Dean Visits Stanford
Title: Dean visits Stanford: second visit
Author: Celtic_Forest
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Word count: 6,647
Summary: Dean just can't seem to stay away. Not that Sam minds…
Notes: The boys aren't mine; I make no money.
Each "visit" can stand alone, which is why I'm not calling them chapters. There will be at least one more visit after this one.
The first visit is here
UPDATE: The third & final visit is here.
Just as he had done on his previous visit, Dean arrived in town late, gone to the first motel listed in the phone book ("The Adobe") and checked in as Jim Rockford. "Motel Mud," he mentally dubbed it. Seriously, this price for a place made of mud, straw, and who knows what else? He'd stayed in a lot of strange motels, but he'd never shuddered to think of the actual construction material. He got a single room with a queen bed, which was cheaper than the doubles. The lack of a second bed was a stab of loneliness, but he firmly told himself to suck it up. He salted the door and window, then fell asleep easily. He'd see Sam tomorrow, three years after his last visit.
After a shower, a visit to the motel's crappy continental breakfast, and a look at a map, Dean headed to campus. The thought of seeing Sam again moved him with urgency beyond his usual high energy. Beyond what most brothers would feel? "It was a hypothetical question," he firmly informed the annoying part of his brain that would never shut its cakehole when he was thinking of Sam.
Dean came to ask Sam to help find Dad. He'd been gone for three weeks, enough to worry Dean, but Dad had been gone this long before and this probably wasn't an emergency. He doesn't know anything about how Sam is doing, so he'll take time to do the recon he's trained for. If he does end up talking to him, he hopes Sam will forgive him for spying on him. Dean has to admit to himself that he doesn't know, anymore, what Sammy would or wouldn't forgive him for.
Debating whether his sunglasses would make Sam more or less likely to notice him, as he looked around at the people moving past him he realized what would do the trick. A used bookstore just off campus sells used backpacks. Dean filled one with a couple of old newspapers and was on his way. Sam's address was listed in the university directory (that kid!) and, not knowing his class schedule, Dean targets Sam's address first.
His timing, as always, was perfect (he not quite accurately congratulates himself); Sam is coming out the door. Wow - his "little" brother has really filled out; he's more buff than Dean himself ("well excuse me for having powers of observation," he interrupts the voice in his head.)
~*~
There's no issue of seeing Dean, who's leaning against the opposite side of a tree. His ingrained hunter's awareness is barely functioning as thoughts spin through his mind. He'd come to Stanford to learn, and to expand his experience to encompass a part of life he knew he didn't want to miss, not to run away from his father and the family business (well, partly not that). He'd just finished taking his LSATs and it was time to think about the future.
When he left "home" (the motel du jour) he certainly hadn't been running from Dean. He'd started loving Dean before his conscious memories began, and he'd never stopped. More than three years of the silent treatment threatened to turn his feelings bitter, but he fought that. He could have picked up the phone himself. If the number didn't work anymore he could have called Bobby. He hadn't, and no matter how many excuses he made, his gut told him that it was because Dean hadn't cared what happened to him when he first got to Stanford.
All his life, Dean had taken care of him; in retrospect, perhaps more than Dean had taken care of himself. He hadn't noticed it, in the way a fish doesn't notice water until the fish flops out of the bowl and into college where it has to take care of itself. Intellectually he knew it was unreasonable to expect more from Dean than he'd already given. When he looked back, and filtered out the big brother teasing, he couldn't remember a time when Dean had put himself before Sam. It was the suddenness with which Dean stopped caring, when he left for school, whether he was safe, or happy, that almost made him doubt whether any of it had been real in the first place.
Now Sam looked up, suddenly realizing how inattentive to his surroundings he'd been. His past had been on his mind lately, which might be why he turned around with the feeling he wasn't alone. Despite the logic that the majority of his brain seemed so good at, he knew it was possible to feel someone's eyes on him. It had saved him on a hunt more than once, but what stands out for him is that it once let him save Dean's life. He owes him that many times over, but at least he'd seen gratitude, and brotherly pride, in Dean's eyes. Those eyes had held no trace of the mask of cocky optimism he put on almost as subconsciously as breathing. It was the achievement Sam was most proud of; getting into Stanford with his scholarships lagged a distant second.
Despite sensing eyes somewhere, Sam didn't feel any threat, and continued to the library. Just as he found a secluded chair, he had another vision.
As in the others, Jess was on the ceiling over the bed, bleeding, and then she burst into flames. Exactly like Mom. These had first occurred in his sleep, and he dismissed them as nightmares, possibly brought on by a fear of becoming close to a woman for the first time in his life. But they felt so real, and they'd recently begun happening during the day. He wished he could dismiss the idea of visions as absurd, like most people would, but he had personally met psychics.
He couldn't just ignore them, for myriad reasons. One was the feeling that he couldn't protect her. When he'd admitted to himself that they might actually be visions, he'd laid down salt lines at the entrances to the apartment they'd moved into together only a month ago. He was able to conceal the lines from her (so far), but when they were shopping she'd joked that even with as much food as he ate, they couldn't possibly need that much salt. He'd mumbled something about stocking up, and kicked himself for not making a separate trip to get it. For him it was normal to get large amounts of salt on a grocery run, along with cereal and peanut butter. How much longer could he try to convince himself that there was any normal for him other than what he'd known all his life?
It wasn't just that he couldn't protect her, it was that he felt he was bringing the danger to her in the first place. If it was the yellow-eyed demon, the coincidence was too much, and the salt lines too little. He'd begun to wonder if he should leave her.
There were deeper reasons for this, he admitted, when he allowed himself to think about it. Sam had met Jessica over a year ago, when his friend Nathan had set them up. As much as Sam hated setups, at least he'd finally convinced Nathan that he wasn't gay, and he might as well stop hitting on him. When Sam and Nathan first became friends, and Nathan told him how lonely he seemed, maybe it wasn't just a line. But if he was lonely, it was for someone he could never have. Brushing that thought aside, Sam had considered the possibility that a cute girl like Jessica was just what he needed to help him stay focused on the life he was determined to pursue. He had been drawn to Jess because she was sweet and open, like she'd never carried dark secrets. It would take him a year to understand that he loved her more for what she wasn't than for who she was.
Jess symbolized a life that wasn't really his. Was that fair to someone who seemed to love him? He hadn't even told her anything about his past or his family, for God's sake. She couldn't truly love someone she didn't really know, and he couldn't truly love a symbol. That would have been enough reason to break up, but there was more.
With a deep breath Sam decided that, now that he was giving real thought to all of this, he might as well go all the way. He loved Dean in a way that brothers shouldn't. He knew from psych 101 that the kind of childhood they'd had; in which Dean, so close to his own age, was all he'd ever known of comfort, of happy memories, and of someone he could rely on; had created a propensity for intra-generational… (he winced) incest. Add to that their often sleeping in the same bed throughout puberty (he flashed a grin in response to the memories) and he understood why he could feel something that other siblings couldn't. But the only important one was Dean, and he didn't feel it, so Sam was stuck loving someone else far more than he could ever love Jess. It was time to end it.
~*~
Dean was waiting for Sam to come out of the library. He'd walked around it, and there were three main exits, including the single entrance. From where he was, leaning his hip against a fence, he could see the main door plus the people after they'd come out of one of the other doors. Close enough for jazz. He could pick up Sam's trail later if he had to - he'd know which way he had gone if he'd left by that third door, and he figured Sam couldn't stay in the library much longer than an hour, because he'd have classes.
