SPN Fic: Heart's Desire II 4b/4 (Final)
Jun. 2nd, 2006 08:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascavecontinued from part 4a
part 4b
They lay like that for a while, exchanging the occasional lazy kiss and just generally basking in each other. Sam finally stirred a little and asked, "So was that really Korean?"
Dean could actually feel his brain try to kick into gear, and fail. "Huh?"
"Before. What you were saying," Sam frowned, obviously trying to remember, "'shibbal nom' and 'jot di gari.' Is that really Korean?"
Struggling to make his brain work again, and damn, why hadn't anyone warned him that Sam didn't go to sleep after sex? "Um, yeah. It's Korean."
"What does it mean?"
"I called you a dickhead," Dean said easily. "Jot di gari," he repeated. He wasn't exactly in a position to protect himself, but he figured Sam wouldn't actually be surprised to have Dean calling him names.
And indeed, Sam's only reaction was to roll his eyes. "As pet names go, I think I prefer Sammy." He paused. "And 'shibbal nom'?"
Dean knew that if he didn't tell him what he'd said, Sam would just look it up somewhere. Well, he could always pretend he hadn't been...offering. "I just said fuck you," he said, trying for casual and pretty sure Sam was seeing right through him.
Sam took it in silently, then nodded slowly. "Do you want to?" he finally said. "I mean, not now obviously since we just..."
"Can we not talk about this now?" Dean asked, exaggerating the whine in his voice. "I was trying to enjoy the afterglow, maybe sleep for ten hours." He squeezed Sam a little, trying to let him know he wasn't upset by the question -- even if he really didn't want to talk about it.
Hell yes, he wanted to fuck Sam. Wanted Sam to fuck him. But he did not want to talk about it beforehand.
"Okay," Sam replied, a little subdued. He fell silent again and Dean thought he'd be able to go to sleep but no, Sam hadn't quite run down yet. "So where did you learn how to swear in Korean?"
Resigning himself to not getting to sleep anytime soon, Dean sighed. "Kwan. This old guy I stayed with for a few weeks. His house was haunted, but the ghost only came around every so often. He asked me to stay and get rid of it, and I owed him a favor, so I did. And heck, free room and board while I was waiting? Heck of a deal.
"He taught me how to play hwa'tu, a card game. Never did manage to beat him, so it's probably a good thing we weren't playing for money. Anyhow, he cussed a lot, so I picked some up along the way. By the time I left, I could even order take-out without making the lady at the restaurant yell at me to order in English."
Dean smiled, remembering Kwan. He'd cursed a blue streak, but he'd been kind and extremely patient with nearly everyone he met.
"He had a huge library, all Korean books. He talked about teaching me how to read 'em, if I stayed long enough. But then the ghost showed, and I got rid of it, burned its bones. When I left Kwan asked me to burn his, too. I didn't want to, but he said he was ready." Dean shrugged, remembering. Kwan had been a little like a grandfather, and Dean had toyed with the idea of visiting him off and on.
Sam took the story in with quiet attention. "When was this?" he asked softly, hands rubbing soothingly over Dean's skin again.
"Last fall right after we moved here, when dad was laid up with that broken ankle." Dean gave Sam a flat look. "You noticed I was gone for awhile?"
"I noticed. You left me alone with Dad."
Dean froze. And how the hell had he never realised that?
Sam took a look at his face and rolled his eyes. "Dean..."
"Sorry," he said, woodenly. "I guess I didn't think you two... hell, you weren't dead when I got home and the apartment was still standing. I didn't...." Of course he should have known. How long had it been since Sam and dad got along for more than a few hours? But he'd called home while he'd been gone, and no one had said anything that made him think he needed to come back and pull them apart.
And he hadn't wanted to go back. Staying with Kwan had been...nice. He missed the old guy, even though he'd already been dead when Dean had met him. Hell, he still had the book Kwan had told him he could take, even though he knew there was no way he'd ever learn how to read it.
He shoved himself backwards, and got out of bed. The rock spirit was gone, and they didn't need to be hanging around here doing this.
"Where are you going?" Sam sat up, looking at him alarmed.
