Lost Time Ch. 9

[dime_liora]

Title: Lost Time Chapter 9/27
Wordcount: 5,407
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Dean/Sam
Warning(s): Violence, Sex, Expletives, Mentions of an Abusive Relationship
Notes: Still very AU. If you like this, thank sammichgirl, who told me it was time to make it public. :) If you don't it's totally not her fault.
Summary: Sam Burton has an average life, a foul-mouthed sister, and a dream of putting his past behind him. All of that changes when Dean Winchester comes to stay.

First part
Previous part

Lunch is oddly relaxed. Sam honestly expected it to be awkward, the tension of whatever it was building between them handicapping any chance at conversation. Instead Dean chats amiably about movies, the guy has seen almost every one Sam can think of, and music. They get into a heated argument about the value of anything made after the 80’s, and anything that doesn’t fall into the rock genre. The conversation runs long, takes all of Sam’s attention, and when he looks up the sun is setting and Ophelia and Loki still aren’t home. Sam rubs his neck for a second and looks around the kitchen.

“It’s not that I don’t like Metallica I just don’t know much about them. All my music knowledge comes from Ope and she’s not a fan.”

Dean shook his head sadly. “I liked the girl right until then. Didn’t you listen to music when you were a kid? MTV or VH1? Anything?”

Sam has to think about it for a long stretch, his fingers tapping idly on the wood of the table. “The Hendersons, or Jeffersons, I forget which. Fifth foster family. They were really big into gospel, but I never cared for it.” He shrugged, shooting for casual and landing more in resigned. “Otherwise not so much. Did you grow up around a lot of music?”

Dean’s face turns dreamy and reminiscent for a moment. It was a good look on him. “My dad played music all the time. We traveled a lot, perk of the job, and there was always something on the radio. I have this box of old tapes I got from him that I’ve almost played out.”

Sam grinned. “Your dad sounds like an interesting guy. You must love him a lot.”

There’s trouble in Dean’s expression, a confusion of things that Sam can’t fully interpret, and then it turns into a grin. “Yeah. He’s strict but he’s a good guy. Taught me everything I know.” Dean tapped near Sam’s fingers firmly and held his gaze. “How’d you end up in foster care?”

Sam has to look away from that, his hair sliding into place over his eyes without trying for it. “My parents left me on the steps of a hospital. Wrapped in a blanket with a note that said ‘Sam’. You know, classic Dickens plot.” He tries for casual again and knows from the way Dean’s fingers knock his softly that he fails just like before.

“Sound like assholes. You’re better off here.” Dean’s voice carries a note of anger and Sam looks up to see that his jaw is tight and working. It’s a look that would have scared the piss out of Sam just a few days before, still intimidates him a bit, but he likes seeing it right now. Likes that Dean thinks he shouldn’t be disposable.

“Yeah. Ophelia was sort of the turning point for everything. Before that it was just me getting handed off from place to place. She’s the only person who’s ever wanted to keep me.” He felt that light bump again, but Dean’s eyes were focused on something else, something Sam couldn’t see.

“You’re a good kid despite all that though. So they must’ve done something right.” Something off about the tone, not quite there and Sam answers without thinking, too busy interpreting and translating the sound of Dean’s voice.

“No I was a horror when Ope met me. Between Brady and the drug I-“ He cuts himself off, realizing too late he’s misread the whole thing. Dean’s casual circling of the topic, the tone distracting, and the gaze just off enough to not be pressuring. His suspicions are confirmed when Dean’s eyes narrow down and focus on him.

“I see. I had my hell-raising days too.” He’s waiting for Sam to jump in, to clarify and explain, but Sam stands and crosses the kitchen in a slow hopping step. He digs through the fridge for several silent minutes and manages to find enough tinfoil wrapped food to make for a real dinner.

“You want grill night leftovers, soup, or lasagna?” He doesn’t turn around when he feels Dean behind him, focuses on the wrapped packages, and feels the hand on his back before he gives up and addresses the problem. “I made a lot of mistakes. Brady was…I believed he wanted me and that’s all I wanted at the time. I felt so alive with him, so powerful, and when I realized he was drugging me I was already addicted. Ophelia helped me detox. It almost killed me. Shit it almost killed her.”