Dean had already scouted the area for dangers, and was still watching, but was mainly people-watching. Well, ok, hot-people watching. Mainly girls, but he had seen two guys he would have done. A girl with long wavy blond hair and big tits sat down on a bench near him. He wouldn't turn down a one night stand, but as a long term girl she looked high-maintenance. Not that he was interested in long term anyway.
Out of the corner of the eye that was on the main door he saw Sam coming out. Dean got ready to follow, but Sam was headed straight toward him. Shit. He knew walking away wasn't going to work because Sammy would recognize his walk; he had always laughed at Dean's attempts to change it for if he needed a disguise or something. So he turned his back and let his worn backpack be his disguise. Sam came up to the bench the blond was on, and as Dean glanced over, she kissed him.
Dean fell over the fence.
Fuckingshitcrapgoddammit! Now he had to walk away, but he stopped every couple of steps to brush at the dirt and the grass stains, so hopefully it wasn't him Sam would see, just a clumsy-ass stranger. He went around the other side of one of the stupid billboard sort of things that were everywhere, covered with fliers. He pulled a couple off, then continued around a little, looking at Sam around the edge. He was talking to the girl with a look on his face that made Dean want to go to him (which he *wasn't* going to do, so shut UP brain). What he did do was circle around to a bench that had its back toward Sam's. Sam was really focused on his conversation, plus his back was to Dean, so he risked getting close.
He sat down and held up the fliers a little, one near each side of his face. The trick made a little of the sound bounce back to his ears, helping him hear what was going on.
"I'm sorry Jess, I just can't any more."
"You already said that, Sam. I'm asking *why?* What is it? I deserve to know what's going on."
"Yeah, you do."
"Damned straight!"
Sam thought, the first yes, the second… was complicated. "I'm just… I'm not who you think I am, in a lot of ways. And I'm not sure anymore if I belong here at all."
"What? Since when? Sam, we love each other. How can we not belong together? If you really have to leave Stanford for some reason, I'll come with you."
Dean snorted, but quickly turned it into a quiet cough.
"Listen, Jess, our relationship isn't fair to you. I can't explain why, but I'm asking you to trust me that it's true. "
Dean heard the girl's quiet crying, but he didn't roll his eyes. He could tell this was hurting Sammy, and he could understand that "Jess" had reason enough to be upset.
"I honestly never meant to hurt you, Jessica."
"Well, bang-up job on that."
Ok, Dean liked her a little.
"How could you think this wouldn't hurt me, Sam? I thought we might have a future together."
"I'm so sorry Jess."
"Well don't give me the 'let's be friends' speech, it's crap as far as I'm concerned. Just get your stuff out of the apartment tonight and go."
"I'm sorry."
"I heard you the first five times. I want an explanation, but if you don't care enough about me to give one, that's something you'll have to live with. Goodbye Sam." Even through her anger, her voice cracked with her other emotions.
Dean heard someone get up and leave, and risked a quick glance over. The Jess girl was striding away, toward the apartment Sam had come out of this morning, and Sam was sitting with his head between his hands. His first thought was that Sam wouldn't be any good on a hunt for a couple of days. He hated himself for that. He knew in his gut that focusing everything on hunting, even before family, like his Dad did, was wrong. But for Dean, hunting was the only way he could hold onto his family.
Except he hadn't managed to hold onto Sammy.
A long time ago he'd begun having feelings for Sam that went beyond brotherhood. (For once, he was flat out agreeing with the part of his brain that constantly urged him toward Sammy, so it actually did shut up.) A year or so after that, in defeat he'd admitted to himself that he couldn't stop the feelings, only shove them down deep and try to ignore his twisted sickness. He wasn't stupid (except compared to Sam, he thought with pride in his brother, who'd gotten into a place like Stanford even though he'd had to do it in the middle of a hunter lifestyle). With Mom gone and Dad, he had to admit to himself in this little trip to honestyville, more focused on his obsession with the yellow-eyed demon than he'd been on raising his sons, they'd become consolation and partners to each other. In their extreme circumstances maybe it wasn't so far a leap to the multiple forms of love Dean felt for Sam, but he knew that no tower of flimsy excuses could make his feelings ok. Sammy would probably throw up if he ever knew. Dean would make sure he never did.
Dean decided not to go to Sammy now. He might need time to process things in that giant head of his. In addition to breaking up with someone he was actually living with, he mentioned something about not belonging here. The sudden appearance of the brother Sam hadn't contacted in years would probably just make things harder on him. Feeling like crap, Dean kept following him, but from a greater distance.
~*~
When Sam left the apartment he found he owned only as much as he could carry. He was, after all, still a Winchester, and didn't accumulate possessions. With books weighing down his two duffle bags, he walked slowly down the sidewalk and wondered what to do next. I want to be with Dean, came a whisper from his heart. But in his great analysis earlier today, which put him in this situation in the first place, Dean having ignored him after he came to Stanford lead Sam to wonder if Dean ever really cared about him as much as he'd thought. Maybe the relationship he imagined they'd had wasn't even real. But if that was true, why was he crying now? Why did that thought hurt even more than seeing Jessica's eyes when they'd said goodbye?
Dean watched Sam, and worried about him because he was clearly paying no attention to any dangers that might be around him, and was carrying bags that human scumbags would probably realize contained a few valuables. But Dean was there, ready to protect him if he needed it. When Dean realized Sam was actually crying, he said to the Impala, "Sam's got to be the only person around who can have a chick flick moment all by himself!" If she noticed the crack in his voice, she didn't say anything about it.
Sam needed a place to stay tonight, but didn't want to deal with his friends, even though they would willingly give him a spot on the floor. Well, except Nathan, who would probably offer to share the bed. That brought a small smile. Out of nostalgia, he decided the place to go was the first motel in the phonebook. He'd memorized the address at the end of his freshman year - no why or why not, he just did. The half-smile came back as he decided he would register under the name Jim Rockford, just to stick with the theme. He stopped crying, turned around, and headed for a bus stop that had a line that would get him reasonably close.
Dean followed the bus, becoming more and more sure of where Sam was headed. Not because Dean was staying there - he was sure Sam hadn't made him, although he might have if he hadn't been so distracted all day. His Sammy was still and always a Winchester, and some of what he'd overheard today made sense if Sam was finally realizing that himself. Nevertheless, Dean would regret it if Sammy left school for good. College might not be his thing, but that didn't mean he couldn't see its value for people like Sam.
Eventually Dean just pulled in to his parking spot and went in his room. He'd made note of the location of the bus stop, so if either Sam Winchester or a second Jim Rockford didn't check into the motel soon he'd know where to look. He was actually getting nervous; he didn't know what he'd do if/when Sammy checked in. It would be time to stop hiding, and talk to him, he knew that. He just didn't know what to say.
When Sam got to the motel he didn't intentionally look around for the Impala, but did so before he even realized it. When he saw it, he felt tears of release flow. God, what was wrong with him? He didn't even cry when he broke up with Jess, now he's turned on the waterworks twice tonight.
He needed Dean, and Dean is here, and that means everything. He could hear Dean's voice in his head making fun of him about solo chick flick moments, and he's crying with laughter and joy now. Dean can call him Bitch all he wants; the best Sam will be able to do is leave out the tears but he'll savor the joy.
The parking lot's almost full, and the spaces labeled for specific rooms, so he knows where Dean is. He stops the tears (a skill learned early in John Winchester's household), then pounds on the door, making it vibrate as though this were a police raid or something, grinning as he pictures Dean jumping up holding a gun just in case. He's not particularly worried about getting shot, because Dean knows most monsters don’t knock.
