Big Bang '10 - One Hundred Percent Reason to Remember [vii. 15% concentrated power of will]
Masterlist
Previous
11th of October 2003 07:15
It's Sam's first day on his new job. He woke up late, brushed his teeth so fast he wouldn't be surprised if a smudge of toothpaste escapes his quick check, and put on the buttery yellow tech shirt without ironing it first.
He can almost hear the voice of his supervisor, Miguel Lecine, when he sees him: “Not off to a very good start, senor Wesson.”
Luckily, he gets to the station in time to catch the train, thanks to his long legs that finally turned out to be useful for something else than tripping on his own feet and making a fool of himself, but he's not used to running anymore, so he's a little out of breath when he finally settles in a corner. The train is obviously filled to the brink, the cold and rainy morning discouraging people from using their bikes or just walking to their destination; Sam is still in awe at the number of bicycles in Madrid.
He didn't expect Spanish people to be like that. Of course, his mental image of Spain being all about corrida, paella and flamenco was probably a little stereotypical, but still. He has been living in Madrid only for a couple of weeks: the company contacted him through the Lawrence branch, and told him they were looking for a tech representative for the English/American market, but the office was in Spain because it was cheaper that way, and was he going to be okay with moving there?
Sam had just finished college and he really needed a job, so he refreshed his high school Spanish and jumped on the new challenge. Right now, though? He's sort of regretting it.
That's until the doors open and the most beautiful, perfect creature Sam has ever seen hops onto the wagon. He can't be more than 25, 27 maybe, and he's wearing dark jeans and a black leather jacket. His blonde hair is short and spiky, and there's faint stubble along his jaw; Sam stares so hard he can almost feel it tickle against his face.
The man is sipping from a Starbucks cup, and when he curses out loud at his burned tongue Sam's heart does a leap in his chest. The guy speaks English, maybe he's even American.
Sam thinks about crossing the wagon and approaching him with some sort of an excuse, just to get to know him, because this man calls out to him so loud Sam is afraid he'll go deaf, but then he looks down at himself and all the courage he was trying to manage disappears into thin air. He's not beautiful, not by a long shot: he's too tall, his mop of hair is unruly and unstyled, his arms and legs are too long and he's way too flaily to be even safe to be around.
Maybe if he was a little smarter... not a geek, of course, just someone who could actually impress other people with his skills, or special in any way, with some sort of talent? That's not the case either, though.
He's just a regular guy, intelligent and kind, but he'll never make the front page of a magazine for either his looks or his wits. He knows he's not that bad (he has had relationships, thank you very much) but he also knows that there is no way, no how he will ever be enough for him.
And isn't that a depressing thought?
The man saves Sam from his musings when he gets off the train and Sam realizes next stop is his own: he has been staring at him for almost half an hour. Sam blinks, hopes he didn't notice or think Sam's a creep, then chuckles to himself.
Oh well, it's not like he'll ever see this guy again, after all.
11th of November 2003 07:15
As luck will have it, the guy takes the same train as Sam every single morning, and even if Sam knows it's unhealthy and pointless, he keeps getting on at the same time instead of acting smart and picking another one. It's only because it's the perfect time, really.
Besides, it's already been established that Sam is not all that smart to begin with. Of course, once he knows at which time the train leaves the station, Sam gets there earlier and catches a seat quite often; despite being November, the weather is pretty good outside, so the train is not that packed, usually, and from time to time the guy gets to sit too.
Those are the most difficult days for Sam, because fate plots against him and the free seat is always across from his. And seriously, how is Sam supposed to not look at the guy if he's at less than three feet from him?
Despite him being a fashion hazard, Sam really tries now: he picks his clothes the night before, trying to combine them so that they will catch the guy's attention or at least they won't make him run away screaming, and yeah, he feels stupid sitting there, stiff, wearing his best shirt and doing his best not to stare.
The guy is so gorgeous that sometimes Sam forgets where he is, too engrossed in how long his eyelashes are, or the way his hair curl at the nape of his neck when he turns to offer his seat to an old man standing next to him, who smiles gratefully. "So, what's your name, young man?" he asks, and the guy almost blushes, shifting his weight from one feet to the other, uncomfortable.
Sam's heart speeds up when he hears his hoarse voice, thick with sleep, answering. "Dean, sir." The old man says something else, but Sam's brain is currently stuck on playing the moment on loop to focus. Dean nods his head, then turns towards the door, barely hiding a yawn.
