Title: Waking Dreams, Remembered Wishes
Author: ThatBeckygirl
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest
Note: Thanks again to my lovely beta(s) tempestquill!! You two are absolutely amazing....and maybe a little too flattering.... *grin* And, Cassie, thank you double for the title!
Spoilers: Minor Spoilers for Asylum and Nightmare
Summary: Dean forgets something...Sam, of course, remembers...

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Demon exorcised, mission accomplished. Any day you got to kick some random twenty-something's ass because he bargained with a demon was a good day. And, now Dean was looking forward to some good ole Sammy-time to make the day complete. It was relatively early, after all. 10:00pm. Plenty of time to get another mission accomplished before sleep became an absolute necessity.

Halfway to the motel room door, he was just about to turn around and point out that fact to Sam when he heard the car start back up. A glance back found a shaggy head hanging out the window, grinning at him like a lunatic. Uh-oh, Sam with a plan of sorts. Not. Cool.

"Hey, man, are you gonna be okay by yourself for a few? There's something I gotta go pick up."

"Pick up? Sammy, it's ten o'clock at night. There's nowhere for you to pick up anything. Can't this wait until tomorrow?"

Dude, was he whining? He was whining. Dammit, Dean Winchester does not whine. Okay, okay...insert sexual bravado. "Unless it's a hooker...if it is, bring me one too." He finished off with a raised eyebrow and his trademark cocky smirk. Much better.

Sam didn't look fooled for one second. He smiled, shifted the car into drive and pulled away, yelling "I'll be back!"

"Great. Just great," Dean muttered walking into the room. He also called Sam every name under the sun. He'd cleaned the room and gone through the curse words he knew in Latin, Spanish, and French and was well into German before he heard the familiar roar of the Impala's engine outside the door.

He checked his watch. Eleven o'clock. Well, there's an hour wasted. He started undressing for bed, getting down to his black boxer briefs and a faded gray T-shirt. When the door opened, he'd just started to pull back the bedcovers to snuggle in for a good eight hours of sleep.

"Uh, uh. You are not going to bed. Not now. We only have an hour left," Sam said behind him, in his best grown-up voice. Dean wasn't listening to him this time, no sir. Sam could shoot him with all the rock salt he wanted, even sic a black dog on him. He was not giving in to this ridiculous scheme of his little brothers. He wasn't even going to look at him. If he looked up, Sam would have the puppy eyes on- the ones that always worked. So, he just wouldn't acknowledge him. It was best. Seriously. He was trying real hard to convince himself of this. After all, eleven was still fairly early....

"No," he heard himself say, and began crawling under the covers. He was stopped by a gentle hand on his arm. He looked up on reflex. Shit. There were the eyes.

"Just...please, Dean?" Sam whispered, looking Dean in the eyes. And he looked so hurt, it was all Dean could do to stop himself from gathering him up and kissing the smoothness back into his furrowed brow.

Sighing, Dean let the tension drain out of his body. Sam smiled that mega-watt smile and leaned down to place a small kiss on the full lips of his older brother. He then pulled Dean over to the table by the window, where there sat a package wrapped in blue tissue paper, and a small, white cake with the word "Dean" scrawled on it in blue icing and a single candle in the middle.

Dean was completely shocked. January 24th. That was today. He had forgotten his own birthday. Birthdays had never been a big deal to him, not since their mother died. But, he had never forgotten before. In the aftermath of his father's death, with all the excitement over Sam and the other kids...he hadn't even realized that much time had passed. He was twenty-eight years old and he had no idea where the last six months of twenty-seven had gone.

"Sam...I..." he collapsed into one of the chairs, struggling for words. What did he even want to say? I'm sorry? Thank you?

Sam saved him from trying to figure it out with a smile and a simple "Happy Birthday, Dean." He sat down in the other chair and lit the candle with his lighter. "Make a wish."

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it and just blew out the candle. He just would have been made fun of anyway, for what he wanted to say. I don't need to make a wish. You're the only thing I could wish for. Sam was the girl in this family. He was the one that should have been starting chick flick moments.

Sam pushed the package at him, with a barely suppressed grin and an excited light in his eyes that hadn't been seen since his sixteenth birthday when Dean had gotten him a hardback copy of The Great Gatsby. Dean smiled back at him - a genuine smile - and opened up the present.

"God, Sam...how on earth did you afford this?" Dean asked in wonder, examining the gun in his hand, feeling the comforting weight of it. It was gorgeous. Chrome with an ivory plated grip, a lot like the one that had been confiscated by the cops at the Millers' house, but more beautiful and worth a hell of a lot more.

"You're not the only one that can hustle pool and cheat at poker, Dean," came the amused reply. When Dean looked up, there was a smile on Sam's face so big that it should have split his face in two. Or... at least, cracked it a little. And, in that moment, he knew. Everything was going to turn out all right because he had this man with him. It didn't matter what life threw at him. As long as Sammy was by his side, he could face anything. Right then, he felt invincible. Like he could have taken on the Demon with his bare hands and not even break a sweat.