Instead, Dean gets the drop on him, as he seemingly simultaneously flings open the door and slams Sam sideways with a full-body tackle. Sam is instantly a teenager again, when wrestling with his brother was his favorite aspect of their military-style training, except this time he's laughing so hard he can't quite keep up his end. Soon, Dean pins him.
"What's the matter Sammy, is getting your ass kicked funny, now that it's so easy?"
While Dean is distracted shooting off his mouth, Sam flips them and pins Dean. Then, with laughter still dying away, he gives Dean a hand up from the floor.
"Dean, what are you doing here?" Sam asks, retrieving his bags and closing the door.
"What, here in Motel Mud?" he asked, avoiding real conversation, in patented Dean Winchester style.
"OK, let's start there. Adobe? *You’re* staying in a place you'd consider to be made of mud?"
"Actually it's not too bad. It fights off some of the heat when it's hot out, and helps keep the room warm for at least the first half of the night when the temperature drops."
"How do you know? Have you hunted a Pueblan spirit, or something?" Sam doesn't know whether he's being sarcastic or curious. Probably both.
"I always stay here when I'm in town. Turns out the mud has its upside."
The unexpected words, about coming before, slam Sam into one of the chairs at the small table, with a clumsy half-step backward.
"Dude, are you still tripping over your own legs? I thought you grew out of that. Oaf."
Sam's eyes shine when he looks up at his big brother and softly says, "Jerk. When were you here before?"
Dean shifts uncomfortably; "well, I had to made sure you were doing ok when you were starting out with stuff here. No big deal." Dean would make a joke, but he's too thrown to come up with something before Sam says, "it's a very big deal to me."
Dean couldn't say anything to that, so clearly a change of subject was in order (as was stifling that part of his brain that, though sometimes sarcastic, was never anything but honest about Sam.) "So… you're at a motel tonight."
"I broke up with my girlfriend today. Had to move out of the apartment."
"Um - yeah, actually I was around for some of that. Like I said, I wanted to make sure you were ok."
"You were SPYING on me? You JERK! I am so getting you back for that!"
Changing the subject yet again, Dean tries "Ah, you were way out of her league anyway."
Sam snorts, "no, I wasn't."
"Of course you weren't, you freak. What did she see in you, anyway? I know - probably your family resemblance to me."
Sam, staring at him unbelievingly, says "this is your idea of cheering someone up?"
In a softer voice, Dean said, "you're in a league of your own, Sammy." Then the inevitable backing off: "In fact, you'd be Gina Davis if you could throw straight."
"Yeah, well you're Lori Petty, tank-boy."
With a cocky smile Dean said, "you're not wrong." Then his face took on a confused look as he tried to sort out exactly what he'd just agreed to, making Sam laugh out loud. Dean figured Sam laughing was good enough for him, and dropped the subject - until he realized he'd revealed knowledge of a chick-flick, and gave Sam a thwap on the back of the head just on principle.
"Have you eaten, Sammy?"
Always taking care of him. "Not hungry. You?"
"I had a sandwich from a snack place on campus."
"You on campus - it sort of makes my world tilt on its axis."
"Hey, you wouldn't be the first person to say I rocked their world," he said with a grin. To his *brother.* Dean resolutely ignored the applause from the part of his brain he really, really needed to ignore right about now.
"You were that klutz who fell over the fence, weren't you?! And now you're teasing me about tripping over my legs?
"You know, I was kind of in the middle of something back there."
"Yeah. I was watching for you to come out of the library, and just my luck you came right up to me. Then that blond was kissing you, and the next thing I knew I was on my ass." Dean shrugged awkwardly. "Anyway, if you don't need to eat first, have you checked into a room here? Or, do you want to try to get a double room?"
They both look out at the parking lot, and from their long experience with motels, they can see that the chances of any extra rooms tonight are slim. They turn from the window and look at each other.
Taking maybe the biggest gamble of his life, Sam looks Dean straight in the eye and says, "one bed works for me."
After his mouth drops open, Dean snaps it shut, then licks his lips.
Sam is hit full force: no denying it, no continuing to repress it or explain it away. He'd watched that perfect mouth react to his words, and now he's hard as a rock.
Dean opens up, hoping a joke will materialize that will make this all go away. But the way Sam's looking at his lips makes him snap shut again, and give up on the -keep ignoring the part of his brain that can't deny he wants this- approach. But not ignoring it doesn't mean doing… what they can't. "Sammy…"
"Yeah?" His voice comes out low and rougher than either of them expect, and he takes a step toward Dean.
Dean stifles a groan. They're standing at a cliff edge he's keep away from for years, the effort sometimes taking every shred of strength (or sanity?) he had.
Sam heard the groan that wasn't quite there, in response to the arousal in his own voice. His breathing became slightly faster, and his brain suddenly started to backpedal / maybe it's not too late, all I said was that we don't have to hassle trying to change rooms when there probably isn't one, we shouldn't / but finally knowing what, for himself, was right, he stifled THOSE thoughts for once, rather than stifling their opposite. Every inch of his skin tingled and he was completely focused on this moment. His heart was in charge, and his brain would have to just sit back and watch the show.
"We," Dean began, and Sam took the final step closing the distance between them. "We." he agreed.
Dean let out his breath, and looked into Sam's eyes. There was no word for what he saw, because there was no word for everything they had always been for each other. It was all there in those depths, and now this new potential fit like the final piece of the puzzle. Shooting a "thank you" to the part of his brain that had never shut up, Dean reached up and brushed back Sam's hair, stroking his forehead and down the side of his face.
That touch condensed the electric tingling Sam felt all over his body into a single blaze. He closed his eyes and felt his world click into place at last. His brain heckled from the cheap seats: 1, since when did you turn into a living greeting card, and B, why the hell are your eyes closed and missing the view?
Smart as always, his brain was right about the view when he immediately opened his eyes. Sam's love had nothing to do with Dean's looks, but damn, they were a bonus. He looked like a model. Sam started to smile and didn't stop until he was grinning. He was standing there in the middle of Motel Mud, grinning at his brother, with a hard-on.
Dean fidgeted a bit but smiled back, until Sam began full-on laughing. Confused, Dean began, "what th_" when Sam grabbed his face and kissed him. Which reminded him that it was Dean's lips that had so precipitously diverted his bloodflow in the first place, making him break the kiss to laugh again.
"Shut up and keep kissing me, Sasquatch!" Dean used one arm to pull Sam's body to him, and the other hand to cradle the back of his head. The combined sensations of his lips moving against Sam's and feeling the hard press of the erection against his groin combined to send sparks in front of Dean's eyes and make his already half-hard cock join his brothers' condition. As they pressed together, Sam gasped.
Trying to tease him, but in a tone too gentle, Dean asked, "not laughing now?"
"Nope, just happy."
"That I can feel for myself."
"Jerk," Sam replied, with a sparkle in his eyes.
"Bitch," came back with a smile.
They simultaneously realized that with all this conversation, there was no kissing, which they remedied immediately.
Dean sucked Sam's lower lip, and knew he'd be a push-over for anything Sam pouted about from now on. Sam ran the tip of his tongue across the length of Dean's upper lip, sending shivers down Dean's spine and into his cock. Sam welcomed Dean's tongue into his mouth and sucked it gently while Dean explored. Their tongues stroked, and their hips began to rock together.
Without breaking their kiss, Dean stepped, and turned Sam so his back was leaning against the wall. Dean pressed their bodies closer, and they both groaned. Sam spread his legs, making space for Dean to stand between them, and also compensating for his height just enough for them to thrust against each other perfectly. They needed to breath, and moved their heads to press the sides of their faces together as their hands each found their mate and entwined fingers. With their hands clasped, elbows bent upward, and forearms pressed together, they had even more control and power in rubbing their erections together, and their rhythm intensified. Their lips and tongues continued to kiss, explore, ghost over ears, and travel down one another's necks.