The glass fogs up, and Sam's stomach clenches once again as he thinks about how Dean will never be his. He feels his eyes sting and knows that there are probably tears pooling there, but he does his best to ignore them. He won't cry, especially not today that he was able to find out what to call the man.
Dean.
Dean, who is, probably, the love of his young life.
11th of December 2003 07:15
It's been two months already since that first morning, and Dean is riding with three more people the day it happens. One is a guy, who looks a little younger than Dean, one is old enough to be Dean's father and one is a young, lithe, blonde and pretty, and stands so close to Dean that if Sam hadn't seen her kissing the other guy as they got on the train, he would probably be burning in rage and jealousy.
Okay, maybe he is, a little.
They are all chuckling at something the young one said, when Dean stops, licks his lips and looks straight at Sam, who is caught staring. There's electricity crackling in the air, Dean lets out a shaky sigh and Sam knows he should look away, he just can't. He suddenly forgets how to breathe and he's afraid he's going to pass out, but then the girl pokes Dean in the hip and the moment is broken.
He closes his eyes for a split second, and when he opens them again Dean's head is turned towards the girl again.
Sam would think it'd all been a day dream, if it wasn't for the way his palms are sweating. Slowly, his heart gets back to its normal beating, but Sam can't shake off the feeling of Dean's eyes on him; they are green, so green, and Sam never noticed before.
How could he? He tries so hard to only steal a few sneaky glances he never stopped on Dean's face before, not long enough to find out which color his eyes were, anyway.
One of Dean's friends look over, arching an eyebrow, and Sam realizes he was still staring; he hangs his head down, as his cheeks get flushed, and shrinks in his seat as much as he can, hoping he will disappear. He's even trembling a little, unable to shake the connection with Dean away, but knowing he should, soon, before he makes a complete fool of himself.
Well, more than he has already, at least; somehow, Sam gets the feeling he will hate himself before Christmas. Probably during, too.
11th of January 2004 07:15
Sam could date, maybe, it's not like he didn't get interest, after all, but he can't bring himself to do it. He tried it once, to just scratch the itch with someone else, but it was totally unfulfilling and he even felt sorry for the guy afterwards, which sort of defeated the whole purpose.
Looks like he's destined to be a monk forever, and he's surprisingly okay with it. He has thought about it long and hard: why now? Why Dean? He doesn't even know the guy, maybe he's a complete asshole, or an homophobic idiot. Maybe he's straight, married, hell, maybe he even has kids.
Sam lost himself imagining gorgeous babies with the same soft yet manly features more than once, and despite wanting Dean for himself he does think a little about what a waste of good genes it would be. Luckily for him, he's also selfish enough to decide he doesn't give a damn about the rest of the world and its genetics and goes back to imagining Dean doing dirtybadwrong things to him, which is marginally less creepy than thinking about Dean's toddlers.
That's how Sam makes it through, as days pass by, piling up into weeks: making fun of himself and his stupid and pointless crush on a complete stranger he'll never have the courage to approach. The hardest time for him is during the weekend, when he doesn't get to see Dean and spend the rest of the day replaying the minutes they shared.
In order to stop himself from stalking Dean's train stop, he walks around the city, keeping himself focused on something else and getting to know the place he lives in a little better. The trees are still bare, and they look so different from the explosion of reds and yellows Sam witnessed last autumn, but still they manage to be far from sad. Even they seem to have their own dignity and personality, in Madrid.
Sam expected to see the snow, but found out by talking to his new colleagues, that snow is not that common in Spain; there's a pang of longing for Lawrence and his family, for a moment, somewhere in the part of his chest not filled with images of Dean, and Sam fights winter with the few pictures he brought along.
Then he just waits for the spring and for the sun to start warming it all up: Sam is a weather person, he changes with the seasons and this year he has one more reason to want spring to come soon. The colder it gets, the more layers Dean wears, and even if Sam knows every single garment the guy owns, he wants him to go back to a threadbare t-shirt and his leather jacket, his favorite attire.
He misses seeing Dean like that, comfortable and carefree; lately the guy seems to be bothered by something, and more often than not Sam has spotted him frowning and worrying his lower lip with his teeth. Yeah, something is definitely not right in Dean's life, and Sam desperately wants to solve whatever it is that is clouding Dean's expression.