Sam could remember it all vividly, every hellish minute of it, and he felt the cold sweat as the old terror clawed at the back of his brain. By the end of it Sam had wanted nothing more than death. He could still hazily recall the smell of copper filled water and Ophelia's wails of anguish. He pulled grill food out of the fridge blindly and dropped it on the counter, moving as far from Dean as he could get before he had something to use as an excuse. He pulled plates from the cabinet, dropping cold burgers on them and sprinkling them with water before putting them in the microwave. Dean stayed silently standing at the fridge, and Sam could have cried with relief when the door swung open and Ophelia entered followed by Loki. Her head was up and Sam watched her stumble her way into the kitchen before Loki pulled a chair out for her. The hacker sprawled out in a chair beside her and put his feet in her lap.

"Oh Sammy, you didn't mention the love of my life was a lush." Ope punched his shoulder and he laughed wildly.

Sam left the microwave alone, sliding past Dean and into the main floor of the room before he took a seat next to her and touched her shoulder. When she looked up there was a glassy haze in her eyes. “I won sixty bucks. Candle game.” She put her face down on his hand and took a deep breath. “You have a good time?”

“Yeah Ope. Fine time. Wanna go to bed?” He found the hand she usually used, studied the flesh and saw no permanent damage.

She shakes her head once and leans back in the chair wearily. “Eat your dinner Sammy. I’ll go after that.”

The plate arrives out of nowhere, burger fixed the way he fixed it last time, and damn if that means Dean didn’t watch his every move. He’s impressed, touched, scared at the thought of someone other than the tiny lady in front of him taking in so many personal details. He mutters a thanks and eats quickly so that he can get her to bed and avoid further talking with Dean. He’s had enough for one day, and honestly he could do without more revelations.



----




Dean watches Sam watching her. She’s basically fallen asleep in the chair and he’s not surprised. The process of shock and acceptance after a run-in like hers is long and she’s dealing with it in a classic hunter fashion. Which means not at all. Sam on the other hand…

The guy went bone white when he gave himself away, and more importantly he knew the instant Dean did it what he was up to. It was an old trick, one he’d cobbled together from his father’s many approaches, and it always worked. Take the victim out of their concern for their secret by making them worry about what you’re thinking. They look left and you go right. It’s a con and Dean’s perfected it. His brain is running through drugs trying to figure out what the bastard must have been dosing Sam with.

It makes sense though. Dean may not have known Sam long but the guy is as gentle as they come and the only thing that could make him different would be some sort of chemical alteration. It explains his willingness to let himself be hurt that much too. Dean’s inordinately grateful to Ophelia, wants to take her outside and hug her breathless, thank her, and instead he sits still and watches. He’ll have time to get her alone and handle that part. Now he has to find a way to assure Sam that he doesn’t think less of him for all of it. Really the kid is too damn hard on himself. But what drug?

Nothing so mundane as pot, nothing psychedelic, had to be PCP or something along those lines. Something that promotes violence, that feeling Sam described of power, something completely crippling. It’s amazing that there aren’t signs of it in Sam’s face, a year of hard-core use is usually more visible. There should be lines or…

His train of thought is interrupted by Ophelia’s hand dropping from under her chin and almost striking the table. Sam catches it at the last second, reflexes lightning fast, and Dean has time to admire it before Sam stands and pulls her up easily. She hangs in his arms, eyes wide and confused before focusing on the man holding her. “’M sorry. Sorry guys.” Sam’s carrying her out before Dean can respond, holding her like a child as he takes her to bed without a word.

Loki watches the whole scene with amber eyes and then stands and stretches. "Well I believe I'll be heading to bed. Night Dean-o." He manages not to growl.

Dialing Bobby is almost second nature. “Your dad called me.”

Dean felt himself go cold and hot at the same time, fists clenching and jaw grinding before he got control over it. “Did he?”

“Yeah. Wanted to know where I took you and what was going on. I left out the part about the Shifter. He told me to tell you to take another week, but I don't think that's for the best boy. You ain't at a hundred percent yet. Said he’d contact you then with details.” Bobby's voice was careful, slow, as if he was afraid Dean would explode if he shook him up.

He wasn’t necessarily wrong. John Winchester tested his patience more than he could stand some days and this was one of them. After all those times he tried to contact him, his dad calls Bobby to tell Dean what to do. There are times, horrible times, when Dean’s admiration for his dad is overcome with his belief that he’s nothing but a soldier in John’s army. The loss of his brother has always weighed heavily on his father, and Dean knows that he’s not blameless in his dad’s eyes. Sam was his to protect, his since the day he was born and mom told him so, and Dean failed at his one damn job. He’s been living that moment down every day since then.