It sounded stupid in his head, as he considered the answer to that question. It was why he hated talking about things. He looked around and spotted his duffel; he went over to it to grab some clothes. "Leaving," he said, knowing it would just piss Sam off.
But he couldn't stay.
"What?" In a flash Sam was out of the bed and across the room, grabbing onto Dean's shoulders. "You're leaving," he repeated as if he couldn't quite believe he understood the words correctly.
"We should get back," he said, not able to look Sam in the eyes. "We got rid of the rock spirit. We don't need...."
"Stop fucking channeling Dad and talk to me, dammit!" Sam took a deep breath and his next words were calmer if still worried. "What just happened here?"
"I'm not fucking channeling-- don't you get it?" Dean had picked up his jeans; now he threw them on the ground and faced Sam. "I spend a few weeks hanging out with a nice old ghost, and leave you and dad alone, and we all know how that goes. I go to Cassiday's birthday party while dad's gone on a hunt and you get picked up by Social Services."
He hadn't actually got in trouble for that one, since dad had said he could go. Nine year old Sam could have stayed home alone for days without trouble, but that hadn't stopped Child Protection Services from sticking their noses in.
Spinning away from Sam, Dean stormed halfway across the room, trying to push the image out of his mind but he couldn't. Bending over Sammy's bed. Killing him. "Go to play fucking video games and I get you nearly killed. Fuck, don't you get it? I don't get--" He swallowed the rest. I don't get to have things like this.
"What are you talking about?" Sam followed him, not letting him get the distance he needed. "How does playing video games nearly get me killed?"
He could remember walking in. Hearing the soft noises, seeing the flicker of light. Pushing the door open he'd already been terrified, and seeing that...thing, sucking the life out of his brother.
All he'd been able to think was, dad will kill me, and I'll deserve it.
"You were four, and dad was after a shtriga," Dean said. "Told me to stay with you but I didn't. And I came back and it...had you...."
"I remember." Sam's voice had that strange almost not believing his own words quality that Dean was getting used to associating with Sam's visions. "You telling me about it, I mean. But Dean, you were just a kid and-"
"And I disobeyed dad because I was bored, and nearly got you killed." Dean didn't know what Sam knew, or what he had seen. But Dean remembered. There was no grey about it - some things really were just black and white. "I was old enough to know better," he said, feeling his throat closing up at the words. He hated it, had always hated it, but he'd also understood. The stakes were too high to waste time on frivolities.
And yet he kept on forgetting.
"We can't do this, Sam," he whispered, voice breaking. Just as well, because something inside him was breaking, too.
"You saved me."
Dean laughed, once. "Dad saved you. I couldn't even fire the shotgun. I had it up, ready to fire, and I just...froze. If dad hadn't come in...."
"No. When... Dad sent us after it again -- that's when you told me about what happened. I didn't -- I don't -- have any memory of it myself. But I do remember... we went after it again and it got me... There was this light that was just taking everything and..." Sam looked up and met and held Dean's gaze. "You didn't freeze. You shot it. Saved me."
"We went after it?" Dean felt his heart beat faster. "You know where it is?"
"Not now." Sam frowned. "But in... five years, I think?... it'll be in Fitchburg, Wisconsin. But that's not the point."
"So we can go kill it." Dean didn't care about what Sam's point was -- it wasn't like Sam would shut up about it yet, anyway. But knowing that they could go kill the thing he'd let get away.... He could wait.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, in five years we can go kill it. But that's five years from now so can we focus on the present?"
"Focus on what? There's nothing to focus on. This was a really bad idea, and we're going home, and we're not talking about this again and in five years we go to Fitchburg. End of discussion." Dean tried to walk away from Sam so he could get dressed.
"Oh like hell it is," Sam growled, grabbing Dean's good shoulder and holding on tight. "We are talking about it and we're not going home and the only bad idea is the one about us forgetting about what we have."
Dean tried to pull free, but Sam wasn't letting go. He gave his brother a glare, and Sam just glowered back. "What do you want from me?" Dean ground out. "Every time I get something I want, bad things happen. I don't want to know what's going to happen if we--"
"So you do want it. Want me."