His friends haven't appeared in weeks, Dean has gone back to riding alone and sitting across the wagon, a pensive look on his face. Sam smiles to himself, even if it comes out a little forceful, and it's worth it to see the corner of Dean's mouth twitch. That night, all Sam dreams about is ways to see Dean's smile again.
Maybe he'll get a full one, next time.
11th of February 2004 07:15
Dean didn't get off at his usual stop: he's still there, standing right next to the door, and Sam panics for a second. If he tries to exit from a different door, it will look rude, since he's right in front of this one, and after all the staring he has done during the last few months it would look a little obvious that he's just trying to avoid Dean.
However, exit from that door means walking next to Dean, maybe even brush against him, and Sam feels light-headed at the simple thought. He's lost in his mind for a handful of seconds, and really, Sam should have learned from his mistakes. Never feel too confident, never lower the guard and most importantly never walk around distracted by something else.
Apparently, though, no one ever specified how many mistakes it takes exactly in order to be able to learn, and he hasn't been a spaz in a while, so he's not expecting at all the way he trips on his legs as he tries to get to the exit.
A strong arm grabs his bicep, effectively stopping him from falling on his face, and when the fingers curl around his arm his muscle twitches and Sam knows who it is even before he lifts his head.
Dean is close, so close, and he's looking at Sam, worried. "You okay?" he asks, helping him up. Sam's heartbeat speeds up, and every second ticking by without Dean stepping back makes it worse. He swallows a couple of times, trying to clear up his mind because damn, Dean is talking to him and he has to say something, anything, dammit-
"Y-yeah, I-I'm fine, thank you, Dean," he stutters in a whisper before his brain can catch up. Dean's eyes go wide and he lets Sam's arm go as if it burns, while Sam realizes he has just called the man by his name, which he's not supposed to know since they've never spoken to each other before.
Fuck, Dean is totally thinking Who is this creepy freak?! and Sam just wants the Earth to open under his feet and swallow him whole. He steps back, his legs trembling, mutters a sorry and bolts, taking advantage of the doors opening that exact second.
Sam runs to the office, away from the way he spoiled the only thing he has ever wanted, as his eyes fill up with unshed tears and his chest hurts. He runs as fast as he can, and his lungs burn, but he welcomes the pain. He just wants to die, because now?
Now he can't ever see Dean again, and ripping him away from Sam's life is like cutting a limb.
11th of March 2004 07:00
It's been a whole month. Sam sacrifices ten minutes of sleep every morning in order to catch the train before his usual one, and it hurts like hell not to have Dean to look forward to, but he's coping, somehow: he dreams about him every night, anyway.
It's so weird, he thinks as he walks into the station. He doesn't even have a picture of the guy, but if he closes his eyes he can see him, as clear as if he was standing in front of him. When he opens his eyes, he almost snorts because, seriously?Daydreams are one thing, but hallucinations?
The Dean in his head is leaning against the wall, his arms crossed on his chest, and his face lights up when he sees Sam. Sam is so pathetic, and he shakes his head as he hops onto the wagon. Dean enters after him and steps closer, grabbing his arm again as if he wants to make sure Sam is real, and whoa, wait a minute.
"Finally," Dean says, his fingers almost trembling. "Finally I found you." Sam's jaw goes slack and he can't do anything but stare, confused. What's going on? Dean clears his throat. "Listen, man, I don't know you and you don't me, but... I used to see you every day, and then you weren't there anymore, and-I missed you."
Dean's gaze shifts from one side to the other, and he licks his lower lip nervously. "I've been looking for a way to approach you for months, but I couldn't find anything that didn't scream stalker, so in the end I was just happy with staring from afar."
Sam knows he must look like some sort of weird fish, but he cant help it. This man-this man wanted to talk to him? Dean wanted to know him? For real?!
Dean probably misunderstands Sam's shocked expression, because he keeps babbling about how his friends gave up on him because he was so gone for a stranger he didn't even ever speak to, and the way he searched for Sam like crazy since he stopped taking the train. "I even asked to a couple of travelers if they had any idea of where you got on at, and I've been trying every day to bump into you... you must think I'm such a creepy loser, right?"
The last words are bitter and self-deprecating, and that's what propels Sam to finally open his mouth and answer. "I've looked forward to seeing you in the morning since I met your gaze for the first time, Dean. When that old man asked you for your name, it made me so happy to know... it was like I was a little closer to you. I don't know what it is, but I feel drawn to you and I really think that there's something here."
