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dime_lioraFirst part
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Several things delay Dean broaching the subject with Sam. His therapy is working well and Dean’s finally mastered walking on the prosthetic leg as if it was a natural extension of his body. To celebrate they go out as a group with Lucas and his girlfriend. It’s relaxed and Dean drinks a little bit too much as he watches Sam effortlessly socialize with his entire world.
Afterwards Sam drives him home, and Dean resists the urge to kiss the soft pink lips he stares at too much as Sam half-carries him into his bedroom and makes sure he’s settled before leaving.
Amy and Zoe have begun official wedding planning, and Dean has somehow been roped into the process. He comes into his kitchen on a regular basis to find brochures and ads spread out across his table. When he specifically asks Amy why his kitchen is planning central she looks around the chaos and then shrugs.
“I didn’t want the mess at home.”
He’d resent it more if Sam didn’t smile so much when he found Dean and Amy at the table talking dresses and invitations.
Sometimes Sam would join in, take the spot next to Dean and look over the details with them. He rarely chimed in, but when he did Dean would mercilessly taunt him. Dean’s completely logical reply to Sam accusing him of being a girl for being there first was: “I was forced. You volunteered.”
Sam’s bitchface was legendary.
Dean wakes one morning to noise that he tracks through the house until he finds Sam in the garage under the hood of his Impala. Cursing is attached to the loud bangs, and Dean heads around the car’s sleek body to see that Sam is holding a wrench and staring hopelessly at the engine. Hazel eyes meet his own gaze and Sam huffs.
“I used to know how to do this.”
The words trip off his tongue effortlessly and with no real meaning. “You never paid enough attention to me. This isn’t that hard.”
Sam smiles brightly, and Dean wonders if that’s his default for when people start talking like lunatics. To cover his embarrassment Dean grabs the wrench and steps in.
“You’re gonna have to take the engine apart for this.” He reconnects the bolts Sam has already removed and then wipes grease off on his jeans. “We’re kinda lacking in some tools here man. I don’t have a spanner socket, and there needs to be more space because if you lay these things out without the right order you’re gonna be in for a serious headache.”
“You know a lot about taking apart engines.” The dimples are out and Dean wants to lick them. “Think you were a mechanic?”
Dean looks down at his callused hands and then back up at Sam.
“I was definitely mechanically minded.”
It becomes their new hobby. Dean buys the tools and parts they need and for once Sam doesn’t argue him spending his own money. Every morning they head into the garage and work on the engine, and Dean loves it. Close quarters, Sam’s innocent questions, and the feel of metal under his fingers. He forgets everything else when it’s just them, and as a result his writing gets left behind and he misses the last stages of wedding planning.
The only drawback is that the headaches become living things. It slows down the progress because after an hour or two of easy conversation and hard work Dean’s head is so bad he has to lie down and sleep. Sam handles it with simple efficiency though, hands soothing as he brings Dean pills and rubs his temples like Amy usually does.
Maybe it’s not so much of a drawback. Then again, Dean still hasn’t managed to kiss Sam or bring up the dating thing.
Summer is fully upon them by the time Sam and Dean have finally finished rebuilding the engine. It’s a hot day, humidity thick in the air and sweat building on Dean’s brow, when he drops the hood and leans around the front of the car.
“Start her up.”
The beginning rumble is followed by a purr that makes Dean’s heart beat faster and his hand smooth over the sleek black metal.
“That’s my girl. That’s my baby.” The words come naturally again, and Dean looks up to see Sam gazing at him fondly. Sam slips out of the driver’s seat and then gestures.
“Want to try her out Dean?” Sam’s voice is teasing, light, and Dean considers just leaning in and kissing him right then. Just to get it out and not worry about it anymore.
Instead he slips past Sam and into the leather seat. His hands settle on the steering wheel and it’s like sliding into the proper puzzle pieces. He fits here, can feel the pulse of the machine beneath him and imagine the sensation of gliding over the open road.
Home. Come home.
Dean gets out and slaps Sam’s shoulder. “You ain’t been taking care of her Sammy. How could you let my baby go so long without an oil change?”
There are tears in Sam’s eyes that make no sense.
“I thought it would hold out a little longer. Sorry Dean.”
“Yeah it’s always sorry Dean, but then you never learn the lesson. So where are we headed this time?”
There’s a road in the middle of nowhere near a town that has too much bounty and not enough pity. Dean can feel the rough bark and the rope against his wrists where his jacket has pushed up. The sensation is less pleasant than the damp ground under him or the girl’s insistence on disbelieving in his non-existent plan.
If Sam was here he would be okay, but Sam’s gone. Stormed off yet again and left Dean to hold the responsibility as always. He’d be angrier, but at least this time Sam is running towards Dad instead of away from him.
That being said, this whole clusterfuck is getting out of hand. Then Sam’s there, untying him, and Dean is free to see that the scarecrow is gone and the trouble is deeper than he thought.
Dean wakes up in bed. Sam’s sitting beside him, face drawn and smile hesitant as he wrings the water out of a washcloth.
“You almost hit your head again. Avoided another hospital trip by about three inches.”
He groans, rubs his forehead, and then Sam is knocking his hands away to apply the cloth. It’s reactionary, insane, but Dean feels untethered and unreal anyway. He threads his fingers into Sam’s hair as his friend leans over him and holds Sam close enough to press his lips against him.
Sam’s lips are soft, dry, and Dean works to keep it chaste instead of running his tongue over that mouth and working his way in. There’s no struggle, no pull, but Sam doesn’t kiss him back. Instead they stay still and together as Dean breathes in Sam’s smell and gives him a slow and gentle kiss.
After several seconds with no response Dean starts to pull back, shame flushing his cheeks, and then Sam is there kissing him for real.
It’s muscle memory, and Dean gets the sensation that he’s kissed a lot of lips. He hopes he’s good at it, because even without a standard for comparison he’s fairly certain Sam is excellent.