When their rhythm and their breathing became more ragged, each sought the other's eyes. "I'm going to " "I can't " "Oh God!" and they each shouted the other's name as they came.
Leaning against the wall, they savored the trailing away of their orgasms, then wrapped themselves together and kissed gently.
After a while Sam began to suspect that Dean wasn't actually so much snuggling, as not wanting to have to move. He would be able to sympathize if he weren't the one bearing the brunt of Dean's weight.
"Uh, Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"Would you mind moving so I can breath?"
"Yeah."
Sam waited. "So, that was a literal, 'yes, you would mind'?"
Dean pried his eyes open. "What?"
Sam gave up; he figured Dean would probably move eventually. "That was, without question, the best sex I've ever had while fully clothed."
Dean thought about it. "We forgot the clothes part?"
"Are you missing any?"
"Huh. Wow."
"Yeah, wow." He stroked the hair over Dean's right ear.
"Dibs on first shower."
Sam sighed. His brother hadn't changed, lover or no. "Do we really have to take turns?"
"You're just saying that because you didn't call firsts." Then, with a mischievous look, Dean stood up from where he was pinning Sam to the wall, took his hand, and led him toward the shower. "Think this will be the best shower you've ever had 'while fully clothed'?"
"Why would…" Sam began, before Dean's leer clued him in.
Dean unbuttoned Sam's outer shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, then pulled his t-shirt off over his head, with Sam raising his arms to help. Dean stroked the side of Sam's face, then ran his hands over Sam's chest and arms, ending the caress where it had begun, on his face. "You look good, Sammy."
Absurdly, for the first time that evening, that was the thing that made him blush.
They undressed each other unhurriedly, a process that was intimate but sticky.
As they washed each other, Sam began to get sleepy under the warm water, and finally yawned.
"Sorry, am I boring you?"
Sam kissed Dean, then said, "I'm sorry. Long day, I guess." They began to towel off.
Thinking of the emotional rollercoaster Sam had been on today, and how much he'd been through, Dean said, "I'm sorry about Jessica."
"Thanks. I'll be ok - hey! You don't think anything that happened here was some kind of rebound crap, do you?"
"On my end it was the 'culmination,' as you college boys would say, of years of wanting you but thinking I could never have you. I don't really know what else it was."
Sam saw honesty and some doubt in his brother's eyes. "Dean, I broke up with her because I could never really love her - because I already loved you."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "And how did she take that?"
"Well I didn't exactly say it that way!"
Dean quirked his eyebrow again and Sam rolled his eyes, realizing that now his brother was trying to make him exasperated on purpose.
Naked and holding hands, they went to bed. As he lay down on the soft sheets and pillow, Sam realized he really was exhausted. Dean crawled in and spooned him, and stroked his damp hair. He kissed Sam's forehead, at the spot Sam already associated with Dean from the blaze of his earlier touch. Dean created the same blaze in his heart when he whispered in his ear, "I love you, too, Sammy. I always have." Sam drifted to sleep, warmed inside by Dean's words, and outside by his body as Dean held him in his arms.
~*~
When Dean woke up, Sam wasn't in the room or the bathroom. Dean's gut clenched. How could he have done that to Sammy? He'd sworn to himself that he'd never touch him that way. True, Sam had seemed to want him just as much, but that was after a fucked-up day of emotions - breaking up with his girlfriend, moving out, then seeing him. Sam had probably just needed comfort, as he had so often when he was younger, but had confused it with wanting sex. He wondered if he'd ever see Sammy again, after what Dean had done. Sam's bags were where he'd left them, but he could have taken just a few things with him so he could travel light.
Dean had pulled on a pair of jeans and begun walking in circles as he tried to figure out what to do, when Sam walked in. He was holding an apple, two bananas, a cheese danish (which turned out to be stale), and balancing two styrofoam cups, one of which had a string hanging from it. The beautiful aroma of coffee followed him in.
Dean would have run over and thrown his arms around him, had he not been Dean. Plus it would have spilled the coffee. "Out making yourself useful?"
"One of the benefits of staying at a place that isn't the cheapest in town is that they have a continental breakfast."
"Damned straight," Dean said, but Sam was beginning to think neither was true after all.
"You're welcome," Sam said pointedly, as he put a banana, the danish, and a cup of coffee on the side of the small table closest to Dean.
"Was the string for the coffee free too, or was it extra?"
Sam gave his brother the look that that comment deserved. "All they had to put in coffee was that non-dairy creamer crap, so I got tea instead. Get over it."
"There's your problem Sammy - you want to put crap in your coffee even though God made it black."
"Get. Over. It."
They ate their small breakfast in silence. Dean was just trying not to melt into a puddle on the floor with relief that he apparently hadn't lost Sammy forever, although he had no idea whether Sam regretted last night or not. The fact that Sam kept smiling at him might have been a clue, if Dean had been able to get past: he didn't leave!
Dean started awkwardly, "so do you think," he had to clear his throat, "think you might stick around?"
Sam replied, "I've been giving that a lot of thought, and I think I probably won't." Oblivious to Dean's near-death experience, he continued, "I just feel like I've been in one spot for too long. Like it's time to move on and, and - I don't know. Especially after last night."
Dean gurgled.
Looking at the table and his cold tea, Sam said, "You'll probably give me shit about this forever, but when I try to think of where I want to be, it's not a place." He looked up at Dean through his bangs, and hesitantly said, "I kinda just want to be with you."
The words were like heaven to Dean, and he damn well didn't care how shmoopy he was being. He had to take care of Sammy, though, and that meant making sure Sam knew what he was doing. He hated it when he had to be the level-headed one.
He looked Sam in the eye, because as much as he hated talking about stuff like this, he had to get through to him. Maybe through an infatuation, or mid-semester burnout, or some unique Sammy thing. He had to make him really understand what he was saying.
"Sam, you should think about this. You don't have that much college left, and I don't want you to throw it away. I'll bet you got great LSAT scores."
"I thought you hated that I went to college! And how do you know about the LSAT?"
"I pay attention. Shut up and let me finish, pipsqueak. At least you should talk to the university and see if you can arrange for some kind of time off, or taking incompletes or whatever. If you're serious about leaving, I mean."
"And I don't know if you're thinking of last night as a one-time thing because we'd just seen each other after so long, or were lonely, or whatever. If you are, I gotta be honest, Sammy - I don't know if I could handle that, because I want you so bad I don't know whether to jump you or break into poetry, and if you ever tell anyone I said that I'll fucking kill you."
"You'd never hurt me."
"What part of 'shut up and let me finish' do you not understand, Brainiac?" Dean continued: "This thing between us - you know that if dad ever found out, our lives would never be the same. We'd never be a family again." That last came out almost a whisper.
Dean took a deep breath, and finished with, "This isn't right, Sammy. Brothers don't do this shit." He finally had to look away. "I'm afraid that if I let this go on, you'll end up hating me, or we'll be so screwed up that we'll tear each other a new one, and end up not talking for years. More years."
Sam understood how important this communication was to Dean, because he was actually communicating. So he took it seriously, and when he was ready to answer he wore a small smile rather than a grin. But he had to say what he had to say.
"Don't worry, I'm a lover not a fighter" got a snort from Dean. "I think it's premature to tear ourselves new ones, when we haven't even had a chance to try out our first ones" got that unbelievable mouth to drop open again, and Sam leaned over the table to snag the bottom lip in a short kiss. Finally, Sam stood up and said, "I know what I'm doing. More importantly, in the interest of saving the world from your poetry, get ready to be jumped."