Dean's cheeks flush and he looks away, muttering something. Sam smiles softly, his fingers curling around Dean's on his arm and squeezing, encouragingly. "Ever since October," Dean says, still stubbornly looking away. "I've taken the wrong train to work every morning. I need to change afterwards and it takes me half an hour more to get to my garage, but it's worth it, because-because you are on it."
He finally looks at Sam, his eyes shining, and Sam just stares back as an unknown warmth spreads in his chest. Dean's stop comes by, but Dean doesn't get off. "I'm walking you to work today," Dean states, and is Sam's turn to blush, as he nods, and the beaming smile he gets from Dean in exchange makes his breath hitch.
The recorded voice announces Sam's stop as it has done every day for the last 6 months, but everything's different now: Sam's life has changed, and he feels like singing. Or flying.
The 11th of March doesn't sound like a special date at all, but Sam knows that it will be, for them. It's the start of something big, he can feel it. Dean grabs his wrist, drawing lazy circles with his thumb, as the train enters a tunnel, and that's when they hear a sickening metal crushing sound and the lights go out.
11th of March 2004 07:37
"Dean?" Sam calls out, not freaking out yet, as long as Dean is still there.
"I'm here," Dean answers, grabbing the lapels of Sam's jacket, and Sam lets out a breath he didn't even realize he has been holding. His fingertips search for Dean's face in the dark and when they finally find it Sam cups Dean's cheek, suddenly bold, to kiss him on the lips.
It's a fleeting contact, can't even be called a kiss, but there's dread in Sam's heart and he just needs Dean to be close, with him, because something's about to happen and Sam doesn't want to miss a second of what could have been between them. "What's happening?" Sam asks, his lips tingling, and Dean tightens his grip on him.
"I don't know," he answers, cradling the back of Sam's head with his free hand and pulling him closer once more. "Need you to-"
He doesn't even finish the sentence before he's kissing Sam, deep and passionate, trying to convey everything Sam himself feels, and Sam kisses him back with the same intense desperation. When they break apart, panting and shaking, Dean rests his forehead against Sam.
"I would have loved you so much," he whispers. Sam nods and closes his eyes. I already do he wants to say, but he doesn't have the time.
The last conscious beat of his heart is for Dean, though, even if he will never know.
During the peak of Madrid rush hour on the morning of Thursday, 11 March 2004, ten explosions occurred aboard four commuter trains. All the affected trains were traveling on the same line and in the same direction between Alcala de Henares and the Atocha station in Madrid.
All four trains had departed the Alcala de Henares station between 07:01 and 07:14. The explosions took place between 07:37 and 07:40 in the morning.
Epilogue
Previous
11th of October 2003 07:15
It's Sam's first day on his new job. He woke up late, brushed his teeth so fast he wouldn't be surprised if a smudge of toothpaste escapes his quick check, and put on the buttery yellow tech shirt without ironing it first.
He can almost hear the voice of his supervisor, Miguel Lecine, when he sees him: “Not off to a very good start, senor Wesson.”
Luckily, he gets to the station in time to catch the train, thanks to his long legs that finally turned out to be useful for something else than tripping on his own feet and making a fool of himself, but he's not used to running anymore, so he's a little out of breath when he finally settles in a corner. The train is obviously filled to the brink, the cold and rainy morning discouraging people from using their bikes or just walking to their destination; Sam is still in awe at the number of bicycles in Madrid.
He didn't expect Spanish people to be like that. Of course, his mental image of Spain being all about corrida, paella and flamenco was probably a little stereotypical, but still. He has been living in Madrid only for a couple of weeks: the company contacted him through the Lawrence branch, and told him they were looking for a tech representative for the English/American market, but the office was in Spain because it was cheaper that way, and was he going to be okay with moving there?
Sam had just finished college and he really needed a job, so he refreshed his high school Spanish and jumped on the new challenge. Right now, though? He's sort of regretting it.
That's until the doors open and the most beautiful, perfect creature Sam has ever seen hops onto the wagon. He can't be more than 25, 27 maybe, and he's wearing dark jeans and a black leather jacket. His blonde hair is short and spiky, and there's faint stubble along his jaw; Sam stares so hard he can almost feel it tickle against his face.