All Dean could think was, his brother had the most insane thought process. "Of course I want you," he snapped. "I told you I've been wanting you for the last two fucking years. But that doesn't mean I can have you!"
"I'm right here," Sam said, stepping closer, getting into Dean's personal space. "I'm saying you can. You want me, I want you, that's all that is important."
But Dean shook his head. "It doesn't... it won't work." He felt like he was begging, but he didn't know for what. "It's just...like I'm cursed or something. Whenever I want something -- it just...." He tried to step backwards, but Sam still wasn't letting him go.
"You're not cursed," Sam began hotly, then stopped and took a deep breath. "Okay, let's pretend for a minute that I believe the whole curse thing... you ever thought that maybe this -- us -- is what breaks it? I got these vision-memories that tell me that we can have this, and do, and nothing bad happens because of it. And for some reason, I've got that knowledge now. Which, to me, means that we're supposed to have each other this way. And maybe that's to show you you're not cursed."
"That's insane," Dean told him. Even as part of him was screaming to take the rationale Sam was handing him. But he didn't dare risk finding out what would go wrong. What would be worse than losing Sam all together? He found his brother's hand, and twined his fingers with Sam's. "I can't lose you, Sammy."
Sam squeezed his hand tightly. "You're not going to. You couldn't, even if you wanted to. And I'd watch who you were calling insane, curse-boy."
He opened his mouth to retort. Nothing came to mind, and he closed his eyes and let his head fall forward, coming to rest against Sam's cheek. "Dickhead," he whispered.
Sam pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him tightly. "So no more talk of leaving?"
"I don't want to," Dean said, not sure he'd said it loudly or clearly enough for Sam to hear. "But I'm--" He stopped, then forced himself to admit, "Afraid of what's going to happen."
"Hopefully what's going to happen is some really good sex."
Dean laughed again, and felt it change -- caught the sob in his chest, trying to stuff it down where it belonged. He tried to cling to Sam, one hand gripping Sam's hand and the other slipping on bare skin.
Sam held him tighter. "It's okay, Dean," he said, the hand Dean wasn't clutching moving to stroke the back of his neck again. "I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me. Whatever happens -- if anything does -- we'll deal with it together. Promise."
He wished he could believe Sam. That Sam knew, somehow -- had the ability and power to make it true. He felt his breath shudder, and tried to push it all back down, again, and instead of going away, it just began to shatter.
Dean closed his eyes and concentrated on the motion of Sam's hand on his neck. The way Sam's voice was so soft, and low, vibrations in his chest burrowing into Dean's own. His tears made Sam's skin wet, and he turned his face, but all he could do was bury himself in further.
Sam didn't seem to mind, just held him and continued murmuring softly, a strong presence for Dean to cling to as the emotional storm tried to drag him under.
"S'why I hate talking," Dean complained. He reached up and pressed his palms against his eyes, but it didn't seem to help. He did manage to take a deep breath. Then, not sure if Sam was through or not, he asked, "Can we just go back to bed?"
Sam chuckled, the sound rumbling pleasantly through his chest and into Dean's. "I wasn't the one who decided to get up in the first place."
"Shut up." He didn't manage to get any heat behind it, and he felt like if he could just lie down, he'd be able to sleep for a week. "You're the one who wouldn't go to sleep."
"That's because being with you makes me so...." Sam trailed off as if he couldn't find the right word, but his emotions were plain in his eyes.
"Chatty?" Dean supplied, not wanting to try to name what he saw, even though it made him feel warm. Loved. Instead he frowned. "Well, from now on you have to promise not to always talk after we have sex. Or I'll never get any sleep." He slipped away from Sam, except for the grip on his hand, and moved towards the bed.
Sam went with him willingly. "If it'll keep you from bolting for the hills, I think I can manage to keep the talking after sex to a minimum."
Dean just grunted his approval, and moved to the side of the bed. He let go of Sam's hand and laid down on his stomach, grabbing the pillow and stretching out. Sliding in beside him, Sam fitted himself around Dean like two puzzle pieces clicking. He sighed in contentment and kissed Dean's shoulder.
Dean thought he should say something. Thank you. Love you. He rubbed his face against the pillow, drying off his cheek.