Author: Celtic_Forest
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Word count: 6,647
Summary: Dean just can't seem to stay away. Not that Sam minds…
Notes: The boys aren't mine; I make no money.
Each "visit" can stand alone, which is why I'm not calling them chapters. There will be at least one more visit after this one.
The first visit is here
UPDATE: The third & final visit is here.
Just as he had done on his previous visit, Dean arrived in town late, gone to the first motel listed in the phone book ("The Adobe") and checked in as Jim Rockford. "Motel Mud," he mentally dubbed it. Seriously, this price for a place made of mud, straw, and who knows what else? He'd stayed in a lot of strange motels, but he'd never shuddered to think of the actual construction material. He got a single room with a queen bed, which was cheaper than the doubles. The lack of a second bed was a stab of loneliness, but he firmly told himself to suck it up. He salted the door and window, then fell asleep easily. He'd see Sam tomorrow, three years after his last visit.
After a shower, a visit to the motel's crappy continental breakfast, and a look at a map, Dean headed to campus. The thought of seeing Sam again moved him with urgency beyond his usual high energy. Beyond what most brothers would feel? "It was a hypothetical question," he firmly informed the annoying part of his brain that would never shut its cakehole when he was thinking of Sam.
Dean came to ask Sam to help find Dad. He'd been gone for three weeks, enough to worry Dean, but Dad had been gone this long before and this probably wasn't an emergency. He doesn't know anything about how Sam is doing, so he'll take time to do the recon he's trained for. If he does end up talking to him, he hopes Sam will forgive him for spying on him. Dean has to admit to himself that he doesn't know, anymore, what Sammy would or wouldn't forgive him for.
Debating whether his sunglasses would make Sam more or less likely to notice him, as he looked around at the people moving past him he realized what would do the trick. A used bookstore just off campus sells used backpacks. Dean filled one with a couple of old newspapers and was on his way. Sam's address was listed in the university directory (that kid!) and, not knowing his class schedule, Dean targets Sam's address first.
His timing, as always, was perfect (he not quite accurately congratulates himself); Sam is coming out the door. Wow - his "little" brother has really filled out; he's more buff than Dean himself ("well excuse me for having powers of observation," he interrupts the voice in his head.)
~*~
There's no issue of seeing Dean, who's leaning against the opposite side of a tree. His ingrained hunter's awareness is barely functioning as thoughts spin through his mind. He'd come to Stanford to learn, and to expand his experience to encompass a part of life he knew he didn't want to miss, not to run away from his father and the family business (well, partly not that). He'd just finished taking his LSATs and it was time to think about the future.
When he left "home" (the motel du jour) he certainly hadn't been running from Dean. He'd started loving Dean before his conscious memories began, and he'd never stopped. More than three years of the silent treatment threatened to turn his feelings bitter, but he fought that. He could have picked up the phone himself. If the number didn't work anymore he could have called Bobby. He hadn't, and no matter how many excuses he made, his gut told him that it was because Dean hadn't cared what happened to him when he first got to Stanford.
All his life, Dean had taken care of him; in retrospect, perhaps more than Dean had taken care of himself. He hadn't noticed it, in the way a fish doesn't notice water until the fish flops out of the bowl and into college where it has to take care of itself. Intellectually he knew it was unreasonable to expect more from Dean than he'd already given. When he looked back, and filtered out the big brother teasing, he couldn't remember a time when Dean had put himself before Sam. It was the suddenness with which Dean stopped caring, when he left for school, whether he was safe, or happy, that almost made him doubt whether any of it had been real in the first place.
Now Sam looked up, suddenly realizing how inattentive to his surroundings he'd been. His past had been on his mind lately, which might be why he turned around with the feeling he wasn't alone. Despite the logic that the majority of his brain seemed so good at, he knew it was possible to feel someone's eyes on him. It had saved him on a hunt more than once, but what stands out for him is that it once let him save Dean's life. He owes him that many times over, but at least he'd seen gratitude, and brotherly pride, in Dean's eyes. Those eyes had held no trace of the mask of cocky optimism he put on almost as subconsciously as breathing. It was the achievement Sam was most proud of; getting into Stanford with his scholarships lagged a distant second.
Despite sensing eyes somewhere, Sam didn't feel any threat, and continued to the library. Just as he found a secluded chair, he had another vision.
As in the others, Jess was on the ceiling over the bed, bleeding, and then she burst into flames. Exactly like Mom. These had first occurred in his sleep, and he dismissed them as nightmares, possibly brought on by a fear of becoming close to a woman for the first time in his life. But they felt so real, and they'd recently begun happening during the day. He wished he could dismiss the idea of visions as absurd, like most people would, but he had personally met psychics.
He couldn't just ignore them, for myriad reasons. One was the feeling that he couldn't protect her. When he'd admitted to himself that they might actually be visions, he'd laid down salt lines at the entrances to the apartment they'd moved into together only a month ago. He was able to conceal the lines from her (so far), but when they were shopping she'd joked that even with as much food as he ate, they couldn't possibly need that much salt. He'd mumbled something about stocking up, and kicked himself for not making a separate trip to get it. For him it was normal to get large amounts of salt on a grocery run, along with cereal and peanut butter. How much longer could he try to convince himself that there was any normal for him other than what he'd known all his life?
It wasn't just that he couldn't protect her, it was that he felt he was bringing the danger to her in the first place. If it was the yellow-eyed demon, the coincidence was too much, and the salt lines too little. He'd begun to wonder if he should leave her.
There were deeper reasons for this, he admitted, when he allowed himself to think about it. Sam had met Jessica over a year ago, when his friend Nathan had set them up. As much as Sam hated setups, at least he'd finally convinced Nathan that he wasn't gay, and he might as well stop hitting on him. When Sam and Nathan first became friends, and Nathan told him how lonely he seemed, maybe it wasn't just a line. But if he was lonely, it was for someone he could never have. Brushing that thought aside, Sam had considered the possibility that a cute girl like Jessica was just what he needed to help him stay focused on the life he was determined to pursue. He had been drawn to Jess because she was sweet and open, like she'd never carried dark secrets. It would take him a year to understand that he loved her more for what she wasn't than for who she was.
Jess symbolized a life that wasn't really his. Was that fair to someone who seemed to love him? He hadn't even told her anything about his past or his family, for God's sake. She couldn't truly love someone she didn't really know, and he couldn't truly love a symbol. That would have been enough reason to break up, but there was more.
With a deep breath Sam decided that, now that he was giving real thought to all of this, he might as well go all the way. He loved Dean in a way that brothers shouldn't. He knew from psych 101 that the kind of childhood they'd had; in which Dean, so close to his own age, was all he'd ever known of comfort, of happy memories, and of someone he could rely on; had created a propensity for intra-generational… (he winced) incest. Add to that their often sleeping in the same bed throughout puberty (he flashed a grin in response to the memories) and he understood why he could feel something that other siblings couldn't. But the only important one was Dean, and he didn't feel it, so Sam was stuck loving someone else far more than he could ever love Jess. It was time to end it.
~*~
Dean was waiting for Sam to come out of the library. He'd walked around it, and there were three main exits, including the single entrance. From where he was, leaning his hip against a fence, he could see the main door plus the people after they'd come out of one of the other doors. Close enough for jazz. He could pick up Sam's trail later if he had to - he'd know which way he had gone if he'd left by that third door, and he figured Sam couldn't stay in the library much longer than an hour, because he'd have classes.