Lips sliding on lips, Sam’s tongue pressing against him and opening his mouth up, and Dean grips the long hair a little tighter and takes everything Sam gives him. He files it away for future reference in case Sam is interested in doing this again.
When they finally break apart Dean is winded and Sam’s lips are swollen and dark. Dean rubs his thumb against the lower one softly. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
Sam’s eyes go dark, mouth pulling down briefly before smoothing back out.
“Yeah, me too.”
----
Dean wants to say things change after that, but it’s not entirely true. There’s an addition to the way Sam looks at him, considering and slow, but they barely touch unless Dean initiates it. It makes him nervous, unsure, and that’s never a good combination.
They dance around each other, dinners awkward and tense, near misses at home, and Dean can’t take much more of the questioning. Amy insists he needs to give it time, and Dean is worried that he can’t.
Then they’re in the kitchen, all four of them, when Amy drops her bomb on him.
“So, Zoe and I were talking, and we agreed. I was wondering if – well you see nobody is going to be –“
“She wants to know if you’ll give her away.” Amy hits Zoe and turns bright red. “She’d never have gotten to it on her own.”
“I would so have gotten there if you’d just let me instead of being a big old meanie.” When she turns back to Dean she’s still flushed. “I’m not going to have anyone else. I don’t really want anyone else.”
Dean licks his lips and glances upwards for a moment before looking back down. That’s as much self-control as he can muster though, because his next action is to pull her into a hug and then spin her around. Amy is laughing when he finally puts her down.
“Is that a yes Dean?” Zoe’s eyes are bright as she looks at the two of them, and Dean can only nod. “Of course you get a plus one. Anywhere you can find a date that’ll put up with your pretty ass?”
And that’s his chance. Dean turns to Sam and sees the kid’s eyebrows lift as he realizes what Dean is about to do.
“Wanna be my date Sam? I hear there’s gonna be some great booze at the reception.”
Sam’s hands twist nervously in between his knees for a moment before he nods.
----
Summer seems to fly by. The wedding is set for early October, and Dean isn’t forced to help with the final preparations. This gives him more free time than he’s used to, since it also means that both of his friends are busy all the time.
All of his free time becomes Sam time. Sam’s acceptance of Dean’s offer seems to change something, and only for the better this time. Sam’s not necessarily clingy or forward, but he touches Dean more. Without the car to work on they spend more time watching movies, taking the long walks that Lucas has been harping on him about, and just generally hanging out.
Sam tries to teach Dean to bake pie, and he forcibly forgets all the lessons in the interest of Sam being the one to continue making them. Dean teaches Sam how to fix the sink and the garbage disposal. They take turns with chores, walks with Bonnie, and making dinner.
It’s domestic, more than he ever could have hoped for in the last year and a half, and it makes him happy.
By the time October hits Dean can’t remember what it was like to live without Sam. Which is great, but the night before Zoe flies down to join her family and drive back up to Boston he finds himself on the patio drinking a beer with her and staring out over the woods.
“How long did you and Ames wait before you had sex?”
Zoe spits beer and chokes, fake hand pressed to her mouth and eyes wide and bright in the darkness.
“What the fuck Dean? Are you trying ta kill me before my damn wedding?”
“Well it’s a – it just – you’re the only person I can ask goddamn it.”
There’s silence, the two of them shifting in their chairs, and then the clink of a bottle as Zoe puts her beer down and turns to him.
“Sam ain’t putting out and you’re worried he ain’t really interested.”
It sound pathetic put like that, but it’s true.
“What if – what if he’s just doing what’s necessary to-“
“Yeah, Ames mentioned you thinking this way. I’m gonna support what my girl said Dean. That kid’s so in love with you, you may as well crap rainbows and sunshine. Ain’t nobody in this world other than you when it comes to him. Everybody can see it but you, and that ain’t no surprise because you’re dumber than a box of rocks on your best of days. I mean, you didn’t even want to be friends with us ‘til Ames guilted you into it.”
He covers his eyes and takes a deep breath. It’s a nice thought, but it’s not true. There’s one person Sam will always choose first, and Dean knows that. Wherever Sam’s brother is though it’s not like he’s competition.
“I’m pretty sure I’m just as dumb as you think I am, because then I decided it was good idea to be friends with you.”
Her laughter is loud, boisterous, and she slaps his back hard before settling into her chair.
“Anyway, maybe the kid ain’t sexual. Or maybe you just need to make a move. Hell, Amy would have been a virgin forever if I hadn’t made the first move.”
“So you just, what, propositioned her?”
“What? No. I dropped something under the table and then went down and under her skirt. A few seconds of tongue and she-“
“Okay, that’s enough of that! No more discussions of Amy’s sexual life.”
Zoe’s teeth catch the yard light and reflect it.
“Ah, look at you. Taking your duties so seriously. Just like a proud papa.” She picks her bottle back up and clinks it against Dean’s. “Seriously though, thanks for that. She’d been worrying ‘bout asking you for months.”
“It’s my pleasure. Family don’t end in blood and-“ The pain spikes rapid and sharp, and Zoe misses the bottle he drops but gets him before he slumps out of the chair.
It takes several minutes to get upright under his own steam.
“You been getting those things worse and worse Dean. You need to see a doctor?” Zoe’s usual tone is laced with concern and fear.
“No. I’m fine.”
But maybe he’s not, because he honestly can’t remember why he said it that way. He was going to tell her that they were like family.
----
The ride to Boston is done in the Impala. Amy’s gone ahead so she and Zoe will have their truck for the honeymoon trip, and that leaves Dean on the road with Sam. Sam insists that he drive the beginning of it, but after an hour of the wind blowing in his hair and looking over at Sam’s bright smile Dean’s head is a marching band set to full volume.