"Shibbal nom," he whispered.
He felt more than heard his brother's breath of laughter. "Later," Sam promised.
~~~~
Dean woke up and noticed three things. The first was that he felt damn good, like he'd slept for about a year. The second was that it really was late in the morning.
The third was that the bed was empty.
As soon as he realised Sam was gone, he heard a soft noise and opened his eyes. Sam was just coming into the room. He was dressed in his usual t-shirt and jeans, but he was barefoot. In his hands he held two steaming mugs. "Figured you'd be waking up soon," he said, giving Dean a welcoming smile and one of the mugs.
"Whasszah?" Dean asked, rubbing his eyes and rolling over. He realised he hadn't shifted at all from the time he'd fallen asleep. The smell of coffee hit him, and he sat up as fast as he could, holding out his hand for the mug.
Sam chuckled and handed it over, then sat on the edge of the bed, sipping at his own mug. "Figured you'd need that, too."
Vaguely, Dean flipped him off, and held the mug under his nose. The steam and scent hit him full in the face and he sighed. When he pried his eyes open and took a sip, he discovered that Sam had actually made it properly -- black, and strong. Not that he wouldn't have bet Sam's mug had milk and sugar in it. "What time is it?" he asked, not really caring.
"About half past eleven. Guess you needed the sleep."
Dean stared at him. "In the morning?" Hell, he never slept that late -- except for when he didn't get to bed until six. But...he couldn't remember the last time he'd got over twelve hours of sleep in a row.
On the other hand, he remembered taking four painkillers, then having sex. Apparently he'd relaxed himself into a coma.
"That generally is when it's light out, yeah," Sam said dryly. He reached out and rested a hand on Dean's leg, still covered by the blanket. "Feeling better?"
Taking a moment to consider the question seriously, Dean finally smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." He took another sip of his coffee, and realised that he felt fantastic.
Sam let out a breath. "Good."
Dean looked at his brother closely. Sam was smiling a little, eyes clear and brown like they got when he was happy. He looked relaxed, though Dean could see the tiny thrum of awareness in him that meant that should anything happen, Sam would be prepared for it. It was a sensation Dean knew well, having had it drummed into him by age seven.
But today it wasn't anything to worry about. Not here, not now. Dean leaned back against the headboard and crooked a finger at his brother to come closer. Sam raised an eyebrow sardonically but nonetheless complied, shifting up the bed until the distance between them was measurable in inches. Dean reached up and placed a finger under Sam's chin, stroking lightly. Then he gave Sam a kiss.
Sam made a barely audible noise and kissed him back.
"So, almost noon?" Dean asked, trying not to sound like he was out of breath from a single, heart-stopping kiss.
"Yeah," Sam replied after a few blinks. "If you didn't wake up soon, I was going to come in here with a pail of ice water."
"And ruin this bed? I don't think so." Dean shook his head. "But since you asked, I am awake, and I want my steak for lunch. Well, breakfast."
Sam nodded as if in agreement and stood up. "Then you can shift your ass and come downstairs and help me cook."
Dean frowned. "I'm pretty sure that wasn't part of the agreement."
"Dean, you threw me in the lake. You're lucky I went and bought the steak at all."
Dean looked down, pouting just a little. He didn't know if Sam would take it as the joke it was meant, if he reminded Sam that he'd shot Dean. Or would, in the future. At that thought he looked up and asked, "How do I know you won't still shoot me?"
"You don't." Sam grinned at him. It wasn't a very reassuring expression; in fact it made Dean wonder if he should start ducking now. "Might want to remember that next time you get the urge to throw me in large bodies of water."
"Oh yeah?" Dean knew it wasn't his best retort as soon as it came out of his mouth. But Sam was grinning at him, and Dean was still feeling entirely too relaxed, and even if he had to do the cooking he was going to have steak for breakfast.
And if he wanted to, he could kiss Sam again, and pull him back into bed and maybe they wouldn't have breakfast at all. In fact, staring up at Sam grinning down at him, he decided he wanted to do that very much.
And for once, he reached for what he wanted, laughing as his brother willingly tumbled down with him and proceeded to take his breath away all over again.
