick, and the colors are uneven and clash horribly. The gloves look too big, or maybe too small, he isn’t even sure. And there’s a new addition this year. A hat with the scariest smiley face poorly embroidered onto it. The collection is one of the most beautiful things Sam’s ever seen.

And then he looks at his brother who’s looking at him so softly, as if he’s his whole world, and God does Sam feel the same way.

“Kiss me.”

“Whatever you want, baby. Whatever you want.”

Dean’s lips are so soft against his, and even though they’ve kissed since the whole Hell-Ruby-Apocalypse situation started, it’s never felt like this. Like Dean actually still loves him. So Sam thinks he should be excused for the whimper that instantly makes it way out his throat.

Of course, the groan Dean lets out in response makes it worth it. He kisses Sam harder.

“Missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, Dean.”

And fuck, has he missed his brother’s teeth on his neck. So, when Dean lays a hand against his chest to push him back, he goes very easily.

“Dean, we should get up. My pants are so sticky.”

“Nope, I’m comfortable here.”

“But we need to at least talk about what we are--”

“Sammy, my dick is very satisfied right now after being unsatisfied and lonely for a very long time. No more chick-flick moments. Unless it includes you stripping for me.”

“I don’t think that counts as a chick-flick moment.”

“Less talking and more stripping, please. I can assure you I have an ample amount of ones.” Sam smacks his chest. “Ow. Strippers are not allowed to touch clients, you know.”

“One, I think it’s the other way around. Two, I am in your lap after you touched me multiple times—I think we’ve long since broken that rule. Three, this is actually important.”

“Sam, we just found out we weren’t breaking up with each other and you’re wearing my gift to you, after over a year of me seeing you without it. You’re in my lap after it being an eternity since I felt you here. You are cold as always, but you’re letting me keep you warm again. Just shut up and let me hold you for a couple days before we start talking about that sentimental shit. Okay?”

And really, what more could Sam say to that when being where he was felt warmer than a sunny summer day?

Sam pecks Dean softly on the lips, and rests his head against his chest, nuzzling into the material.

“Okay.”

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