Still, pain aside, there’s something intrinsically wrong about Sam driving. Dean keeps his mouth shut and his dosage high.
The bed and breakfast is beautiful, and Dean helps as much as he can with the set-up for the ceremony. It’s supposed to be small; friends from Zoe’s old firehouse and her family on one side, Dean and Sam on the other.
Rehearsal and the dinner that follows are laid-back and casual. Zoe’s brothers tell stories about her childhood, and her old co-workers tell stories about her and Amy meeting and how ridiculous Zoe was during the initial courting.
When the conversation lulls people look to Dean as Amy’s representation, and he swallows thickly before standing.
“Um, my name is Dean Hunt and I live next door to these two. When I first moved in I was in a bad place. I didn’t want to make friends or be a person; I just wanted to keep scraping by. Zoe was a hundred percent done with my bull - nonsense almost immediately, but Amy wasn’t taking no for an answer. She basically forced friendship on me. Then she forced me to see the potential for friendship, and more, in others.” At this Dean casts his gaze to the right and lets it settle on Sam’s flushed face. “I don’t have a way to really thank her for that, or for the thousand other things she’s done. I can only say she means the world to me, and I love her. I love you Ames. Thanks.”
Amy’s crying, hand pressed hard against her mouth and cheeks red. Zoe gives her a tight one-armed hug and lifts her glass in Dean’s direction. When he sits down Sam’s fingers thread into his.
“I’ve never seen you like that.” There’s wonder in Sam’s voice, as if he’s seeing Dean as someone new. If he’d known public speaking hit the guy so hard he would have tried it before.
“Well we’re only just approaching knowing each other a year Sam. You still have sides of me to see.”
Sam’s eyes cut away quick and hard, but he doesn’t say anything else. Dean gets the feeling he’s said something wrong and for the life of him he doesn’t know what.
The next day Dean and Sam are elected to be Amy’s assistants. This means that Dean ends up in the honeymoon suite of the B&B lacing up Amy’s dress as she fixes her make-up.
“You sure this isn’t too tight Sweetheart? This seems pretty tight.”
She rolls her eyes in the mirror and catches his gaze. “It’s fine Dean. I’m going to be fine.”
And she is. She’s got the love of her life, and if Dean has anything to say about it she’ll be happy until the end of her days. She’ll spread that happiness as far as she’s able, and he’ll get to be a part of it. He’ll spend the rest of his life next door, their quirky, damaged neighbor with, if Dean has anything to say about it, his similarly quirky and damaged boyfriend.
We die bloody. You wanted the apple pie life.
Dean plays through the pain of that one, and when he comes out on the other side Amy is a vision in cream, blonde hair pulled into a tight bun and veil hanging behind her head. He lifts it up and then lowers it down over her face.
“You look gorgeous.”
Amy’s smile is dim through the lace, but the hug she gives him says it all.
The weather has cooperated, and the outdoor ceremony is made better by the cool breeze and the bright sun. Autumn leaves blaze red and orange all around them and Dean has to hold Amy back a bit when she tries to break step and rush up the path to Zoe.
She grips him tight, and Dean makes sure that not a trace of limp is in his step as he passes the small audience and stops before the officiate and the second bride. Zoe’s tux is cut to her shape and emphasizes her femininity. Her eyes are sparkling and dark as she takes Amy in.
Dean lifts the veil slowly, kisses Amy’s cheek, and then gives her away.
When it’s over the group cheers and shouts. Dean is too busy noticing how Sam’s thigh is pressed against his, and the way that Sam’s mouth curls into a smile so big and real it’s almost painful to see.
Sam hasn’t smiled like that since- but Dean can’t remember how that sentence was supposed to end or why he thought it. He slips off to the bathroom to take another pain pill, and that ends up being a fairly critical choice.
There’s food, a variety of Southern comfort dishes that Dean eats like there’s no tomorrow, and the cake is delicious. On top of that Dean keeps getting champagne handed to him, and he’s no lightweight but with the painkillers he usually abstains. Now, seven glasses later, he’s more than a little buzzed.
Somehow he ends up across the room from Sam, dancing with Zoe’s mother, and she definitely got her height from her father. He can see right over her head, past the crowd, and there’s Sam talking to one of the firefighters. The guy is gesturing wildly as he and Sam take shots, and Sam looks past him for just a second and their eyes lock.
In a tux, shot glass in hand, Sam looks the epitome of dangerous secret agent. He’s bulked up in half a year, gained muscle and weight that he didn’t have when he was just a starving stray living in a car. He fills the black material out easily, and as Dean watches Sam hooks fingers into his tie and loosens it exposing smooth throat and a shifting Adam’s apple. Dean wants to lick it, can imagine what the flesh tastes like, and then Sam is looking at him.
They stay like that for a long time, eyes locked together and the world narrowed down to only the two of them. Dean feels like he’s trapped, held in Sam’s gaze and he doesn’t want to be anywhere else.
Then the song ends and Zoe’s mother pulls back gently and thanks Dean for the dance before heading off to find her new daughter-in-law. Dean crosses the room quickly, dodging people and conversations, and reaches Sam before the next song can start.
His fingers wrap around Sam’s wrist, and he plucks the empty shot glass from Sam’s fingers before leading him out onto the dance floor.
Later Zoe will tell him that she requested it, and that it was just too perfect a moment to waste, but in the moment all Dean knows is that the song is soft and slow, and Sam is in his arms.
See the pyramids along the Nile, Watch the sun rise from a tropic isle, Just remember darling all the while, You belong to me
They move in perfect synch, bodies close and fabric brushing fabric, and Dean thinks that Sam was made for him. Made to be right here with him in this moment and all the others. It should be embarrassing how gone he is over the kid, but all he really wants is Sam to want this as badly as he does.
Lubricated and full of emotion Dean leans into Sam’s ear and whispers, “Stay with me tonight.”
