Fic: Night, R, Sam/Dean, 4x04
Title: Night
Author: britomart_is
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Spoilers: Through 4.04
They haven't slept in the same bed since Dean's first day back from hell. They've fucked, yes-they've fucked on every surface, in the shower, against the car. At times when they have other work to do, at times when neither of them is really in the mood.
By their old standards, at least, they're never in the mood now. Not for laughing and wrestling in the sheets and fucking with their eyes open, foreheads pressed together, breath intermingling for hours. But they touch. Sam curls around Dean from behind, covers his whole body like he's taking a bullet for him, pushes into him and thinks that maybe the flush of orgasm will make things the way they were. Dean stops Sam before he can get into the car, pushes him against cold metal and presses every inch of their bodies together, drops his head to the crook of Sam's neck and shoulder so no one has to be the one avoiding eye contact. They're fucking like strangers who once loved each other.
But that realization is too fucking wrong for Sam to even think about, so they keep doing it.
Afterglow is nonexistent, and they take separate beds to sleep without comment. Maybe Dean thinks Sam doesn't notice the way he falls in and out of sleep now, gets up and paces, stretches awkwardly on top of the covers like he knows it's pointless to get comfortable. Sometimes Dean goes out-never for long, but every moment is interminable. Dean in a hostile world and Sam feigning sleep, feigning ignorance of danger.
And Sam, of course, is always watching-to see if Dean will finally crack, sometimes. Sometimes just to see when Dean's finally pushed his body too far and has to sleep, and then Sam can slip away. Do the work he needs to do. Find her, because there's nowhere she can hide where he won't hunt her down. Sam will exorcise every demon on this plane, burn through them all until it's just him and her and she'll give him back those four months lost-no, more than that. Four months and a year of impending doom. Four months, a year, and six months of misery in the time loop. She'll give it back, and give back his brother, like it was before they were strangers. And she'll burn anyway.
Sam watches Dean, lying on the bed with his boots on, and doesn't know who this man is. The rituals of nighttime have changed, and Sam can't sleep. He can't pray, not when he's not sure who's listening. He can't fall asleep feeling Dean's heartbeat. It's too quiet. Not cramped and uncomfortable enough in the bed. No risk of being drooled on. It's just Sam, and when he wakes up alone in that bed, he forgets-every time, he forgets, and he's alone.
There is no rest.
Author: britomart_is
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Spoilers: Through 4.04
They haven't slept in the same bed since Dean's first day back from hell. They've fucked, yes-they've fucked on every surface, in the shower, against the car. At times when they have other work to do, at times when neither of them is really in the mood.
By their old standards, at least, they're never in the mood now. Not for laughing and wrestling in the sheets and fucking with their eyes open, foreheads pressed together, breath intermingling for hours. But they touch. Sam curls around Dean from behind, covers his whole body like he's taking a bullet for him, pushes into him and thinks that maybe the flush of orgasm will make things the way they were. Dean stops Sam before he can get into the car, pushes him against cold metal and presses every inch of their bodies together, drops his head to the crook of Sam's neck and shoulder so no one has to be the one avoiding eye contact. They're fucking like strangers who once loved each other.
But that realization is too fucking wrong for Sam to even think about, so they keep doing it.
Afterglow is nonexistent, and they take separate beds to sleep without comment. Maybe Dean thinks Sam doesn't notice the way he falls in and out of sleep now, gets up and paces, stretches awkwardly on top of the covers like he knows it's pointless to get comfortable. Sometimes Dean goes out-never for long, but every moment is interminable. Dean in a hostile world and Sam feigning sleep, feigning ignorance of danger.
And Sam, of course, is always watching-to see if Dean will finally crack, sometimes. Sometimes just to see when Dean's finally pushed his body too far and has to sleep, and then Sam can slip away. Do the work he needs to do. Find her, because there's nowhere she can hide where he won't hunt her down. Sam will exorcise every demon on this plane, burn through them all until it's just him and her and she'll give him back those four months lost-no, more than that. Four months and a year of impending doom. Four months, a year, and six months of misery in the time loop. She'll give it back, and give back his brother, like it was before they were strangers. And she'll burn anyway.
Sam watches Dean, lying on the bed with his boots on, and doesn't know who this man is. The rituals of nighttime have changed, and Sam can't sleep. He can't pray, not when he's not sure who's listening. He can't fall asleep feeling Dean's heartbeat. It's too quiet. Not cramped and uncomfortable enough in the bed. No risk of being drooled on. It's just Sam, and when he wakes up alone in that bed, he forgets-every time, he forgets, and he's alone.
There is no rest.