Hell, the steaks could wait until dinner, after all.
the end
part 4b
They lay like that for a while, exchanging the occasional lazy kiss and just generally basking in each other. Sam finally stirred a little and asked, "So was that really Korean?"
Dean could actually feel his brain try to kick into gear, and fail. "Huh?"
"Before. What you were saying," Sam frowned, obviously trying to remember, "'shibbal nom' and 'jot di gari.' Is that really Korean?"
Struggling to make his brain work again, and damn, why hadn't anyone warned him that Sam didn't go to sleep after sex? "Um, yeah. It's Korean."
"What does it mean?"
"I called you a dickhead," Dean said easily. "Jot di gari," he repeated. He wasn't exactly in a position to protect himself, but he figured Sam wouldn't actually be surprised to have Dean calling him names.
And indeed, Sam's only reaction was to roll his eyes. "As pet names go, I think I prefer Sammy." He paused. "And 'shibbal nom'?"
Dean knew that if he didn't tell him what he'd said, Sam would just look it up somewhere. Well, he could always pretend he hadn't been...offering. "I just said fuck you," he said, trying for casual and pretty sure Sam was seeing right through him.
Sam took it in silently, then nodded slowly. "Do you want to?" he finally said. "I mean, not now obviously since we just..."
"Can we not talk about this now?" Dean asked, exaggerating the whine in his voice. "I was trying to enjoy the afterglow, maybe sleep for ten hours." He squeezed Sam a little, trying to let him know he wasn't upset by the question -- even if he really didn't want to talk about it.
Hell yes, he wanted to fuck Sam. Wanted Sam to fuck him. But he did not want to talk about it beforehand.
"Okay," Sam replied, a little subdued. He fell silent again and Dean thought he'd be able to go to sleep but no, Sam hadn't quite run down yet. "So where did you learn how to swear in Korean?"
Resigning himself to not getting to sleep anytime soon, Dean sighed. "Kwan. This old guy I stayed with for a few weeks. His house was haunted, but the ghost only came around every so often. He asked me to stay and get rid of it, and I owed him a favor, so I did. And heck, free room and board while I was waiting? Heck of a deal.
"He taught me how to play hwa'tu, a card game. Never did manage to beat him, so it's probably a good thing we weren't playing for money. Anyhow, he cussed a lot, so I picked some up along the way. By the time I left, I could even order take-out without making the lady at the restaurant yell at me to order in English."
Dean smiled, remembering Kwan. He'd cursed a blue streak, but he'd been kind and extremely patient with nearly everyone he met.
"He had a huge library, all Korean books. He talked about teaching me how to read 'em, if I stayed long enough. But then the ghost showed, and I got rid of it, burned its bones. When I left Kwan asked me to burn his, too. I didn't want to, but he said he was ready." Dean shrugged, remembering. Kwan had been a little like a grandfather, and Dean had toyed with the idea of visiting him off and on.
Sam took the story in with quiet attention. "When was this?" he asked softly, hands rubbing soothingly over Dean's skin again.
"Last fall right after we moved here, when dad was laid up with that broken ankle." Dean gave Sam a flat look. "You noticed I was gone for awhile?"
"I noticed. You left me alone with Dad."
Dean froze. And how the hell had he never realised that?
Sam took a look at his face and rolled his eyes. "Dean..."
"Sorry," he said, woodenly. "I guess I didn't think you two... hell, you weren't dead when I got home and the apartment was still standing. I didn't...." Of course he should have known. How long had it been since Sam and dad got along for more than a few hours? But he'd called home while he'd been gone, and no one had said anything that made him think he needed to come back and pull them apart.
And he hadn't wanted to go back. Staying with Kwan had been...nice. He missed the old guy, even though he'd already been dead when Dean had met him. Hell, he still had the book Kwan had told him he could take, even though he knew there was no way he'd ever learn how to read it.
He shoved himself backwards, and got out of bed. The rock spirit was gone, and they didn't need to be hanging around here doing this.
"Where are you going?" Sam sat up, looking at him alarmed.