He can’t see Sam’s face, but the kid nods abruptly and then Dean’s counting down the minutes until they can leave without being rude.
Finally the two brides make their exit, waving happily and hugging everyone, and then Dean turns to find Sam and is instantly grabbed.
His boyfriend drags him up the stairs two at a time until they reach Dean’s bedroom, and then Dean is trying to get the key out while Sam practically eats his mouth.
It’s nothing like before. Sam is aggressive, desperate, and his tongue is sliding over Dean’s lips and rubbing against his teeth as Dean tries to give him entrance and get the door open. The key sinks home and turns at the same time Sam’s hands start to rip at Dean’s belt, and Dean pries them off gently and tugs.
In a way, a perverse and strange way, Dean is about to lose his virginity. He’s not sure if he’s done this before, it feels familiar, but he’s pretty sure it shouldn’t feel like this. Like it’s do or die.
They’re in the room and Dean pulls back enough to speak against Sam’s panting mouth.
“Slow. I want it to be slow Sammy.” The name slips out, and Dean gets that right feeling. Sam, for his part, lets out something that almost sounds like a sob. It gets Dean’s attention.
Sam is crying, not the ugly sobs in the hospital but steady leaking. His face is twisted in lust and agony, and experience or no Dean knows that isn’t right.
“What’s wrong?”
Hair flies with the force of his head shaking, and then Sam’s big hands are gently cupping Dean’s face and his thumbs are rubbing Dean’s swollen lips.
“I can’t explain it to you. It won’t make any sense. You’re – my whole life I’ve been looking for something. Some kind of normal, and there’s never been a standard or a baseline for me to hope for. You’re offering me that, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am, but it – getting what I want could cost me everything. Everything.”
Sam is still holding him, still touching him, but the gentleness he’s showing is at odds with the tension in the rest of his body. Dean reaches up and takes one of Sam’s hands in his.
“We don’t have to do anything. We can stop right here. Just be friends and live together like we did before. There’s no pressure and no demand here Sam. I want this, I want you, but not if you don’t, okay?”
The hand squeezes him tightly, and then Sam’s fingers move so his lips can take their place. Not a kiss, but the sharing of something that makes Dean’s chest ache and his limbs loose.
“You don’t know how badly I want this too, how long you’ve haunted me, or how much I would throw away for just a shot at you. Even like this you can’t see how important you are. How incredibly special.”
Nothing Sam is saying is making any sense, but the way he’s undressing Dean now, the slow and reverent motions, soothe the concern that briefly quenched his lust. Dean returns the favor, belts and slacks dropped, jackets pushed off, and with each piece of clothing dropped there’s the sense that Dean is crossing some extraordinary line, reaching some goal he never knew he had.
Their mouths move again, mirroring their hands, and Dean can’t get over how good Sam tastes, liquor and steak from dinner, or the salty fresh smell of him, like ocean air. Everything about Sam from the little mole on his chin to his bitchy insistence on perfectly folded shirts makes Dean want this. Even the weird weight Sam has brought into this, the sadness that lingers despite how into it he seems, doesn’t stop how deeply this moment strikes him.
Sam is naked, long and clean lines exposed, and Dean drags his fingers along the scar on Sam’s arm, over a storybook of marks that suggest a much harder life than Dean had imagined, until his hand settles over Sam’s wildly beating heart.
He’s hard, vibrating so fast and low that he feels like he’ll shake apart. Sam’s eyes flit downwards and Dean realizes he’s the first person without some form of medical degree to really see Dean’s leg in all its twisted and scarred glory. For a moment he considers hiding it, but Sam’s face is so open and vulnerable Dean is afraid the action will break the vibe between them.
Instead he holds perfectly still as Sam’s hands trace where flesh meets false, track the changes Dean can’t remember happening, and then Sam’s shifting in one fluid and graceful movement so that his lips travel from the knee to Dean’s thigh in a wet trail of kisses.
Dean moans, threads his fingers into Sam’s too long hair, and allows Sam to take it at his own pace. Sam’s lips ghost over his cock, slide to the other thigh, and Sam’s strong and able fingers massage and knead at his legs.
When Sam finally goes back to his cock he reaches up and threads his fingers with Dean’s. They hold hands like that, Dean gripping reflexively as sounds are pulled out of him while Sam works the hard flesh with his hot mouth.
It’s too much and not enough. Dean wants Sam everywhere, wants to ease the lingering sadness and worry out of the man, because even if they change back to nothing he’ll still have this. The memory of Sam worshipping him with more than his eyes for once.
Sammy that’s – I just can’t man. I’m going out.
He whimpers with the sudden onslaught of pain, and Sam sucks a little harder. Dean plays it off, pretends it was pleasure, and tries to focus on what Sam’s doing. It’s hard though, because there’s a soundtrack in his head that has nothing to do with the pleasure of Sam’s mouth. A voice that sounds like him but rougher, lower, and infinitely weary.
Well hello Pamela, you can call me Dean.
They’re not welcome. This is not the time for the past. Dean doesn’t understand why this is happening, but it’s driving him insane.
Dean, please Dean don’t you recognize me? I’m your brother, Dean.
Dean comes back to himself with Sam under him, gasping and writhing on his fingers. How did they get there? What happened in between Sam going down on him and this? Dean doesn’t know, and he’s afraid to admit that, scared of what the overarching implications of such a thing are.
“I’m – Jesus Dean I’m ready. Please, Dean. Please.”
He surges up, finds a tricky balance on his knees and then Sam’s wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist as he lines up and pushes in.
The past melts away, leaves him in blissful ignorance as Sam’s tight heat grips him and his boyfriend’s hands hold his biceps as the face he’s gotten so used to twists in a mixture of pleasure and pain. It’s that way for both of them it seems. The awkward positioning holding Dean back and the stretch slowing Sam down.