The man is sipping from a Starbucks cup, and when he curses out loud at his burned tongue Sam's heart does a leap in his chest. The guy speaks English, maybe he's even American.
Sam thinks about crossing the wagon and approaching him with some sort of an excuse, just to get to know him, because this man calls out to him so loud Sam is afraid he'll go deaf, but then he looks down at himself and all the courage he was trying to manage disappears into thin air. He's not beautiful, not by a long shot: he's too tall, his mop of hair is unruly and unstyled, his arms and legs are too long and he's way too flaily to be even safe to be around.
Maybe if he was a little smarter... not a geek, of course, just someone who could actually impress other people with his skills, or special in any way, with some sort of talent? That's not the case either, though.
He's just a regular guy, intelligent and kind, but he'll never make the front page of a magazine for either his looks or his wits. He knows he's not that bad (he has had relationships, thank you very much) but he also knows that there is no way, no how he will ever be enough for him.
And isn't that a depressing thought?
The man saves Sam from his musings when he gets off the train and Sam realizes next stop is his own: he has been staring at him for almost half an hour. Sam blinks, hopes he didn't notice or think Sam's a creep, then chuckles to himself.
Oh well, it's not like he'll ever see this guy again, after all.
11th of November 2003 07:15
As luck will have it, the guy takes the same train as Sam every single morning, and even if Sam knows it's unhealthy and pointless, he keeps getting on at the same time instead of acting smart and picking another one. It's only because it's the perfect time, really.
Besides, it's already been established that Sam is not all that smart to begin with. Of course, once he knows at which time the train leaves the station, Sam gets there earlier and catches a seat quite often; despite being November, the weather is pretty good outside, so the train is not that packed, usually, and from time to time the guy gets to sit too.
Those are the most difficult days for Sam, because fate plots against him and the free seat is always across from his. And seriously, how is Sam supposed to not look at the guy if he's at less than three feet from him?
Despite him being a fashion hazard, Sam really tries now: he picks his clothes the night before, trying to combine them so that they will catch the guy's attention or at least they won't make him run away screaming, and yeah, he feels stupid sitting there, stiff, wearing his best shirt and doing his best not to stare.
The guy is so gorgeous that sometimes Sam forgets where he is, too engrossed in how long his eyelashes are, or the way his hair curl at the nape of his neck when he turns to offer his seat to an old man standing next to him, who smiles gratefully. "So, what's your name, young man?" he asks, and the guy almost blushes, shifting his weight from one feet to the other, uncomfortable.
Sam's heart speeds up when he hears his hoarse voice, thick with sleep, answering. "Dean, sir." The old man says something else, but Sam's brain is currently stuck on playing the moment on loop to focus. Dean nods his head, then turns towards the door, barely hiding a yawn.
The glass fogs up, and Sam's stomach clenches once again as he thinks about how Dean will never be his. He feels his eyes sting and knows that there are probably tears pooling there, but he does his best to ignore them. He won't cry, especially not today that he was able to find out what to call the man.
Dean.
Dean, who is, probably, the love of his young life.
11th of December 2003 07:15
It's been two months already since that first morning, and Dean is riding with three more people the day it happens. One is a guy, who looks a little younger than Dean, one is old enough to be Dean's father and one is a young, lithe, blonde and pretty, and stands so close to Dean that if Sam hadn't seen her kissing the other guy as they got on the train, he would probably be burning in rage and jealousy.
Okay, maybe he is, a little.
They are all chuckling at something the young one said, when Dean stops, licks his lips and looks straight at Sam, who is caught staring. There's electricity crackling in the air, Dean lets out a shaky sigh and Sam knows he should look away, he just can't. He suddenly forgets how to breathe and he's afraid he's going to pass out, but then the girl pokes Dean in the hip and the moment is broken.
He closes his eyes for a split second, and when he opens them again Dean's head is turned towards the girl again.
Sam would think it'd all been a day dream, if it wasn't for the way his palms are sweating. Slowly, his heart gets back to its normal beating, but Sam can't shake off the feeling of Dean's eyes on him; they are green, so green, and Sam never noticed before.
How could he? He tries so hard to only steal a few sneaky glances he never stopped on Dean's face before, not long enough to find out which color his eyes were, anyway.
One of Dean's friends look over, arching an eyebrow, and Sam realizes he was still staring; he hangs his head down, as his cheeks get flushed, and shrinks in his seat as much as he can, hoping he will disappear. He's even trembling a little, unable to shake the connection with Dean away, but knowing he should, soon, before he makes a complete fool of himself.