His mind wandered, landed on the Sam inside briefly before coming back to Bobby. He needs to say something. Something to indicate he gets it, or that he's ok, or something. Bobby's always been considerate of him despite the gruffness.

“It's ok Bobby. That's dad. I'll ask Ophelia for a timeline.” Dean wonders what it’s like to have a grave to visit, a place to remember your dead loved one by. He hasn’t been back to Lawrence since the night of the fire, at least not long enough to visit his mother’s headstone, but he has passed through that terrible little town Sam died in.  He’s seen the remains of the abandoned house they’d been squatting in. There was a healing process, Dean knew that, but did you need that sort of physical monument to start it? Something to pin the memories to so that they didn't haunt you? They hung up shortly afterwards.

He stared at the night for a while, eyes moving out of habit over the tree line and through the dim woods before returning to the house. Dean went back inside quietly. Sam was coming out of the bathroom, a slightly damp and entirely drunk Ophelia hanging off of him, and Dean nodded at him once before stepping into her room and closing the door. He picked up the demon history she’d given him, flipped through it fruitlessly, and then closed the heavy book and put it aside. Too much input, too many things to think about, and Dean fell asleep watching the stars on the ceiling and running through the day’s events.




----




Sam wakes suddenly, brain in high gear and his heart in his throat, and rolls out of the bed. He didn’t hear any sounds, so he padded out into the hallway and peeked into both of the other bedrooms. In Loki's he saw the lump of hacker under the covers, in Ophelia’s he saw Dean stretched on his back with one arm held out across the mattress.

He made his way out through the kitchen and onto the porch to find her wrapped in a comforter on the bench staring out at the tree line. She held the comforter open silently and he joined her. She pulled up close to him, sharing her warmth and tapping the cigarette smoldering in between her knuckles. “Morning Sam.”

“Morning Ope. Bad dreams again?”

She shook her head and smiled softly. “Just wanted to see the sunrise. Was gonna come back to bed afterwards.”

Sam stroked her forearm for a second, felt the scabs covering her wrists, blinked several times sleepily and then settled back. “I told him some of it. He tricked it out of me.” At her raised eyebrow he bit his lip gently and considered. “He’s good at that apparently. Probably a talent he picked up questioning people.”

She nodded and then took a deep breath. “Sam. Are you okay with all this? With everything being real?”

He blinked several times as he considered it. Everything? Well he didn’t know if it was everything, but it was obviously a lot of things. Sam would like to tell her no, that it was surprising and disturbing to know there were things that lived in the dark and would love to kill them slow. Except Sam had already known, known and never warned her because it was too close to what happened back then. Which was ok, because she'd known too apparently.

Monsters being real wasn’t news to Sam anymore. He stroked her arm again and watched her out the cigarette and toss it into the bushes below with a frown. “Yeah Ope I’m fine. You wanna tell me why you never said anything?”

“You just-” Ope sighed and pushed at her hair. "Fuck Sammy. You were so broken up. I just couldn't stand the idea you'd internalize that shit. Add it to the Brady thing. I wanted to protect you." She looked his way once and then back out. “I like Dean. He coming back?”

“Yeah.” Sam couldn’t help the fond smile, the rush of warmth, and he tried to suppress it but eventually he just let it go. “He’s coming back. I wish you hadn't felt you needed to lie to me.”

“Sorry Sammy.” They both turned their heads at the sound of shuffling, and Sam took in Dean looking half-asleep as he settled beside them wrapped in a leather jacket and staring out at the tree line silently.

“Morning Dean.”

She echoed him and nudged Sam once gently. “I’m going back to bed. This is an ungodly hour. Sam share the blanket if you’re staying.” She got up and went back inside quietly.

Sam opened the comforter and Dean slid off the leather jacket and then came under the edge of it. His arm touched Sam’s gently and Sam soaked in the furnace heat of him. “What woke you?”

Dean considered the question, tilted his head, and then took a deep breath. “Dunno. You?”