Dean stops, buried to the base in Sam and full of his smell and sound of his panting and gasping, and presses his face to Sam’s. This position is even harder, but Dean wants it to be hard. Wants it to take up every inch of his attention.
“I – fuck, Sam. I can’t – I need-“ and Sam reads his mind. Fists the short spikes of Dean’s hair and pulls him in before biting his lower lip.
The pace picks up, Sam riding him from the bottom as Dean focuses on holding position and keeping in place. Their mouths smash together, tongues tangling sloppily, and Sam’s left hand holds Dean’s head in place as his right slips through the sweat building on Dean’s back.
Pleasure wins out over pain, every sense heightening as Dean picks up on all of the little things. The way Sam’s cock skids against Dean’s stomach at this angle, the friction and pull of Sam’s clenching hole, and the blunt nails scraping at the skin of his back.
Dean slips his lips over Sam’s cheek, knows that no matter how much he likes it he can’t hold out much longer, and presses his mouth against Sam’s ear.
“Come for me baby. You gotta come for me, ‘cause I’m almost there.”
Sam nods and moans, body twisting under Dean’s and hips tilting further upwards. The hand in his hair disappears and Dean feels Sam’s knuckles brush against his stomach as they wrap around Sam’s cock.
And then Sam’s coming, surprise showing on his face as his orgasm crashes into him, and Dean’s following him over the edge. He collapses, hips still stuttering into Sam even as Sam’s ass practically milks him.
Lying side by side, hands linked, Dean takes a deep and shaky breath and releases it quickly when Sam’s head lands on his chest. He uses his free hand to play with Sam’s hair, damp with sweat but still silky and soft, and then presses a kiss to Sam’s temple.
If Sam changes his mind Dean can let this go, but he knows in that moment that he can’t live without at least a little bit of Sam in his life. His desperate plea in the hospital was only the prelude. Now that he’s seen Sam totally vulnerable, laid bare physically and metaphorically, there’s no going back.
----
The next morning Dean wakes to a heavy head on his shoulder and long limbs wrapped around him. Sam is like an overly warm octopus, and Dean is okay with that. He needs to pee though, and untangling himself is apparently one of those muscle memory things that come naturally. He wonders if he had a lot of experience with that, which reminds him that they didn’t use protection.
Shit. Did they run those tests during his hospitalization? He’ll get tested when they get back home, tell Sam to do it too, and isn’t that just a great way to start a relationship. He slips back into the bed and finds Sam settling against him again. His fingers drag along the jagged scar on Sam’s arm, too erratic it seems to be a suicide attempt, and the action apparently wakes Sam up.
“Accident. Metal. Sleep.”
Dean’s amused by Sam’s sleepy monologue, until the kid’s morning erection presses against him and then all he can think about is round two and that they need protection.
He leaves the conversation for later and goes for a lazy mutual hand job, slick kisses and full body friction, and that’s more than enough. The ride back isn’t awkward, but there is a distance between them that Dean can’t ignore. Sam seems distracted and Dean doesn’t blame him. It’s a lot to think about.
----
The coward’s way out works just fine. Dean tests clean, but the doctor makes him sit through a new brain scan. There’s no new bleed, which is good, but he’s concerned about the rate that Dean is going through his pain killers and the amount of headaches.
Nothing much can be done about that though. It’s not physiological, whatever it is, and Dean isn’t willing to see some head shrinker. In the end it’s a secondary thing because Dean really only wanted to make sure he wasn’t exposing Sam to danger.
He picks the writing back up, and to his surprise Sam offers to work as an editor. His boyfriend, a title Dean has not tried out loud yet, seems entranced with the story. So much so that their first fight after they add sex to their relationship is about the story.
Sam’s across the table from him reading, one hand adjusting his hair every few minutes, and Dean is considering making a joke when Sam scoffs.
“What?” Cold settles on his spine. It’s not like he thought he was the next Bradbury or LeGuin, but the noise wasn’t expected.
“This part about Jared is – I just think you’re being too nice to him and too mean to his brother Jensen. I mean come on; if either of them deserves praise it’s Jensen. Jared is just a whiny brat who didn’t fit in so he ran away.”
Dean bristles, anger flaring the way it did in the old days when he first woke up without a leg.
“Excuse me?”
Hazel eyes flit up from the page and take in his expression. Sam seems to consider his next words a little more carefully, but not carefully enough for Dean’s building rage.
“He wants his cake and he wants to eat it too Dean. After abandoning his poor brother with his overly commanding father he demands that his brother just understand and forgive him without ever explaining it. He doesn’t deserve forgiveness he deserves to get his ass kicked until he sees what he did.”
There’s no time between hearing that and finding himself clutching the pages to his chest in fists that want to strike. Sam looks surprised, maybe a little shocked, but what comes out of Dean’s mouth next settles that expression into one of pure concern.
You left, and you don’t know how bad it got, because you were gone.
“Shut your mouth. You don’t know shit about him. He was in a bad situation and he just wanted something of his own. Wanted to make his own damn life without his dad pegging him into some role he was never meant to live. He’s smart, he’s capable, and he’s better than them. Deserves better and shoulda gotten it. Nobody talks shit about my bro-“
Dean wakes up in pain, red settled over his vision and the world screaming and wailing like bad machinery. Sam’s hands are huge, soothing, but they only take a little of the pain away. It’s still too much, too heavy, and Dean turns his head just enough to vomit as his hands tear at the sheets.
There’s moaning, and it takes Dean too much time to figure out it’s him, and more time to realize that Sam is crying as he tries to get Dean to settle down.
Chalky pills settle on his tongue and he’s pulled upright just enough to swallow them with water. He’ll throw them up, throw them up like everything else, and then there will be no relief and no end. There’s never an end to the violence and the pain. It’s all a spiral that goes inexorably downwards. He knows that and yet he can never explain it to Dad or to himself. In the moment all that matters is vengeance and glory.