Well, more than he has already, at least; somehow, Sam gets the feeling he will hate himself before Christmas. Probably during, too.
11th of January 2004 07:15
Sam could date, maybe, it's not like he didn't get interest, after all, but he can't bring himself to do it. He tried it once, to just scratch the itch with someone else, but it was totally unfulfilling and he even felt sorry for the guy afterwards, which sort of defeated the whole purpose.
Looks like he's destined to be a monk forever, and he's surprisingly okay with it. He has thought about it long and hard: why now? Why Dean? He doesn't even know the guy, maybe he's a complete asshole, or an homophobic idiot. Maybe he's straight, married, hell, maybe he even has kids.
Sam lost himself imagining gorgeous babies with the same soft yet manly features more than once, and despite wanting Dean for himself he does think a little about what a waste of good genes it would be. Luckily for him, he's also selfish enough to decide he doesn't give a damn about the rest of the world and its genetics and goes back to imagining Dean doing dirtybadwrong things to him, which is marginally less creepy than thinking about Dean's toddlers.
That's how Sam makes it through, as days pass by, piling up into weeks: making fun of himself and his stupid and pointless crush on a complete stranger he'll never have the courage to approach. The hardest time for him is during the weekend, when he doesn't get to see Dean and spend the rest of the day replaying the minutes they shared.
In order to stop himself from stalking Dean's train stop, he walks around the city, keeping himself focused on something else and getting to know the place he lives in a little better. The trees are still bare, and they look so different from the explosion of reds and yellows Sam witnessed last autumn, but still they manage to be far from sad. Even they seem to have their own dignity and personality, in Madrid.
Sam expected to see the snow, but found out by talking to his new colleagues, that snow is not that common in Spain; there's a pang of longing for Lawrence and his family, for a moment, somewhere in the part of his chest not filled with images of Dean, and Sam fights winter with the few pictures he brought along.
Then he just waits for the spring and for the sun to start warming it all up: Sam is a weather person, he changes with the seasons and this year he has one more reason to want spring to come soon. The colder it gets, the more layers Dean wears, and even if Sam knows every single garment the guy owns, he wants him to go back to a threadbare t-shirt and his leather jacket, his favorite attire.
He misses seeing Dean like that, comfortable and carefree; lately the guy seems to be bothered by something, and more often than not Sam has spotted him frowning and worrying his lower lip with his teeth. Yeah, something is definitely not right in Dean's life, and Sam desperately wants to solve whatever it is that is clouding Dean's expression.
His friends haven't appeared in weeks, Dean has gone back to riding alone and sitting across the wagon, a pensive look on his face. Sam smiles to himself, even if it comes out a little forceful, and it's worth it to see the corner of Dean's mouth twitch. That night, all Sam dreams about is ways to see Dean's smile again.
Maybe he'll get a full one, next time.
11th of February 2004 07:15
Dean didn't get off at his usual stop: he's still there, standing right next to the door, and Sam panics for a second. If he tries to exit from a different door, it will look rude, since he's right in front of this one, and after all the staring he has done during the last few months it would look a little obvious that he's just trying to avoid Dean.
However, exit from that door means walking next to Dean, maybe even brush against him, and Sam feels light-headed at the simple thought. He's lost in his mind for a handful of seconds, and really, Sam should have learned from his mistakes. Never feel too confident, never lower the guard and most importantly never walk around distracted by something else.
Apparently, though, no one ever specified how many mistakes it takes exactly in order to be able to learn, and he hasn't been a spaz in a while, so he's not expecting at all the way he trips on his legs as he tries to get to the exit.
A strong arm grabs his bicep, effectively stopping him from falling on his face, and when the fingers curl around his arm his muscle twitches and Sam knows who it is even before he lifts his head.
Dean is close, so close, and he's looking at Sam, worried. "You okay?" he asks, helping him up. Sam's heartbeat speeds up, and every second ticking by without Dean stepping back makes it worse. He swallows a couple of times, trying to clear up his mind because damn, Dean is talking to him and he has to say something, anything, dammit-
"Y-yeah, I-I'm fine, thank you, Dean," he stutters in a whisper before his brain can catch up. Dean's eyes go wide and he lets Sam's arm go as if it burns, while Sam realizes he has just called the man by his name, which he's not supposed to know since they've never spoken to each other before.