Dean had already scouted the area for dangers, and was still watching, but was mainly people-watching. Well, ok, hot-people watching. Mainly girls, but he had seen two guys he would have done. A girl with long wavy blond hair and big tits sat down on a bench near him. He wouldn't turn down a one night stand, but as a long term girl she looked high-maintenance. Not that he was interested in long term anyway.
Out of the corner of the eye that was on the main door he saw Sam coming out. Dean got ready to follow, but Sam was headed straight toward him. Shit. He knew walking away wasn't going to work because Sammy would recognize his walk; he had always laughed at Dean's attempts to change it for if he needed a disguise or something. So he turned his back and let his worn backpack be his disguise. Sam came up to the bench the blond was on, and as Dean glanced over, she kissed him.
Dean fell over the fence.
Fuckingshitcrapgoddammit! Now he had to walk away, but he stopped every couple of steps to brush at the dirt and the grass stains, so hopefully it wasn't him Sam would see, just a clumsy-ass stranger. He went around the other side of one of the stupid billboard sort of things that were everywhere, covered with fliers. He pulled a couple off, then continued around a little, looking at Sam around the edge. He was talking to the girl with a look on his face that made Dean want to go to him (which he *wasn't* going to do, so shut UP brain). What he did do was circle around to a bench that had its back toward Sam's. Sam was really focused on his conversation, plus his back was to Dean, so he risked getting close.
He sat down and held up the fliers a little, one near each side of his face. The trick made a little of the sound bounce back to his ears, helping him hear what was going on.
"I'm sorry Jess, I just can't any more."
"You already said that, Sam. I'm asking *why?* What is it? I deserve to know what's going on."
"Yeah, you do."
"Damned straight!"
Sam thought, the first yes, the second… was complicated. "I'm just… I'm not who you think I am, in a lot of ways. And I'm not sure anymore if I belong here at all."
"What? Since when? Sam, we love each other. How can we not belong together? If you really have to leave Stanford for some reason, I'll come with you."
Dean snorted, but quickly turned it into a quiet cough.
"Listen, Jess, our relationship isn't fair to you. I can't explain why, but I'm asking you to trust me that it's true. "
Dean heard the girl's quiet crying, but he didn't roll his eyes. He could tell this was hurting Sammy, and he could understand that "Jess" had reason enough to be upset.
"I honestly never meant to hurt you, Jessica."
"Well, bang-up job on that."
Ok, Dean liked her a little.
"How could you think this wouldn't hurt me, Sam? I thought we might have a future together."
"I'm so sorry Jess."
"Well don't give me the 'let's be friends' speech, it's crap as far as I'm concerned. Just get your stuff out of the apartment tonight and go."
"I'm sorry."
"I heard you the first five times. I want an explanation, but if you don't care enough about me to give one, that's something you'll have to live with. Goodbye Sam." Even through her anger, her voice cracked with her other emotions.
Dean heard someone get up and leave, and risked a quick glance over. The Jess girl was striding away, toward the apartment Sam had come out of this morning, and Sam was sitting with his head between his hands. His first thought was that Sam wouldn't be any good on a hunt for a couple of days. He hated himself for that. He knew in his gut that focusing everything on hunting, even before family, like his Dad did, was wrong. But for Dean, hunting was the only way he could hold onto his family.
Except he hadn't managed to hold onto Sammy.
A long time ago he'd begun having feelings for Sam that went beyond brotherhood. (For once, he was flat out agreeing with the part of his brain that constantly urged him toward Sammy, so it actually did shut up.) A year or so after that, in defeat he'd admitted to himself that he couldn't stop the feelings, only shove them down deep and try to ignore his twisted sickness. He wasn't stupid (except compared to Sam, he thought with pride in his brother, who'd gotten into a place like Stanford even though he'd had to do it in the middle of a hunter lifestyle). With Mom gone and Dad, he had to admit to himself in this little trip to honestyville, more focused on his obsession with the yellow-eyed demon than he'd been on raising his sons, they'd become consolation and partners to each other. In their extreme circumstances maybe it wasn't so far a leap to the multiple forms of love Dean felt for Sam, but he knew that no tower of flimsy excuses could make his feelings ok. Sammy would probably throw up if he ever knew. Dean would make sure he never did.
Dean decided not to go to Sammy now. He might need time to process things in that giant head of his. In addition to breaking up with someone he was actually living with, he mentioned something about not belonging here. The sudden appearance of the brother Sam hadn't contacted in years would probably just make things harder on him. Feeling like crap, Dean kept following him, but from a greater distance.
~*~
When Sam left the apartment he found he owned only as much as he could carry. He was, after all, still a Winchester, and didn't accumulate possessions. With books weighing down his two duffle bags, he walked slowly down the sidewalk and wondered what to do next. I want to be with Dean, came a whisper from his heart. But in his great analysis earlier today, which put him in this situation in the first place, Dean having ignored him after he came to Stanford lead Sam to wonder if Dean ever really cared about him as much as he'd thought. Maybe the relationship he imagined they'd had wasn't even real. But if that was true, why was he crying now? Why did that thought hurt even more than seeing Jessica's eyes when they'd said goodbye?
Dean watched Sam, and worried about him because he was clearly paying no attention to any dangers that might be around him, and was carrying bags that human scumbags would probably realize contained a few valuables. But Dean was there, ready to protect him if he needed it. When Dean realized Sam was actually crying, he said to the Impala, "Sam's got to be the only person around who can have a chick flick moment all by himself!" If she noticed the crack in his voice, she didn't say anything about it.
Sam needed a place to stay tonight, but didn't want to deal with his friends, even though they would willingly give him a spot on the floor. Well, except Nathan, who would probably offer to share the bed. That brought a small smile. Out of nostalgia, he decided the place to go was the first motel in the phonebook. He'd memorized the address at the end of his freshman year - no why or why not, he just did. The half-smile came back as he decided he would register under the name Jim Rockford, just to stick with the theme. He stopped crying, turned around, and headed for a bus stop that had a line that would get him reasonably close.
Dean followed the bus, becoming more and more sure of where Sam was headed. Not because Dean was staying there - he was sure Sam hadn't made him, although he might have if he hadn't been so distracted all day. His Sammy was still and always a Winchester, and some of what he'd overheard today made sense if Sam was finally realizing that himself. Nevertheless, Dean would regret it if Sammy left school for good. College might not be his thing, but that didn't mean he couldn't see its value for people like Sam.
Eventually Dean just pulled in to his parking spot and went in his room. He'd made note of the location of the bus stop, so if either Sam Winchester or a second Jim Rockford didn't check into the motel soon he'd know where to look. He was actually getting nervous; he didn't know what he'd do if/when Sammy checked in. It would be time to stop hiding, and talk to him, he knew that. He just didn't know what to say.
When Sam got to the motel he didn't intentionally look around for the Impala, but did so before he even realized it. When he saw it, he felt tears of release flow. God, what was wrong with him? He didn't even cry when he broke up with Jess, now he's turned on the waterworks twice tonight.
He needed Dean, and Dean is here, and that means everything. He could hear Dean's voice in his head making fun of him about solo chick flick moments, and he's crying with laughter and joy now. Dean can call him Bitch all he wants; the best Sam will be able to do is leave out the tears but he'll savor the joy.
The parking lot's almost full, and the spaces labeled for specific rooms, so he knows where Dean is. He stops the tears (a skill learned early in John Winchester's household), then pounds on the door, making it vibrate as though this were a police raid or something, grinning as he pictures Dean jumping up holding a gun just in case. He's not particularly worried about getting shot, because Dean knows most monsters don’t knock.
Instead, Dean gets the drop on him, as he seemingly simultaneously flings open the door and slams Sam sideways with a full-body tackle. Sam is instantly a teenager again, when wrestling with his brother was his favorite aspect of their military-style training, except this time he's laughing so hard he can't quite keep up his end. Soon, Dean pins him.
