Some days, Sam and Dean aren’t that happy-go-lucky couple on the front of stereotypical, emotionally bedazzled Hallmark cards.
Some days, Dean leaves for work with tears in his eyes and anger in the folds of his forehead, closing the door to their apartment with a little more force than usual.
Some days, Sam flinches at the slam sound the door makes as his boyfriend leaves for work, tears finally falling after hours, sometimes days, of holding them back.
Some days, Dean zones out at the garage and gets fingers snapped in his face by his colleagues because he’s off in la-la-land when he’s actually just thinking about how stupid he acted that morning or the night before he exiled himself to the couch (because Sam never kicks him out—he’s more into the passive-aggressiveness of sleeping facing away from his partner and shrugging his hand off his shoulder, sometimes not even saying good night).
Some days, Sam goes to his classes and can barely focus on what his professors are saying because he’s contemplating every syllable of every ugly word he spat at Dean.
But most of those days don’t end the same way they begin. More often than not, Sam will be perched on the sofa watching some rerun of their show of the month while overthinking what he’ll say when Dean gets home—even though his first word is always a simple “hey”—and Dean will barrel through the doors with a hopeful smile on his face.
He’ll set the grocery store bag he toted in on the kitchen counter and fill a vase with water from the sink to put the flowers he bought as an apology in before setting the bouquet beside Sam and cupping his face, kissing him with the hunger and desperation of a starved man.
And Sam will kiss back with that same emaciated want, craving the smell of petroleum that always manages to taint his boyfriend’s work clothes. He’ll straddle Dean’s hips and hug him tight because even a single day of deprivation is enough to crack them both. Dean will pull out his signature line and push some hair behind Sam’s ear with the same love he always does, angry or not.
“How was your day?” He’ll whisper, taking Sam’s hand.
On most days, Sam will look Dean in the eyes and smile ever so slightly and say, “‘t’s better now that you’re here.”
If it was a particularly nasty fight that got them into this funk, they’ll talk about it. But they always ask themselves one question: is whatever we’re fighting about more important than sharing a moment together?
And on most days, the answer is no. Because nothing is more important to Sam and Dean Winchester than one another.
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