Darkness settles over him.
When Dean wakes again he knows that he and Sam were fighting, and why, but he can’t remember how it ended. What he does know for certain is that he’s floating, head foggy the way it is after a particularly bad blowout, and that Sam is holding him. The room is dark, and there’s the quiet sound of Bonnie snoring at the end of the bed.
“S’m?” His voice can’t get straight, words tangling on his tongue, and Sam shushes him as cold hands soothe over his forehead.
“S’ok Dean. I got you. We’re going to get through this. Go back to sleep.”
And he does.
----
They don’t talk about it. Dean wants to, because he’s learned that talking about things often gets them fixed and orderly, but Sam avoids any possible chance.
Instead they go back to the way they were. Sam edits his grammar without comment, they laugh and joke over dinner preparations, and they watch movies. When Sam’s at work Dean walks Bonnie and tries to fight his way through troublesome plot points.
He’s run into a serious problem; Jared and Jensen aren’t acting like brothers. At least not the ones Dean has seen in real life and movies. Zoe’s interaction with her siblings, the movies Dean’s been exposed to; all of them paint a pretty different picture than what’s coming out in his story.
Sure, they joke and prank each other, and that seems right. They fight, a lot, and that seems okay too, but there’s something else. A tension, a devotion, and Dean doesn’t think is entirely right. They act more like distanced lovers than siblings and it’s not something he knows how to fix. Taking those parts out feels like a betrayal to the reality the story has taken on.
Asking Sam seems like a good idea, the kid grew up with a brother who sounds a lot like Jensen, but after their last fight Dean is afraid to bring it up. Instead he agonizes over it even as the story only highlights it more and more. The brothers dance around each other, tensions ratcheting, and somehow that reflects on real life.
The closer Jensen and Jared get to something Dean’s pretty sure they shouldn’t want seems to somehow enhance the distance between himself and Sam.
Then one night in December it comes to a head. Dean takes Sam’s hand to pull him up from the couch and Sam doesn’t do enough rising on his own for it to work.
Dean tumbles forward into Sam’s lap, and instead of laughing it off or using it as an excuse to make out Sam pulls back from Dean’s mouth and slides out from under him.
Awkward silence settles over them, and then Sam licks his lips and looks away from the hurt that is no doubt written all over Dean’s face.
“I just – I think maybe we need to cool it down for a bit. I have some issues I need to work out.”
He’s nodding, pushing himself off the couch and onto his feet as best he can without Sam reaching out to help.
“Yeah, sure man, no problem. Like I said before, no pressure.”
Except now he’s left to wonder why.
The strange distance continues for the next week, and when Amy and Zoe come back from visiting family they have an awkward dinner together characterized by Amy fussing to try to ease tension she doesn’t understand and Zoe glaring at Sam.
Dean pulls her aside after dinner and tries to explain, but in the end all that he gets is a lecture.
“Kid can’t be pullin’ you back and forth like that Dean. It ain’t right. You make a commitment to something or get the hell out you don’t ask for ‘time’.”
“Yeah, well, the world isn’t black and white Zoe.”
Her lips curl, predatory and amused, and Dean cuts her off at the pass.
“You turn this into a racial joke and I’ll take your arm. I’m not joking.”
“You’re such an asshole sometimes. Seriously though, don’t let him jerk you around. Set a time limit and if he can’t make up his mind then you make it up for him. You don’t have to give him the boot, but you ain’t got to sit around waiting for his pretty ass to get with it either.”
He drags his hand over her tight curls, smiles at the huff, and then pulls her in for a one-armed hug.
“I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Quit being a girl on me.”
Zoe bursts into laughter just as the door opens and Amy and Sam join them.
The laughter dies.
----
Dean makes a decision a few days later. Intimacy or not Sam is his best friend, the man he’s been falling for, and Dean made a promise.
It’s surprisingly easy to hide what he’s feeling. Comes as naturally to him as fixing the Impala or sharpening his kitchen knives. Even Sam seems fooled by it, and Dean is oddly proud of his ability to fake it.
Things go back to some form of normality, although it’s always interrupted when Dean reaches out and has to stop himself, or when something sets him back and he needs more physical help than usual. On particularly cold and wet days Dean’s leg aches where flesh he can’t remember used to be. He finds himself rubbing his prosthesis, as if massaging it will make some difference.
Sam catches him at it more than once, but he never says anything about it. Instead they treat it the way they treat whatever was building between them; conversational anathema.
Dean’s book has become unwieldy, too long and detailed, but it won’t stop flowing out of his fingertips. The less contact he has with Sam the stronger Jared comes through. It consumes him some days, takes over every other process until he’s finding food shoved into his hand and Sam pushing him to bed.
New Year’s passes with light celebrations, and Dean’s wondering if he should do anything for the one year marker of Sam’s arrival into his life. He thinks the book is almost finished, or the inspiration is running out, and either way he’s almost relieved. There’s been a light break in the headaches, a reduction in aphasiac slips, and it’s good to be stable again.
He finds Amy in the kitchen when he’s looking for Sam, and he raises an eyebrow as he stretches to crack his back.
“Sam went for groceries. Zoe’s gone for two days on a fundraising trip and I didn’t want take-out tonight.”
Amy pulls out the chair beside her and Dean takes it, stretching his legs out and popping his knuckles.
“You gotta learn to make stuff Sweetheart. You’re a grown woman and if it weren’t for us and Zo you’d starve.”
She nods thoughtfully and then the door opens and Sam comes in with arms full of groceries and a plastic movie bag hanging over one wrist.
“Good news! Steak was on sale, so we’re eating like kings tonight.”
Sam still refuses to let Dean pay all the bills, and arguing with him dims what little of Sam’s dimpled grin he gets anymore. With that in mind Dean stands and takes a bag before unpacking groceries. Amy helps as much as she can, prepping potatoes to bake and washing beans, and Dean starts assembling a salad.