“Empty bed. Still keep thinking I’ll wake up and find out she died.” It’s easier to share this than risk Dean starting the conversation up from yesterday. He feels a shoulder nudge his and grins softly. It’s not girly, no hand holding and dreamy eyes, but it’s the kind of comforting Sam has always imagined a lover giving him.

Except they’re not lovers yet, and Sam’s not sure if they ever will be. There’s chemistry, no denying that, and Sam wants Dean. Wants him like he’s never wanted anyone, but there’s a lot going on and there’s not much privacy around here. These are all good reasons, reasons Sam could hold onto if he wanted, but he knows very well that at the end of the day the question is whether or not Sam can be that way again. If he can be vulnerable and open like that, hold himself together instead of coming apart, and he knows instinctively that Dean will tear him apart.

The man’s too strong, too virile, and he’ll pull Sam open and look inside. What judgments he’ll make once he’s there Sam can’t say, can’t predict, and that scares him and excites him at the same time. In a way he wants it, wants to be exposed for what he really is so someone can finally tell him just how dirty he’s always been. But losing this, the easy comfort of it, is so terrifying Sam can’t consider it for longer than a second without losing his breath. It’s only been a few days and he’s so damn attached already.

Attachment, Sam has learned through long years of experience, is dangerous. Attachment leads to heartbreak and Sam has had enough of that. Still he wants to try, wants to stretch out his arms and take Dean into them so he can see just how much suffering it’ll bring and how much ecstasy will lead up to that harsh slam into the ground. He wants to be Icarus, fly too close to Dean and crash into the ocean, and that’ll be fine because Sam deserves to crash and burn here. Knows it like he knows his name or the texture of his favorite flannel shirt.

Dean breaks the comfortable silence with a throat clearing and then his husky voice follows it closely. “I have to leave in a week. My dad called.”

Sam tilts his head. He hates the sunrise and sunset in autumn, the tress look like they’re on fire and Sam has always been afraid of fire. There’s some dim memory there, something about smoke and choking, something about safety and warmth after fear. It’s so deep Sam has never understood it, only dreamed about it when he was very young. He had a foster brother once who found out about Sam’s fear of fire and used it against him. Used to wake him up by burning the hairs on Sam’s legs and the smell would launch him out of his sleep screaming. He shakes himself and focuses on what Dean’s saying. “Ok.” Don’t ask when he’ll be back around. “You must be glad you’ll see him again.”

Dean hesitates, voice unsure, “Yes. Course I am. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

So Dean’s going to say it and save Sam the shame of asking. He’s appreciative and quiet when he responds. “That’s ok. I’ll be here when you do.” He stands and stretches, his knee still sore but stable now, and then leaves Dean there in the comforter with the illuminated trees in his sight line.

He makes waffles and bacon and when he’s finished there are three people sitting at the kitchen table almost all looking half-asleep. Loki uses the entire bottle of syrup on his. Ophelia and Dean have a competition to see who can eat the most waffles and neither of them wins so much as they end up leaning back with hands cupped over their stomachs and looks of satisfied agony. Sam’s glad to see her wolfing food down, he knows she hasn’t been eating right recently, and then he taunts them by waving bacon they can’t eat in front of them.

Loki laughs several times in the course of the whole exercise, eyes catching Sam’s and twinkling in glee while he cheers one or the other on. Sam feels himself unclench, relax, as if the four of them are a little family. It’s not that he and Ophelia aren’t a strong enough unit for that feeling, so much as this is different. More whole. He keeps catching Dean’s green eyes and seeing the sparkle there, feeling the burn of affection and arousal in his belly every time.

After a while Ophelia pushes herself up and grabs Loki's shoulder. “We’ve got stuff to do today. Come on.” Loki stands without asking and leaves the room while Ophelia catches Sam’s eyes. “We’re going to go hit the book sale at Mary’s. You gonna be ok?”

“Of course. When will you be back?” Dean was collecting dishes, heading for the sink, and Sam bit back a joke about domesticating wild animals. Ope must have caught the sparkle of amusement in his eyes because her grin turned into a real smile.

“Late. We may go to the bar. I feel like getting blasted again.” She reached up and ruffled his hair, ignoring the look he gave her, and then headed off. When they came back through the kitchen Dean was almost done with dishes and Sam watched the easy way she and Loki walked together. She let the hacker precede her out the door and turned back to catch Dean’s eyes.

