nekare

Today was... weird at school. There were free tacos and beer, for one thing. o_O But I digress. I have A Thing for special dates although I never really know what to do about them. So, in honor of this weird day and my unability to think of something other than SPN as of lately, have a ficlet.

(ALSO. What is this that I hear Jensen Ackles turns 30 today? Is he truly a leap year baby? Wikpedia says his birthday is March 1st, but whenever has wikipedia been right, anyway?)

Title: Leap
Word Count: 736
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Summary: On February 29, Dean wakes up and realizes he has an extra day to live.


Leap

On February 29, Dean wakes up and realizes he has an extra day to live.

He throws his pillow at Sam’s head, grins at the way he startles awake and nearly falls off the bed. He orders cheese fries for breakfast, ignores Sam’s disgusted looks and even lets him steal some once he stops being such a prissy princess. When Sam starts briefing him on their latest hunt, Dean cuts him off.

“Screw that shit,” he says, and Sam stares. “We’re going to the Grand Canyon.”

Half an hour later they’re already driving towards Arizona. They’re conveniently close to it, only half a state away, and Dean wonders if he’d already been planning this unconsciously. Sam keeps giving him weird looks, but he’s sprawled on the passenger seat, eyes closed and right hand lightly touching Dean’s neck; the most relaxed Dean’s seen him since all those Tuesdays ago, and it makes Dean smile in return.

When they finally get out of the car, the earth is red beneath their feet, dust sticking to their clothes with every step they give. Dean clings to the railing at the edge of the canyon with childish abandon, yells his own name and listens to the way the echoes jump from rock to rock. He laughs, for a long time, and he can feel Sam looking at him.

For a moment, there’s nothing else but the two of them, shoulders pressed together as they look into the abyss, not a worry in the world.

“What is this all about?” Sam finally asks, the edges of his mouth turning upwards, and Dean looks away, swallows hard and wets his lips. He turns around, then, takes Sam’s face between his hands and pulls him down, swallows the surprised sound from his throat with his mouth. He kisses Sam as if he had the right, messy tongue and Sam’s mouth slack against his, but open and warm and real. When he pulls back, he looks into Sam’s wide open eyes, the eyebrows that are straining up. His knuckles are white as he grips the railing, though, and his breathing is shallow.

“Today doesn’t count, doesn’t exist,” Dean says, still close enough that he goes a little crossed-eyed if he tries to see into Sam’s eyes, and he can feel it when Sam gets it, when he draws a sharp breath and nods a little. Dean’s always known it goes both ways, this thing between them, and he also knows there was never a chance in hell they’d act on it if it wasn’t this day, this year, Dean’s last if hell has a say in it.

Sam’s the one that kisses him this time around, shoulders hunched and the first time he’s allowed himself to be vulnerable in weeks. They go a bit crazy, then, pushing and pulling at each other until they almost stumble off the edge and then it’s back to the car, pressed together in the backseat with not a sliver of space between them. The leather clings to Dean’s flank, and the belt seat is digging into the small of his back, but Sam’s biting his neck, his fingers intertwined with Dean’s over their heads, crammed against the window, and he can’t bring himself to care.

It’s fast and messy, sweaty palms pulling at each other’s cocks, knuckles brushing together between their bodies as Sam bites at Dean’s bottom lip, lazy and slow. Afterwards they lie there together, sticky and with their feet hanging outside, and they don’t talk, just struggle to get their breaths back only to lose them again with the next kiss, the next touch.

The next day, March already, they pretend that February was only 28 days long, and if they take to touch at each other a bit too much, well, they still bump shoulders and kick each other in the shin under tables and it’s all right, they’re all right.

They don’t talk about it, and it’s not as weird as one would think.


----


The last thing Dean hears before he dies is 365 days, Dean, you can’t say I didn’t keep my end of the deal, out of a red-eyed girl that walks with ease through Sam’s wards, the ones that were meant to save him, only half done. A flick of her wrist, and then the hell hounds fall on him and tear him to shreds.

They’re a day early.