By the time they’ve finished everything else Sam is bundling up and heading out to the grill. He stays in the cold as Amy visibly fights the urge to bring him back in or ask Dean about what’s happening between them.
Dinner is spent with Amy discussing the new statue she’s working on. She says it’s going to be her masterpiece, a flowing and organic design that they’ll just have to see. Dean tells her he’ll take her word for it.
After she’s gone Sam pulls the movie out of the bag and waves it in the air with a hesitant smile.
“I got something new. Something we haven’t tried before.”
“What, you got tired of Westerns and Action flicks?” Dean can feel the fake smile stretching on his face, replacing the question he really wants to ask. You got tired of me?
“No, this is just something else I think you’ll recognize.”
It’s an odd choice of words, but Dean lets it go. He pops popcorn as Sam sets up the movie, and then they settle down on opposite sides of the couch with the bowl between them and the screen starting out dark.
Dean’s movie experiences are admittedly low, but the opening to this one is different from anything he’s seen before. The music is ominous, sets him on edge, and it only goes downhill from there. A frozen wasteland, people preparing for a long darkness, and a main character who seems wounded but sure.
Then everything starts to spiral down. There are monsters that slide through the dark, wisps of movement and shadows that remain undefined for a long time before they resolve to people with dark eyes and off faces, mouths full of teeth like piranhas or sharks. Pack behavior is everywhere as they cut through the town with ease, and the screams on the screen leave Dean shaking and clutching his thighs.
He keeps looking over to Sam, but Sam seems totally at ease with the carnage on screen.
Vampires? I thought there was no such thing.
A woman is wandering, crying out, bloodied and desperate as she screams for help and the survivors call her bait.
That arrow’s soaked in dead man’s blood it’s like-
“-poison to them. In the new lore the sunlight just sort of weakens them. But it’s probably-“
-still best to go at them in daylight.
Death. Death is happening on screen and it’s vivid and real. The rattle, the red viscous splatters, and the pain of-
But they’re on the hunt and that’s what’s important. Not since the moment Sammy threw himself into the research on the Woman in White, face brightening and fingers flying over the keyboard, has Dean dared to hope they could have what they once did. That they could ignore everything that lay between them and simply be.
“Stop it, please stop it, please stop-“ He can’t give himself volume, can’t get words past the pain in his head and the lump in his throat, and Sam’s not looking at him, Sam’s not seeing how his hands shake or his desperation.
“Next we’ll watch a haunted house movie. I’ve got poltergeists and demonic-“
It’s coming for her, it’s coming and he can’t stop it, doesn’t know how to stop it, and nothing’s worked, and Sam’s out there, and the place is using them against each other, and this is the last thing he wanted but, Sammy’s on the edge, Sammy’s in trouble, choking and there’s pain, and if he loses his-
----
Dean practically crashes through the door before Amy can say anything. Her hand is still in the air when he wrenches the wood from her and slams it shut. Her eyes are huge as Dean starts to take stock of their surroundings.
“Are the windows closed? Gotta close all the windows.” He walks past her into the kitchen and begins to rifle through the cabinets until the salt canister makes itself known. “I’ll lay the salt lines while you get the windows. Stay close enough I can hear you though.”
Ally is frozen in place, eyes wide as she stares at Dean.
“What – Dean are you okay? What are you talking about?”
She’s not getting it, not understanding the danger she’s in.
“Cassie it’s coming for you next. We gotta get the salt laid and get you protected Sweetheart.”
She shakes her head and suddenly he’s not sure who she is or why he’s here.
“Dean what’s happening?”
“Sam. We gotta tell Sam I know who it is and where it’s headed. Close the damn windows!” He’s practically screaming, pulse thundering as he thinks about Sam out there alone with the ghost on the warpath. The salt lines are shaky, but he makes sure they’re thick and unbroken.
When he comes back she’s still in the hallway with a phone clutched in her hand and a lost look on her face. He grabs her and pulls her into his arms to feel her shaking.
“You’re scaring me Dean.”
“I know baby girl. I know.” His sister, his poor little sister. She’s so tiny and fragile, so gentle in the face of a world that will chew her up and spit her out. He wanted to keep it a secret until she was older. Wanted to let her be a kid for just a little while longer. His head aches, red flashes moving across his eye as drums pound with vengeance in his skull. “I know Sammy, but nothing’s gonna hurt you while I’m around.”
His lips linger too long on his brother’s forehead, too close, too close, but like this he can’t hold all of that down. Can’t forget that longing and love are so entwined with each other that they may as well be one entity. Sammy’s hazel eyes are downcast, and Dean can’t stand that. He tilts his brother’s skinny chin up and is met by blue.
That’s not right.
Then he hears it, hears Sam outside the door screaming his name, hears the pounding of flesh against wood, and everything goes at once.
“You’re not Sammy.”
It shakes its head, blue eyes staring at him and long blonde hair flying wildly. Evil wears innocence so well, and if Dean didn’t know that it just tricked him into thinking it was his flesh and blood he would believe those big teary eyes.
But he does know, and there’s a vicious thrill in the revelation.
Before it can get out more than a simple, “Dean, please-“ he wraps his hands around its slender throat. Pressure is easy to keep up, fingers hooked into its windpipe, and it appears to be a good move because the monster struggles weakly under his grip. Struggles, but the struggles are weakening, and who knew killing something this manipulative would be so easy?
He can’t remember where he is or why he’s there, but big hands are grabbing him, dragging him backwards, and Dean spins to find Sam staring at him in horror. His hands are still clutched in the choking position, and Sam catches Amy when Dean releases her and pulls her up before rushing her into the kitchen.
“Okay, okay Amy it’s alright now. It’s alright. You gotta slow your breathing and try to get it under control. I’m going to get some ice for your throat okay? Stay right here.”