“Hey, Dean, quick thing.” Dean stepped out from behind the counter toweling his hands off and raised an eyebrow. “There are condoms in my nightstand, but no lube. Be good to my boy or I’ll shoot out your goddamn kneecaps.”

She leaves laughing, ignoring Dean’s shock and Sam’s noises of protest. Once she’s out of sight Sam leaves his red face buried in his hands before he speaks. “She’s sort of a bitch sometimes.”

There’s silence for a moment before a chair scrapes back near Sam and he hears a throat cleared. He looks up to see heat in Dean’s eyes, comparable to the older man’s skin, and he has to swallow in the path of that gaze. “You opposed to the idea of fooling around Sammy?”

There’s something about the way he says the nickname, as if he both wants it and fears it, that makes Sam burn. The look isn’t helping, and Sam has never felt more pinned in place than he does right at this moment. “No.” He’s not a blushing virgin, he’s been here before. The difference is that this time he has so much more to lose. “Not at all.”

Dean’s up moments later, taking Sam’s hand and pulling once before watching to see how Sam maneuvers his bad knee. Sam hears the Jeep start outside, listens to it pull off the concrete and onto the gravel drive, and then the sound is gone and they’re heading into the back and towards the bedrooms. It’s moving fast, Sam knows that logically, but everything is in slow motion. Dean leaves him for a moment and steps into Ope’s bedroom, comes back out and raises an eyebrow. It’s obvious what he’s asking, if Sam’s really down with this plan, and god yes Sam is but that doesn’t mean he’s not scared.

Just this morning he was thinking…and now they’re going to do it and Sam knows this could be great or it could end in catastrophe. Does it matter really? At the moment all of Sam’s thinking power is hindered by the raging hard-on he’s gained at some point in this endless walk and now they’re in Sam’s room and he’s looking around at the programming books and the empty laundry basket as if he’s never been here before. Dean’s voice comes out in a low growl. “Up to you Sam. We can do whatever you want.”

Whatever he wants. Sam wants a lot of things. He wants his hesitation to be innocent instead of tainted, he wants Dean inside him, or him inside Dean it doesn’t really matter, and he wants to run from the room and stay all at the same time. He’s been given a choice and he can take anything he wants, knows if he says no Dean will let it go like it never happened despite the man’s obvious arousal. It’s empowering really, and Sam moves forward on the wave of it and grabs Dean’s short hair before pulling him in for a kiss.

Did he think Dean was hot before? He really is the sun and Sam almost feels the Icarus wings, the intricate pattern of wax and feathers, bolstering him through the air and into Dean’s heat. He tilts Dean’s head at the perfect angle, bends just right to get more access, and the world narrows down to this one set of lips against his and this one experience over all others. Sam lets one hand travel down the length of Dean’s bicep, realizes that Dean is holding perfectly still and letting Sam set the pace, and he takes Dean’s rough hands and places them on his hips.

The fingers grip, bruising tight and then gentle to stroke the places they’ve grabbed but Sam doesn’t want Dean to hold back. Doesn’t want to be lulled into a false sense of security this time. He pulls back far enough to mutter, “Stop it. Do it right.” And Dean seems to understand. The grip intensifies again and Sam is back in Dean’s face, licking into his mouth even as he’s trying to find the buttons on Dean’s shirt. He has no idea how much experience Dean has with this sort of thing, and he doesn’t want to know. If he’s the first he’ll feel guilty, if he’s not he’ll be jealous because if Dean’s kissing is any indication of what’s in store for him? Sam’s already addicted.

His own shirt is unbuttoned long before he’s found his way half up Dean’s and he pulls back and frowns at the buttons, frowns at Dean’s soft and husky laughter, and then undoes each button swiftly and surely. When it’s off Dean slides the second shirt off and Sam follows suit. For a moment they stand there, staring at each other as if they’ve never seen this before. Sam feels a brief and intense wave of uncertainty, and Dean sees it before reaching for him.