It sounded stupid in his head, as he considered the answer to that question. It was why he hated talking about things. He looked around and spotted his duffel; he went over to it to grab some clothes. "Leaving," he said, knowing it would just piss Sam off.
But he couldn't stay.
"What?" In a flash Sam was out of the bed and across the room, grabbing onto Dean's shoulders. "You're leaving," he repeated as if he couldn't quite believe he understood the words correctly.
"We should get back," he said, not able to look Sam in the eyes. "We got rid of the rock spirit. We don't need...."
"Stop fucking channeling Dad and talk to me, dammit!" Sam took a deep breath and his next words were calmer if still worried. "What just happened here?"
"I'm not fucking channeling-- don't you get it?" Dean had picked up his jeans; now he threw them on the ground and faced Sam. "I spend a few weeks hanging out with a nice old ghost, and leave you and dad alone, and we all know how that goes. I go to Cassiday's birthday party while dad's gone on a hunt and you get picked up by Social Services."
He hadn't actually got in trouble for that one, since dad had said he could go. Nine year old Sam could have stayed home alone for days without trouble, but that hadn't stopped Child Protection Services from sticking their noses in.
Spinning away from Sam, Dean stormed halfway across the room, trying to push the image out of his mind but he couldn't. Bending over Sammy's bed. Killing him. "Go to play fucking video games and I get you nearly killed. Fuck, don't you get it? I don't get--" He swallowed the rest. I don't get to have things like this.
"What are you talking about?" Sam followed him, not letting him get the distance he needed. "How does playing video games nearly get me killed?"
He could remember walking in. Hearing the soft noises, seeing the flicker of light. Pushing the door open he'd already been terrified, and seeing that...thing, sucking the life out of his brother.
All he'd been able to think was, dad will kill me, and I'll deserve it.
"You were four, and dad was after a shtriga," Dean said. "Told me to stay with you but I didn't. And I came back and it...had you...."
"I remember." Sam's voice had that strange almost not believing his own words quality that Dean was getting used to associating with Sam's visions. "You telling me about it, I mean. But Dean, you were just a kid and-"
"And I disobeyed dad because I was bored, and nearly got you killed." Dean didn't know what Sam knew, or what he had seen. But Dean remembered. There was no grey about it - some things really were just black and white. "I was old enough to know better," he said, feeling his throat closing up at the words. He hated it, had always hated it, but he'd also understood. The stakes were too high to waste time on frivolities.
And yet he kept on forgetting.
"We can't do this, Sam," he whispered, voice breaking. Just as well, because something inside him was breaking, too.
"You saved me."
Dean laughed, once. "Dad saved you. I couldn't even fire the shotgun. I had it up, ready to fire, and I just...froze. If dad hadn't come in...."
"No. When... Dad sent us after it again -- that's when you told me about what happened. I didn't -- I don't -- have any memory of it myself. But I do remember... we went after it again and it got me... There was this light that was just taking everything and..." Sam looked up and met and held Dean's gaze. "You didn't freeze. You shot it. Saved me."
"We went after it?" Dean felt his heart beat faster. "You know where it is?"
"Not now." Sam frowned. "But in... five years, I think?... it'll be in Fitchburg, Wisconsin. But that's not the point."
"So we can go kill it." Dean didn't care about what Sam's point was -- it wasn't like Sam would shut up about it yet, anyway. But knowing that they could go kill the thing he'd let get away.... He could wait.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, in five years we can go kill it. But that's five years from now so can we focus on the present?"
"Focus on what? There's nothing to focus on. This was a really bad idea, and we're going home, and we're not talking about this again and in five years we go to Fitchburg. End of discussion." Dean tried to walk away from Sam so he could get dressed.
"Oh like hell it is," Sam growled, grabbing Dean's good shoulder and holding on tight. "We are talking about it and we're not going home and the only bad idea is the one about us forgetting about what we have."
Dean tried to pull free, but Sam wasn't letting go. He gave his brother a glare, and Sam just glowered back. "What do you want from me?" Dean ground out. "Every time I get something I want, bad things happen. I don't want to know what's going to happen if we--"
"So you do want it. Want me."
All Dean could think was, his brother had the most insane thought process. "Of course I want you," he snapped. "I told you I've been wanting you for the last two fucking years. But that doesn't mean I can have you!"
