Supernatural Fic: Realizations
Posted to sn_slash
Title: Realizations
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Sam
Rating: R
Spoilers: Seasons 1-2
Summary: It hits Sam as they're driving away from the cemetery (AHBL2 Post-Ep)
Notes/Warnings: Read the disclaimer on my LJ
It hits Sam about forty miles from the Wyoming - Colorado border as Dean is cruising down Interstate 80.
He died.
The realization makes his chest seize and he reacts as if he's had the wind knocked out of him.
Dean has barely taken his eyes off him to drive since they left Bobby and Ellen at the cemetery and he turns the wheel hard right, tires squealing.
He gets the car off the road in record time, slamming on the brakes and hurriedly checking on his brother.
"Sammy! Sammy! You okay?"
Sam can't choke the words out so he nods, apparently not convincingly enough because Dean looks like Sam's ready to die all over again, frantically patting him down, checking his injury to be sure it's not bleeding again...
"I... I'm okay," he finally manages. "Just..." Dean's hands are on him, clutching him as if letting go would be too painful, and he finds that he doesn’t want him to let go. Not now, not ever. "Please can we stop for the night?"
His eyes are pleading, but it's not necessary. He can see Dean needs him as much as he needs Dean. He wonders if Dean can make it to a motel, wonders if he has the patience himself.
"Yeah, yeah," Dean finally mutters, pulling back reluctantly to put his hands on the wheel. "We can do that."
They drive another five minutes, pushing the Impala past her comfort speed, until they see the lights of Laramie in the distance and the first roadside motels start to surface.
Dean takes the next exit, blows through the stop sign and drives straight for the nearest vacancy sign.
He gets them a room in record time. They don't even bring their bags in, just rush through the door and lock it behind them.
Dean can't stop kissing Sam, clutching him close, pressing him against the wall as if he might float away into the ether if not anchored down.
"I died, I died..." Sam can't stop obsessing over that realization and only feels real and whole and alive where Dean's body touches his.
"Couldn't let you go," Dean murmurs into his neck. "Couldn't lose you."
For all their desperation before, Dean takes his time stripping Sam now. Each new bit of skin revealed is like a gift to be cherished, mapped anew with eyes and hands and mouth before moving on to the next.
He gets choked up as his hand runs over the now closed wound on Sam's back and they both just let go and end up on the floor, tangled in each other's arms, needing that security of knowing the other is there beside them.
It takes a while before they pull together enough to fall into bed, tossing the ugly patterned bedspread aside to reveal clean white sheets, a blank canvas where Dean can lay Sam out and watch him move and breathe and make him say his name over and over because he thought he'd never hear it again.
He strips him the rest of the way, exploring every square inch of Sam's body as if he didn't already know it by heart, know it from his entire life history.
When he finally takes Sam into his mouth it's almost with a sort of reverence, the closest thing to a prayer he has to show his gratitude.
Every cell of Sam's body comes alive.
-
It hits Dean as they are laying in bed together, almost asleep.
He's going to Hell.
He bolts up, hyperventilating. Suddenly the room is closing in on him and he freaks out despite Sam's calming touch.
He manages to throw a pair of jeans over his bare legs and blows out the motel room door, fly still unbuttoned.
He draws in great heaving breaths, but it doesn't help.
Dizzy, he falls to his knees in the gravel, ignoring the small stones as they cut into his flesh through the denim.
They're nothing compared to the torment that awaits him.
His mind reels with imagined tortures that might lay in wait for him in the pit.
And when it hits him that he'll spend eternity - eternity - separated from his entire family he breaks.
Sam's helpless beside him, his nonsense words of assurance all sounding as flat as the platitudes Dean knows they are.
He puts out his hands to steady himself and the sharp stones cutting into his palms remind him that this body - his body - will cease to be. He'll be stuck in the afterlife and his corpse - the word gives him a sickly shudder - will rot until Sam and Bobby build a funeral pyre for him and burn him.
He dry heaves, nothing to throw up in his stomach.
"I can't do it..." he mutters, near delirious with fear. "I can't do it..."
"We'll get you out of it," Sam vows. "I promise we'll find a way to get you out of the deal."
The words ring in his ears, they're what he wants to hear, but they're hollow: promises born of wishful thinking. If there was a way to save Sam and him he'd have done it. But he's the sacrifice. There always has to be a sacrifice.
When Sam wraps his long arms around him, Dean holds on for dear life. He feels gravity sucking him to the earth as if it truly means to pull him under the stones, under the dirt, away from the world of the living.
"It's not enough time," he mumbles, almost more to himself than to Sam. There's so much he wanted to do, to see, to experience with his brother. Now it seems like each of his finite breaths comes too quickly. Each precious moment is wasted with him doing nothing.
"I'm here," Sam tells him, clutching him, holding him to his chest. "I'm right here."
Somehow that reminder of why he did this, what he got in return for his martyrdom, helps him calm.
He followed his father's orders; he took care of his little brother.
At some point, sitting in the rocky parking lot of a no name motel they realize that this is all they have.
It takes a while, but eventually Sam helps Dean rise and they return to their room - never breaking contact.
They only have a year.
But they have each other.
Dean swears to himself he's going to squeeze as much life out of his last year as he can.
Sam swears he'll find a way to make this not Dean's last year.
They crawl back into bed and the clock clicks over to 2AM.