"What's the matter Sammy, is getting your ass kicked funny, now that it's so easy?"
While Dean is distracted shooting off his mouth, Sam flips them and pins Dean. Then, with laughter still dying away, he gives Dean a hand up from the floor.
"Dean, what are you doing here?" Sam asks, retrieving his bags and closing the door.
"What, here in Motel Mud?" he asked, avoiding real conversation, in patented Dean Winchester style.
"OK, let's start there. Adobe? *You’re* staying in a place you'd consider to be made of mud?"
"Actually it's not too bad. It fights off some of the heat when it's hot out, and helps keep the room warm for at least the first half of the night when the temperature drops."
"How do you know? Have you hunted a Pueblan spirit, or something?" Sam doesn't know whether he's being sarcastic or curious. Probably both.
"I always stay here when I'm in town. Turns out the mud has its upside."
The unexpected words, about coming before, slam Sam into one of the chairs at the small table, with a clumsy half-step backward.
"Dude, are you still tripping over your own legs? I thought you grew out of that. Oaf."
Sam's eyes shine when he looks up at his big brother and softly says, "Jerk. When were you here before?"
Dean shifts uncomfortably; "well, I had to made sure you were doing ok when you were starting out with stuff here. No big deal." Dean would make a joke, but he's too thrown to come up with something before Sam says, "it's a very big deal to me."
Dean couldn't say anything to that, so clearly a change of subject was in order (as was stifling that part of his brain that, though sometimes sarcastic, was never anything but honest about Sam.) "So… you're at a motel tonight."
"I broke up with my girlfriend today. Had to move out of the apartment."
"Um - yeah, actually I was around for some of that. Like I said, I wanted to make sure you were ok."
"You were SPYING on me? You JERK! I am so getting you back for that!"
Changing the subject yet again, Dean tries "Ah, you were way out of her league anyway."
Sam snorts, "no, I wasn't."
"Of course you weren't, you freak. What did she see in you, anyway? I know - probably your family resemblance to me."
Sam, staring at him unbelievingly, says "this is your idea of cheering someone up?"
In a softer voice, Dean said, "you're in a league of your own, Sammy." Then the inevitable backing off: "In fact, you'd be Gina Davis if you could throw straight."
"Yeah, well you're Lori Petty, tank-boy."
With a cocky smile Dean said, "you're not wrong." Then his face took on a confused look as he tried to sort out exactly what he'd just agreed to, making Sam laugh out loud. Dean figured Sam laughing was good enough for him, and dropped the subject - until he realized he'd revealed knowledge of a chick-flick, and gave Sam a thwap on the back of the head just on principle.
"Have you eaten, Sammy?"
Always taking care of him. "Not hungry. You?"
"I had a sandwich from a snack place on campus."
"You on campus - it sort of makes my world tilt on its axis."
"Hey, you wouldn't be the first person to say I rocked their world," he said with a grin. To his *brother.* Dean resolutely ignored the applause from the part of his brain he really, really needed to ignore right about now.
"You were that klutz who fell over the fence, weren't you?! And now you're teasing me about tripping over my legs?
"You know, I was kind of in the middle of something back there."
"Yeah. I was watching for you to come out of the library, and just my luck you came right up to me. Then that blond was kissing you, and the next thing I knew I was on my ass." Dean shrugged awkwardly. "Anyway, if you don't need to eat first, have you checked into a room here? Or, do you want to try to get a double room?"
They both look out at the parking lot, and from their long experience with motels, they can see that the chances of any extra rooms tonight are slim. They turn from the window and look at each other.
Taking maybe the biggest gamble of his life, Sam looks Dean straight in the eye and says, "one bed works for me."
After his mouth drops open, Dean snaps it shut, then licks his lips.
Sam is hit full force: no denying it, no continuing to repress it or explain it away. He'd watched that perfect mouth react to his words, and now he's hard as a rock.
Dean opens up, hoping a joke will materialize that will make this all go away. But the way Sam's looking at his lips makes him snap shut again, and give up on the -keep ignoring the part of his brain that can't deny he wants this- approach. But not ignoring it doesn't mean doing… what they can't. "Sammy…"
"Yeah?" His voice comes out low and rougher than either of them expect, and he takes a step toward Dean.
Dean stifles a groan. They're standing at a cliff edge he's keep away from for years, the effort sometimes taking every shred of strength (or sanity?) he had.
Sam heard the groan that wasn't quite there, in response to the arousal in his own voice. His breathing became slightly faster, and his brain suddenly started to backpedal / maybe it's not too late, all I said was that we don't have to hassle trying to change rooms when there probably isn't one, we shouldn't / but finally knowing what, for himself, was right, he stifled THOSE thoughts for once, rather than stifling their opposite. Every inch of his skin tingled and he was completely focused on this moment. His heart was in charge, and his brain would have to just sit back and watch the show.
"We," Dean began, and Sam took the final step closing the distance between them. "We." he agreed.
Dean let out his breath, and looked into Sam's eyes. There was no word for what he saw, because there was no word for everything they had always been for each other. It was all there in those depths, and now this new potential fit like the final piece of the puzzle. Shooting a "thank you" to the part of his brain that had never shut up, Dean reached up and brushed back Sam's hair, stroking his forehead and down the side of his face.
That touch condensed the electric tingling Sam felt all over his body into a single blaze. He closed his eyes and felt his world click into place at last. His brain heckled from the cheap seats: 1, since when did you turn into a living greeting card, and B, why the hell are your eyes closed and missing the view?
Smart as always, his brain was right about the view when he immediately opened his eyes. Sam's love had nothing to do with Dean's looks, but damn, they were a bonus. He looked like a model. Sam started to smile and didn't stop until he was grinning. He was standing there in the middle of Motel Mud, grinning at his brother, with a hard-on.
Dean fidgeted a bit but smiled back, until Sam began full-on laughing. Confused, Dean began, "what th_" when Sam grabbed his face and kissed him. Which reminded him that it was Dean's lips that had so precipitously diverted his bloodflow in the first place, making him break the kiss to laugh again.
"Shut up and keep kissing me, Sasquatch!" Dean used one arm to pull Sam's body to him, and the other hand to cradle the back of his head. The combined sensations of his lips moving against Sam's and feeling the hard press of the erection against his groin combined to send sparks in front of Dean's eyes and make his already half-hard cock join his brothers' condition. As they pressed together, Sam gasped.
Trying to tease him, but in a tone too gentle, Dean asked, "not laughing now?"
"Nope, just happy."
"That I can feel for myself."
"Jerk," Sam replied, with a sparkle in his eyes.
"Bitch," came back with a smile.
They simultaneously realized that with all this conversation, there was no kissing, which they remedied immediately.
Dean sucked Sam's lower lip, and knew he'd be a push-over for anything Sam pouted about from now on. Sam ran the tip of his tongue across the length of Dean's upper lip, sending shivers down Dean's spine and into his cock. Sam welcomed Dean's tongue into his mouth and sucked it gently while Dean explored. Their tongues stroked, and their hips began to rock together.
Without breaking their kiss, Dean stepped, and turned Sam so his back was leaning against the wall. Dean pressed their bodies closer, and they both groaned. Sam spread his legs, making space for Dean to stand between them, and also compensating for his height just enough for them to thrust against each other perfectly. They needed to breath, and moved their heads to press the sides of their faces together as their hands each found their mate and entwined fingers. With their hands clasped, elbows bent upward, and forearms pressed together, they had even more control and power in rubbing their erections together, and their rhythm intensified. Their lips and tongues continued to kiss, explore, ghost over ears, and travel down one another's necks.