Strong hands smooth over Sam’s abs, along the lines of his hipbones and up his sides before sliding to his elbows. He holds perfectly still and watches Dean’s face, sees the awe there, the lust. It’s unguarded, warm, the green eyes taking in every detail and Dean’s gaze lingers for a second on the long scar that stretches from Sam’s hip to just under his right pectoral muscle. Dean touches it once, lightly, and Sam hisses as if it still hurts. He remembers the glass and the screams…

He begins touching Dean’s scars, fingers hesitant at first and then firmer. Each one is a story no doubt, a life saved, a death narrowly avoided, and it really hits Sam for the first time that Dean lives the kind of life where he could die at any time and almost no one would know he was gone. The man is a phantom, a superhero. He’s certainly built like one. There's an odd dark circle in the center of Dean's chest that almost looks like a tattoo, lines leading outwards from it that fade slowly into the color of his skin. If it means something Sam doesn't know what, and this is not the place to ask. Sam leans forward, impulsively, and licks at Dean’s pulse point on his neck. The moan that greets him is encouraging, and Dean’s skin tastes like nothing Sam has ever experienced.

It’s a ridiculous thought, flowery and useless, because skin is just skin. Still he tastes it again, rubs the flat of his tongue over Dean’s collarbone and then kisses his way across it to the other side. His fingers work on Dean’s belt buckle with more accuracy than they had before and he gets the belt undone and off in a matter of seconds all while Dean makes those noises above him.

“Sam.” And it’s that, his name in that voice, that has Sam fighting with the button and zipper on Dean’s jeans. He has them open in record time and his hand slides down and finds Dean’s cock, hard and hot, so much hotter than the rest of him it’s frightening. Dean’s gasp is worth every second of fear Sam has experienced for this moment. He hears the clatter, feels the shifting, as Dean struggles to kick off his boots. Sam follows suit, losing his sneakers in record time even as Dean’s reaching for the belt and fastening on Sam’s pants.

There’s really no dignified way to remove another person’s pants, Sam knows that, and the two of them are all elbows and flying fingers as they try to beat each other in speed for removing the last layers of clothing in between them. Dean is hung well, Sam has time to notice, before he’s being pushed back onto the bed and Dean is covering him. A blanket of fire and muscle lying on top of him, and the hard lines of Dean’s body make Sam moan low in his throat before he grabs at Dean’s hips and thrusts upwards, length to length, in an attempt to crawl inside that heat and never leave. If Sam could be warm, just a little warm for a little while…and there’s that thought of purification again coming against his will and causing him to close his eyes so Dean can’t see the hope there.

There’s sweat despite the coolness of the room, and friction that makes Sam crazy and vocal despite his attempts to hold it in. He hears Dean mutter above him, gasp and then grind out, “Come on, come on Sam, let me hear it.”

So Sam tilts his head back and lets his mouth open, feels Dean moving against him in perfect animal rhythm as he moans Dean’s name over and over again. Talented tongue and lips travel over Sam’s throat, blunt teeth nip at his clavicle, fingers stroke his sides, and all too soon Sam feels the crest of the wave that brought them to this moment.

He tries, tries so hard, to warn Dean but it’s too late. Sam is tumbling, falling from the sky and when he crashes it’s with a roar of sound and Dean is following him down.

They rest there, sticky and sweaty, panting harshly into each other’s mouths and then Dean laughs once in a low husky way that stirs Sam’s cock again. He opens his eyes long enough to see Dean, fucked-out and rough looking, before green eyes lower in between them and a self-conscious grin crosses Dean’s pink lips.

“Well,” he clears his throat but his tone is still velvety and low, “that was something new.”

Sam feels his eyebrows rising to his hairline, his fingers already shaking in the aftermath, as he tries to analyze what Dean means. Strong fingers grip his chin, and those lips lock onto his for several long moments before the voice comes again.  “Never got off on something so simple. Very nice though.”

Sam nods once, looks away as best he can, and then grunts with loss when the heat leaves him and the cold air hits his wet skin. Dean’s gone for several minutes, Sam’s almost given up on him coming back, and then Dean returns with a warm washcloth and throws it to Sam with a grin on his face. There’s silence in the room now, and Sam’s trying not to shake visibly as he wipes himself down and throws the washcloth into the laundry basket. After a while he meets Dean’s appraising gaze and tries to control the sound of his voice. “Now what?”

“I was thinkin’ a nap. Maybe a long one. You?” Sam doesn’t dare to hope for anything, he’s already been given so much here, but when Dean slides into the bed beside him careful to not touch but close enough Sam can feel his heat he relaxes back into the mattress.

“Yeah. Sounds good.” They fall asleep like that, shoulders almost touching, and Sam makes sure he falls asleep second so he can watch Dean’s face relax into unconsciousness.