Sam cleared his throat and continued, "I know you loved that one that got taken from you in Michigan, and I tried to find one exactly like it...."

Dean leaned over and placed his left hand on his brother's neck, drawing him in for a mind-blowing kiss, still gripping the pistol in his right. Sam opened his mouth in invitation, letting in Dean's tongue and letting out a moan so deep it shook both of them. As their tongues danced around one another, Dean figured that he could stay like this forever. He could sit here, in this dingy motel room, and kiss his brother for the rest of eternity. He didn't need food or sleep or anything else that should have mattered.

Just when he was just about to progress things further, Sam pulled away. He smiled at Dean's groan and grabbed his right hand, which still hadn't dropped the gun. "You didn't see the best part. Check out the barrel."

Although his mind was focused more south, Dean did as he was told. There, delicately etched into the barrel of his new gun, were the words "Dean & Sam."

And, he couldn't help himself. A joke was needed. "Aww, Sammy, is this a proposal?" he asked with a playful wink. His smirk grew into a smile at the blush that crept up Sam's cheeks. "I love it," Dean whispered sincerely before once again claiming his brother's kissable lips.

Immediately, tongues began dueling with one another for dominance, possession of the kiss. Dean finally, albeit reluctantly, set the gun on the table and hauled himself out of the chair, bringing Sam with him. Together, they stumbled to the bed, never breaking contact, both trying to rid Sam of his clothes. Jacket gone, check. Flannel shirt gone, check. Okay, now pants. When Dean tried to undo the belt, Sam smacked his hands away and did it himself, keeping one hand possessively on Deans neck. The whoosh of the belt coming out of the loops coincided with the springs creaking as they both toppled over.

Tangled up with his brother, cock achingly hard, Dean broke the kiss and told Sam to lose the rest. While Sam was busy following his orders, he shimmied out of his shirt and underwear. When they were finally completely naked, Sam attacked. In one hand, he grabbed Dean's head and kept him in another kissing frenzy while his other hand flicked open the bottle of lube he'd grabbed from his pants pocket and reached back. Dean closed his eyes and waited for the coolness of Sam's fingers to enter his ass.

But it never came. Dean opened his eyes as Sam faltered and pulled away. Sam was fingering himself. Slicking and opening himself up. Judging by the pleasurable look on his face, he was meeting very little resistance. That thought made Dean's dick twitch in anticipation. The fact that Sam had been planning this, at the very least, all day? ...Well, if he could have gotten any harder, he would have. Maybe birthdays weren't so bad after all.

When Sam decided that either he was ready or that he couldn't wait any longer (it was impossible to tell which), he applied more lube to his fingers and coated Dean's length. Leaning down to plant one more kiss, he asked the insanely ridiculous question "Are you ready?" before impaling himself entirely.

At the grimace on Sam's face, Dean grabbed his hips and said, "We don't have to do this, Sammy." Sammy in any amount of pain was a bad thing - whether Dean was enjoying himself or not.

Sam shook his head and moved forward and back a little, testing it out. Then he lifted himself up a little and thrust back down. Dean wasn't sure who moaned, Sam or himself, but the sensation was incredible. Apparently Sam agreed. He started to move up and down, angling his hips so that Dean was hitting his prostate with each thrust.

Dean matched his thrusts, working his hips in tandem. He pulled Sam down into another kiss, forcing his tongue into his brother's mouth. With his other hand, he reached in between them to jerk Sam off, in time to their movements. The whimper that Sam let into Dean's mouth was the only warning before his cock was splashing across them both. Dean felt the muscles in his brother's ass clench around him and he came a split second later, filling his brother.

Once they each had milked everything out of the other, Sam collapsed onto Dean, who was more than ready to catch him. Sam shifted, releasing Dean, and snuggled into his brother's arms. He placed a kiss on Dean's collarbone and laid his head down. "So, I guess we'll save the birthday cake for breakfast, then?" has asked, chuckling against freckled skin.

Dean nodded, but didn't speak immediately. He wanted to say something meaningful. Sam deserved that much; after all he'd done for him. Dean might try to be the stoic type, but both of the brothers knew that he was just as much of a hopeless romantic as Sam. Maybe even more. He loved Sam with all his heart.

Hell, he would be the first to admit that he was in love with him. The initial shock that came with Sam's confession that he felt the same way, long after Jess' death, still hadn't worn off. He still expected Sam to just walk out on him - which was why he was trying to show the softer side. That's what Sam wanted - no, needed - to see. So, that's what Dean gave him.

"Thank you, Sammy...for...everything.... I love you."

"I love you, too." As those four words drifted to his ears, he tightened his hold on the brother who was quickly drifting off to sleep.

The sleep that he so desperately needed, he knew, wouldn't come for a few hours. He was too content to close his eyes, irrationally afraid that this was all a dream. But, as Sam's breathing evened out across his chest, he finally understood what it meant to be truly loved. And, dream or no dream, at least he knew.

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