Dean’s hovering, unsure of what to do, and his head is aching like a living thing but he can’t sit down because he’s pretty sure he was trying to strangle Amy to death, but he’s not sure why.
Sam kneels down in front of her and presses an ice pack against the bruises already forming over her throat before he tilts her face so that he can examine her eyes. There’s a tension in the room, the only sounds Amy’s shallow breaths and the rustle of the pack.
Finally it hits Dean that he should be apologizing, explaining himself, but all he can do is look at the woman that took him in, made him family, and think about how close he was to brutally murdering her. There are long scratches on his forearms, and he wishes she’d gotten his eyes. Done real damage the way he did.
“Alright the good news is I think there’s no permanent damage. I mean, you know, before Zoe-“
“We’ll-“ her voice gives out in a coughing fit that bends her in half, and then she pulls up with tears tracking down her face. Amy is only looking at Sam. “We’ll tell her soup kitchen. Wanted to switch to animal shelter anyway.” It’s a whisper, hoarse and harsh, and Dean finds his voice.
“We’ll tell her it was me and she’ll give me the beating I fucking deserve.” Sam’s eyes land on him even as Amy flinches. “Then I’ll start figuring out how to get as far away from you as possible, Sweetheart.”
Counter to everything he thought would happen Amy grabs his wrist without looking over at him.
“Mistake. Forgive you. Please.”
Dean can’t look at her now, eyes roaming over the room as he tries to figure out how to word this.
“I’m not safe Amy. I’m slipping, I can feel myself slipping, and I don’t know why. I almost killed you. I woulda killed you if Sam – I’m not safe.”
“It’s my fault.”
Dean looks up, ready to protest, but Sam’s shaking his head and his face is hard and set.
“It is. You don’t know it, but it’s my fault. I’ve been prodding your memories. Setting off your episodes on purpose.”
He can’t breathe, world suddenly unstable, and Sam’s hands grip his elbows and lower him down.
“You couldn’t – how would – why?” What is he even asking? It’s absurd. Sam couldn’t trigger anything because he’s as much a stranger to Dean’s past as Dean is.
Sam pushes the hair out of his eyes and his lips move with no purpose before he licks them and looks to Amy. The little blonde is leaning on the table, one hand holding the ice pack to her neck and the other gripping spastically against the wood. She meets Sam’s gaze and shakes her head, confusion and fear clear without her having to say a thing.
“You’re not mixing up the name Sammy. It’s the only name you’ve been getting right this whole time. You don’t have a sister named Pamela you have a brother named Samuel who you’ve called Sammy his whole goddamn life until this last year and a half. I’m that brother Dean. I came here to find you, and when I found out you were remembering things I just wanted to – I had to help. I didn’t know it would tear you up so bad, or that it would make this happen, but you’ve gotta understand I just want you back. I want my brother back.”
He feels hysterical laughter escape him, and Sam’s lips purse.
“I’m not – Dean I’m telling you the truth. That’s why – that’s why I cut off what was – that’s why.”
Dean almost reaches out to Amy, feels his hand go that way, but he can’t ask for comfort from that quarter. He’s gotta handle this one on his own. Has to decide what’s more important, and how much pain he can take before he crumbles.
“Okay Sam, okay. I get it. I’m a big old mess and you don’t want to get involved, but Jesus don’t you think this is going a little far? Just say you don’t want to fuck a crippled lunatic.”
Sam’s eyes flare, whole face getting into the act.
“I can’t even – really Dean? That’s what you – you never even.” He huffs out a breath and pushes at his hair again. “It doesn’t seem to matter who you think you are you always put yourself low. It’s not a lie to reject you Dean it’s the truth. We’re brothers. You’re Dean Winchester, not Dean Hunt, and our father was John Winchester. You raised me. You took care of me. You’ve been remembering that, but you just don’t understand it.”
Dean pushes up and the pain in his head is so great he’s sure he’s going to throw up. It’s too much. The break, the attempted murder, and now this.
“You’re either lying or you’ve flown off your handle and either way it’s shitty timing Sam.”
“Dean, listen to me because I-“
“I had a fucking sister!” It breaks out of him on a scream and he hears the clatter as Amy scrambles from her chair and puts distance between them. The hurt fuels the anger. “I may not remember her but I know. They had my records, there are pictures in the attic, and you can’t fucking – god damn it!”
He kicks the table and Sam never moves, never tries to run, but he should. Dean feels like he’s splintering, like everything is falling apart, and he can’t make it stop.
“It’s a mistake. A – she messed with your head Dean. Did a spell before the accident and the result was-“
And suddenly Dean understands. This isn’t a brush-off, some terribly timed consolation prize, Sam is fucking crazy. Has been reading Dean’s work and using it to fuel some wacky fantasy that makes Dean the brother Sam loved so much and lost.
He dry scrubs his face until he can get it all under control.
“Alright, I get it now Sam. You need help. We’ll get you help. You and me both, man. We’ll get someone to talk to and this will all get sorted out.”
Sam’s eyes flare again, and he pulls up to full height and faces Dean.
“Yeah. You’re right. We need help to get this sorted out.”
Then, before Dean can do more than reflexively reach for him, Sam is out the door and gone.
Chapter 4
Master post
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
wherw do we begin chap 3
Date: 2014-03-06 03:38 am (UTC)Sam’s eyes go dark, mouth pulling down briefly before smoothing back out.
“Yeah, me too.”
Oh God, Oh God, it's gonna be DEAN that freaks out. I'm so nervous! OK, gotta go back and finish the chapter...
Re: wherw do we begin chap 3
Date: 2014-04-04 09:24 pm (UTC)where do we begin chap 3, again :-)
Date: 2014-03-06 04:27 am (UTC)Re: where do we begin chap 3, again :-)
Date: 2014-04-04 09:24 pm (UTC)