"I'm right here," Sam said, stepping closer, getting into Dean's personal space. "I'm saying you can. You want me, I want you, that's all that is important."
But Dean shook his head. "It doesn't... it won't work." He felt like he was begging, but he didn't know for what. "It's just...like I'm cursed or something. Whenever I want something -- it just...." He tried to step backwards, but Sam still wasn't letting him go.
"You're not cursed," Sam began hotly, then stopped and took a deep breath. "Okay, let's pretend for a minute that I believe the whole curse thing... you ever thought that maybe this -- us -- is what breaks it? I got these vision-memories that tell me that we can have this, and do, and nothing bad happens because of it. And for some reason, I've got that knowledge now. Which, to me, means that we're supposed to have each other this way. And maybe that's to show you you're not cursed."
"That's insane," Dean told him. Even as part of him was screaming to take the rationale Sam was handing him. But he didn't dare risk finding out what would go wrong. What would be worse than losing Sam all together? He found his brother's hand, and twined his fingers with Sam's. "I can't lose you, Sammy."
Sam squeezed his hand tightly. "You're not going to. You couldn't, even if you wanted to. And I'd watch who you were calling insane, curse-boy."
He opened his mouth to retort. Nothing came to mind, and he closed his eyes and let his head fall forward, coming to rest against Sam's cheek. "Dickhead," he whispered.
Sam pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him tightly. "So no more talk of leaving?"
"I don't want to," Dean said, not sure he'd said it loudly or clearly enough for Sam to hear. "But I'm--" He stopped, then forced himself to admit, "Afraid of what's going to happen."
"Hopefully what's going to happen is some really good sex."
Dean laughed again, and felt it change -- caught the sob in his chest, trying to stuff it down where it belonged. He tried to cling to Sam, one hand gripping Sam's hand and the other slipping on bare skin.
Sam held him tighter. "It's okay, Dean," he said, the hand Dean wasn't clutching moving to stroke the back of his neck again. "I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me. Whatever happens -- if anything does -- we'll deal with it together. Promise."
He wished he could believe Sam. That Sam knew, somehow -- had the ability and power to make it true. He felt his breath shudder, and tried to push it all back down, again, and instead of going away, it just began to shatter.
Dean closed his eyes and concentrated on the motion of Sam's hand on his neck. The way Sam's voice was so soft, and low, vibrations in his chest burrowing into Dean's own. His tears made Sam's skin wet, and he turned his face, but all he could do was bury himself in further.
Sam didn't seem to mind, just held him and continued murmuring softly, a strong presence for Dean to cling to as the emotional storm tried to drag him under.
"S'why I hate talking," Dean complained. He reached up and pressed his palms against his eyes, but it didn't seem to help. He did manage to take a deep breath. Then, not sure if Sam was through or not, he asked, "Can we just go back to bed?"
Sam chuckled, the sound rumbling pleasantly through his chest and into Dean's. "I wasn't the one who decided to get up in the first place."
"Shut up." He didn't manage to get any heat behind it, and he felt like if he could just lie down, he'd be able to sleep for a week. "You're the one who wouldn't go to sleep."
"That's because being with you makes me so...." Sam trailed off as if he couldn't find the right word, but his emotions were plain in his eyes.
"Chatty?" Dean supplied, not wanting to try to name what he saw, even though it made him feel warm. Loved. Instead he frowned. "Well, from now on you have to promise not to always talk after we have sex. Or I'll never get any sleep." He slipped away from Sam, except for the grip on his hand, and moved towards the bed.
Sam went with him willingly. "If it'll keep you from bolting for the hills, I think I can manage to keep the talking after sex to a minimum."
Dean just grunted his approval, and moved to the side of the bed. He let go of Sam's hand and laid down on his stomach, grabbing the pillow and stretching out. Sliding in beside him, Sam fitted himself around Dean like two puzzle pieces clicking. He sighed in contentment and kissed Dean's shoulder.
Dean thought he should say something. Thank you. Love you. He rubbed his face against the pillow, drying off his cheek.
"Shibbal nom," he whispered.