When their rhythm and their breathing became more ragged, each sought the other's eyes. "I'm going to " "I can't " "Oh God!" and they each shouted the other's name as they came.
Leaning against the wall, they savored the trailing away of their orgasms, then wrapped themselves together and kissed gently.
After a while Sam began to suspect that Dean wasn't actually so much snuggling, as not wanting to have to move. He would be able to sympathize if he weren't the one bearing the brunt of Dean's weight.
"Uh, Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"Would you mind moving so I can breath?"
"Yeah."
Sam waited. "So, that was a literal, 'yes, you would mind'?"
Dean pried his eyes open. "What?"
Sam gave up; he figured Dean would probably move eventually. "That was, without question, the best sex I've ever had while fully clothed."
Dean thought about it. "We forgot the clothes part?"
"Are you missing any?"
"Huh. Wow."
"Yeah, wow." He stroked the hair over Dean's right ear.
"Dibs on first shower."
Sam sighed. His brother hadn't changed, lover or no. "Do we really have to take turns?"
"You're just saying that because you didn't call firsts." Then, with a mischievous look, Dean stood up from where he was pinning Sam to the wall, took his hand, and led him toward the shower. "Think this will be the best shower you've ever had 'while fully clothed'?"
"Why would…" Sam began, before Dean's leer clued him in.
Dean unbuttoned Sam's outer shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, then pulled his t-shirt off over his head, with Sam raising his arms to help. Dean stroked the side of Sam's face, then ran his hands over Sam's chest and arms, ending the caress where it had begun, on his face. "You look good, Sammy."
Absurdly, for the first time that evening, that was the thing that made him blush.
They undressed each other unhurriedly, a process that was intimate but sticky.
As they washed each other, Sam began to get sleepy under the warm water, and finally yawned.
"Sorry, am I boring you?"
Sam kissed Dean, then said, "I'm sorry. Long day, I guess." They began to towel off.
Thinking of the emotional rollercoaster Sam had been on today, and how much he'd been through, Dean said, "I'm sorry about Jessica."
"Thanks. I'll be ok - hey! You don't think anything that happened here was some kind of rebound crap, do you?"
"On my end it was the 'culmination,' as you college boys would say, of years of wanting you but thinking I could never have you. I don't really know what else it was."
Sam saw honesty and some doubt in his brother's eyes. "Dean, I broke up with her because I could never really love her - because I already loved you."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "And how did she take that?"
"Well I didn't exactly say it that way!"
Dean quirked his eyebrow again and Sam rolled his eyes, realizing that now his brother was trying to make him exasperated on purpose.
Naked and holding hands, they went to bed. As he lay down on the soft sheets and pillow, Sam realized he really was exhausted. Dean crawled in and spooned him, and stroked his damp hair. He kissed Sam's forehead, at the spot Sam already associated with Dean from the blaze of his earlier touch. Dean created the same blaze in his heart when he whispered in his ear, "I love you, too, Sammy. I always have." Sam drifted to sleep, warmed inside by Dean's words, and outside by his body as Dean held him in his arms.
~*~
When Dean woke up, Sam wasn't in the room or the bathroom. Dean's gut clenched. How could he have done that to Sammy? He'd sworn to himself that he'd never touch him that way. True, Sam had seemed to want him just as much, but that was after a fucked-up day of emotions - breaking up with his girlfriend, moving out, then seeing him. Sam had probably just needed comfort, as he had so often when he was younger, but had confused it with wanting sex. He wondered if he'd ever see Sammy again, after what Dean had done. Sam's bags were where he'd left them, but he could have taken just a few things with him so he could travel light.
Dean had pulled on a pair of jeans and begun walking in circles as he tried to figure out what to do, when Sam walked in. He was holding an apple, two bananas, a cheese danish (which turned out to be stale), and balancing two styrofoam cups, one of which had a string hanging from it. The beautiful aroma of coffee followed him in.
Dean would have run over and thrown his arms around him, had he not been Dean. Plus it would have spilled the coffee. "Out making yourself useful?"
"One of the benefits of staying at a place that isn't the cheapest in town is that they have a continental breakfast."
"Damned straight," Dean said, but Sam was beginning to think neither was true after all.
"You're welcome," Sam said pointedly, as he put a banana, the danish, and a cup of coffee on the side of the small table closest to Dean.
"Was the string for the coffee free too, or was it extra?"
Sam gave his brother the look that that comment deserved. "All they had to put in coffee was that non-dairy creamer crap, so I got tea instead. Get over it."
"There's your problem Sammy - you want to put crap in your coffee even though God made it black."
"Get. Over. It."
They ate their small breakfast in silence. Dean was just trying not to melt into a puddle on the floor with relief that he apparently hadn't lost Sammy forever, although he had no idea whether Sam regretted last night or not. The fact that Sam kept smiling at him might have been a clue, if Dean had been able to get past: he didn't leave!
Dean started awkwardly, "so do you think," he had to clear his throat, "think you might stick around?"
Sam replied, "I've been giving that a lot of thought, and I think I probably won't." Oblivious to Dean's near-death experience, he continued, "I just feel like I've been in one spot for too long. Like it's time to move on and, and - I don't know. Especially after last night."
Dean gurgled.
Looking at the table and his cold tea, Sam said, "You'll probably give me shit about this forever, but when I try to think of where I want to be, it's not a place." He looked up at Dean through his bangs, and hesitantly said, "I kinda just want to be with you."
The words were like heaven to Dean, and he damn well didn't care how shmoopy he was being. He had to take care of Sammy, though, and that meant making sure Sam knew what he was doing. He hated it when he had to be the level-headed one.
He looked Sam in the eye, because as much as he hated talking about stuff like this, he had to get through to him. Maybe through an infatuation, or mid-semester burnout, or some unique Sammy thing. He had to make him really understand what he was saying.
"Sam, you should think about this. You don't have that much college left, and I don't want you to throw it away. I'll bet you got great LSAT scores."
"I thought you hated that I went to college! And how do you know about the LSAT?"
"I pay attention. Shut up and let me finish, pipsqueak. At least you should talk to the university and see if you can arrange for some kind of time off, or taking incompletes or whatever. If you're serious about leaving, I mean."
"And I don't know if you're thinking of last night as a one-time thing because we'd just seen each other after so long, or were lonely, or whatever. If you are, I gotta be honest, Sammy - I don't know if I could handle that, because I want you so bad I don't know whether to jump you or break into poetry, and if you ever tell anyone I said that I'll fucking kill you."
"You'd never hurt me."
"What part of 'shut up and let me finish' do you not understand, Brainiac?" Dean continued: "This thing between us - you know that if dad ever found out, our lives would never be the same. We'd never be a family again." That last came out almost a whisper.
Dean took a deep breath, and finished with, "This isn't right, Sammy. Brothers don't do this shit." He finally had to look away. "I'm afraid that if I let this go on, you'll end up hating me, or we'll be so screwed up that we'll tear each other a new one, and end up not talking for years. More years."
Sam understood how important this communication was to Dean, because he was actually communicating. So he took it seriously, and when he was ready to answer he wore a small smile rather than a grin. But he had to say what he had to say.
"Don't worry, I'm a lover not a fighter" got a snort from Dean. "I think it's premature to tear ourselves new ones, when we haven't even had a chance to try out our first ones" got that unbelievable mouth to drop open again, and Sam leaned over the table to snag the bottom lip in a short kiss. Finally, Sam stood up and said, "I know what I'm doing. More importantly, in the interest of saving the world from your poetry, get ready to be jumped."