Another hour of the rest of Dean's life: gone.
~
Title: Realizations
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Sam
Rating: R
Spoilers: Seasons 1-2
Summary: It hits Sam as they're driving away from the cemetery (AHBL2 Post-Ep)
Notes/Warnings: Read the disclaimer on my LJ
It hits Sam about forty miles from the Wyoming - Colorado border as Dean is cruising down Interstate 80.
He died.
The realization makes his chest seize and he reacts as if he's had the wind knocked out of him.
Dean has barely taken his eyes off him to drive since they left Bobby and Ellen at the cemetery and he turns the wheel hard right, tires squealing.
He gets the car off the road in record time, slamming on the brakes and hurriedly checking on his brother.
"Sammy! Sammy! You okay?"
Sam can't choke the words out so he nods, apparently not convincingly enough because Dean looks like Sam's ready to die all over again, frantically patting him down, checking his injury to be sure it's not bleeding again...
"I... I'm okay," he finally manages. "Just..." Dean's hands are on him, clutching him as if letting go would be too painful, and he finds that he doesn’t want him to let go. Not now, not ever. "Please can we stop for the night?"
His eyes are pleading, but it's not necessary. He can see Dean needs him as much as he needs Dean. He wonders if Dean can make it to a motel, wonders if he has the patience himself.
"Yeah, yeah," Dean finally mutters, pulling back reluctantly to put his hands on the wheel. "We can do that."
They drive another five minutes, pushing the Impala past her comfort speed, until they see the lights of Laramie in the distance and the first roadside motels start to surface.
Dean takes the next exit, blows through the stop sign and drives straight for the nearest vacancy sign.
He gets them a room in record time. They don't even bring their bags in, just rush through the door and lock it behind them.
Dean can't stop kissing Sam, clutching him close, pressing him against the wall as if he might float away into the ether if not anchored down.
"I died, I died..." Sam can't stop obsessing over that realization and only feels real and whole and alive where Dean's body touches his.
"Couldn't let you go," Dean murmurs into his neck. "Couldn't lose you."
For all their desperation before, Dean takes his time stripping Sam now. Each new bit of skin revealed is like a gift to be cherished, mapped anew with eyes and hands and mouth before moving on to the next.
He gets choked up as his hand runs over the now closed wound on Sam's back and they both just let go and end up on the floor, tangled in each other's arms, needing that security of knowing the other is there beside them.
It takes a while before they pull together enough to fall into bed, tossing the ugly patterned bedspread aside to reveal clean white sheets, a blank canvas where Dean can lay Sam out and watch him move and breathe and make him say his name over and over because he thought he'd never hear it again.
He strips him the rest of the way, exploring every square inch of Sam's body as if he didn't already know it by heart, know it from his entire life history.
When he finally takes Sam into his mouth it's almost with a sort of reverence, the closest thing to a prayer he has to show his gratitude.
Every cell of Sam's body comes alive.
-
It hits Dean as they are laying in bed together, almost asleep.
He's going to Hell.
He bolts up, hyperventilating. Suddenly the room is closing in on him and he freaks out despite Sam's calming touch.
He manages to throw a pair of jeans over his bare legs and blows out the motel room door, fly still unbuttoned.
He draws in great heaving breaths, but it doesn't help.
Dizzy, he falls to his knees in the gravel, ignoring the small stones as they cut into his flesh through the denim.
They're nothing compared to the torment that awaits him.
His mind reels with imagined tortures that might lay in wait for him in the pit.
And when it hits him that he'll spend eternity - eternity - separated from his entire family he breaks.
Sam's helpless beside him, his nonsense words of assurance all sounding as flat as the platitudes Dean knows they are.
He puts out his hands to steady himself and the sharp stones cutting into his palms remind him that this body - his body - will cease to be. He'll be stuck in the afterlife and his corpse - the word gives him a sickly shudder - will rot until Sam and Bobby build a funeral pyre for him and burn him.
He dry heaves, nothing to throw up in his stomach.
"I can't do it..." he mutters, near delirious with fear. "I can't do it..."
"We'll get you out of it," Sam vows. "I promise we'll find a way to get you out of the deal."
The words ring in his ears, they're what he wants to hear, but they're hollow: promises born of wishful thinking. If there was a way to save Sam and him he'd have done it. But he's the sacrifice. There always has to be a sacrifice.
When Sam wraps his long arms around him, Dean holds on for dear life. He feels gravity sucking him to the earth as if it truly means to pull him under the stones, under the dirt, away from the world of the living.
"It's not enough time," he mumbles, almost more to himself than to Sam. There's so much he wanted to do, to see, to experience with his brother. Now it seems like each of his finite breaths comes too quickly. Each precious moment is wasted with him doing nothing.
"I'm here," Sam tells him, clutching him, holding him to his chest. "I'm right here."
Somehow that reminder of why he did this, what he got in return for his martyrdom, helps him calm.
He followed his father's orders; he took care of his little brother.
At some point, sitting in the rocky parking lot of a no name motel they realize that this is all they have.
It takes a while, but eventually Sam helps Dean rise and they return to their room - never breaking contact.
They only have a year.
But they have each other.
Dean swears to himself he's going to squeeze as much life out of his last year as he can.
Sam swears he'll find a way to make this not Dean's last year.
They crawl back into bed and the clock clicks over to 2AM.
Another hour of the rest of Dean's life: gone.
~