He felt more than heard his brother's breath of laughter. "Later," Sam promised.
~~~~
Dean woke up and noticed three things. The first was that he felt damn good, like he'd slept for about a year. The second was that it really was late in the morning.
The third was that the bed was empty.
As soon as he realised Sam was gone, he heard a soft noise and opened his eyes. Sam was just coming into the room. He was dressed in his usual t-shirt and jeans, but he was barefoot. In his hands he held two steaming mugs. "Figured you'd be waking up soon," he said, giving Dean a welcoming smile and one of the mugs.
"Whasszah?" Dean asked, rubbing his eyes and rolling over. He realised he hadn't shifted at all from the time he'd fallen asleep. The smell of coffee hit him, and he sat up as fast as he could, holding out his hand for the mug.
Sam chuckled and handed it over, then sat on the edge of the bed, sipping at his own mug. "Figured you'd need that, too."
Vaguely, Dean flipped him off, and held the mug under his nose. The steam and scent hit him full in the face and he sighed. When he pried his eyes open and took a sip, he discovered that Sam had actually made it properly -- black, and strong. Not that he wouldn't have bet Sam's mug had milk and sugar in it. "What time is it?" he asked, not really caring.
"About half past eleven. Guess you needed the sleep."
Dean stared at him. "In the morning?" Hell, he never slept that late -- except for when he didn't get to bed until six. But...he couldn't remember the last time he'd got over twelve hours of sleep in a row.
On the other hand, he remembered taking four painkillers, then having sex. Apparently he'd relaxed himself into a coma.
"That generally is when it's light out, yeah," Sam said dryly. He reached out and rested a hand on Dean's leg, still covered by the blanket. "Feeling better?"
Taking a moment to consider the question seriously, Dean finally smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." He took another sip of his coffee, and realised that he felt fantastic.
Sam let out a breath. "Good."
Dean looked at his brother closely. Sam was smiling a little, eyes clear and brown like they got when he was happy. He looked relaxed, though Dean could see the tiny thrum of awareness in him that meant that should anything happen, Sam would be prepared for it. It was a sensation Dean knew well, having had it drummed into him by age seven.
But today it wasn't anything to worry about. Not here, not now. Dean leaned back against the headboard and crooked a finger at his brother to come closer. Sam raised an eyebrow sardonically but nonetheless complied, shifting up the bed until the distance between them was measurable in inches. Dean reached up and placed a finger under Sam's chin, stroking lightly. Then he gave Sam a kiss.
Sam made a barely audible noise and kissed him back.
"So, almost noon?" Dean asked, trying not to sound like he was out of breath from a single, heart-stopping kiss.
"Yeah," Sam replied after a few blinks. "If you didn't wake up soon, I was going to come in here with a pail of ice water."
"And ruin this bed? I don't think so." Dean shook his head. "But since you asked, I am awake, and I want my steak for lunch. Well, breakfast."
Sam nodded as if in agreement and stood up. "Then you can shift your ass and come downstairs and help me cook."
Dean frowned. "I'm pretty sure that wasn't part of the agreement."
"Dean, you threw me in the lake. You're lucky I went and bought the steak at all."
Dean looked down, pouting just a little. He didn't know if Sam would take it as the joke it was meant, if he reminded Sam that he'd shot Dean. Or would, in the future. At that thought he looked up and asked, "How do I know you won't still shoot me?"
"You don't." Sam grinned at him. It wasn't a very reassuring expression; in fact it made Dean wonder if he should start ducking now. "Might want to remember that next time you get the urge to throw me in large bodies of water."
"Oh yeah?" Dean knew it wasn't his best retort as soon as it came out of his mouth. But Sam was grinning at him, and Dean was still feeling entirely too relaxed, and even if he had to do the cooking he was going to have steak for breakfast.
And if he wanted to, he could kiss Sam again, and pull him back into bed and maybe they wouldn't have breakfast at all. In fact, staring up at Sam grinning down at him, he decided he wanted to do that very much.
And for once, he reached for what he wanted, laughing as his brother willingly tumbled down with him and proceeded to take his breath away all over again.
Hell, the steaks could wait until dinner, after all.
the end