Fuck, Dean is totally thinking Who is this creepy freak?! and Sam just wants the Earth to open under his feet and swallow him whole. He steps back, his legs trembling, mutters a sorry and bolts, taking advantage of the doors opening that exact second.
Sam runs to the office, away from the way he spoiled the only thing he has ever wanted, as his eyes fill up with unshed tears and his chest hurts. He runs as fast as he can, and his lungs burn, but he welcomes the pain. He just wants to die, because now?
Now he can't ever see Dean again, and ripping him away from Sam's life is like cutting a limb.
11th of March 2004 07:00
It's been a whole month. Sam sacrifices ten minutes of sleep every morning in order to catch the train before his usual one, and it hurts like hell not to have Dean to look forward to, but he's coping, somehow: he dreams about him every night, anyway.
It's so weird, he thinks as he walks into the station. He doesn't even have a picture of the guy, but if he closes his eyes he can see him, as clear as if he was standing in front of him. When he opens his eyes, he almost snorts because, seriously?Daydreams are one thing, but hallucinations?
The Dean in his head is leaning against the wall, his arms crossed on his chest, and his face lights up when he sees Sam. Sam is so pathetic, and he shakes his head as he hops onto the wagon. Dean enters after him and steps closer, grabbing his arm again as if he wants to make sure Sam is real, and whoa, wait a minute.
"Finally," Dean says, his fingers almost trembling. "Finally I found you." Sam's jaw goes slack and he can't do anything but stare, confused. What's going on? Dean clears his throat. "Listen, man, I don't know you and you don't me, but... I used to see you every day, and then you weren't there anymore, and-I missed you."
Dean's gaze shifts from one side to the other, and he licks his lower lip nervously. "I've been looking for a way to approach you for months, but I couldn't find anything that didn't scream stalker, so in the end I was just happy with staring from afar."
Sam knows he must look like some sort of weird fish, but he cant help it. This man-this man wanted to talk to him? Dean wanted to know him? For real?!
Dean probably misunderstands Sam's shocked expression, because he keeps babbling about how his friends gave up on him because he was so gone for a stranger he didn't even ever speak to, and the way he searched for Sam like crazy since he stopped taking the train. "I even asked to a couple of travelers if they had any idea of where you got on at, and I've been trying every day to bump into you... you must think I'm such a creepy loser, right?"
The last words are bitter and self-deprecating, and that's what propels Sam to finally open his mouth and answer. "I've looked forward to seeing you in the morning since I met your gaze for the first time, Dean. When that old man asked you for your name, it made me so happy to know... it was like I was a little closer to you. I don't know what it is, but I feel drawn to you and I really think that there's something here."
Dean's cheeks flush and he looks away, muttering something. Sam smiles softly, his fingers curling around Dean's on his arm and squeezing, encouragingly. "Ever since October," Dean says, still stubbornly looking away. "I've taken the wrong train to work every morning. I need to change afterwards and it takes me half an hour more to get to my garage, but it's worth it, because-because you are on it."
He finally looks at Sam, his eyes shining, and Sam just stares back as an unknown warmth spreads in his chest. Dean's stop comes by, but Dean doesn't get off. "I'm walking you to work today," Dean states, and is Sam's turn to blush, as he nods, and the beaming smile he gets from Dean in exchange makes his breath hitch.
The recorded voice announces Sam's stop as it has done every day for the last 6 months, but everything's different now: Sam's life has changed, and he feels like singing. Or flying.
The 11th of March doesn't sound like a special date at all, but Sam knows that it will be, for them. It's the start of something big, he can feel it. Dean grabs his wrist, drawing lazy circles with his thumb, as the train enters a tunnel, and that's when they hear a sickening metal crushing sound and the lights go out.
11th of March 2004 07:37
"Dean?" Sam calls out, not freaking out yet, as long as Dean is still there.
"I'm here," Dean answers, grabbing the lapels of Sam's jacket, and Sam lets out a breath he didn't even realize he has been holding. His fingertips search for Dean's face in the dark and when they finally find it Sam cups Dean's cheek, suddenly bold, to kiss him on the lips.
It's a fleeting contact, can't even be called a kiss, but there's dread in Sam's heart and he just needs Dean to be close, with him, because something's about to happen and Sam doesn't want to miss a second of what could have been between them. "What's happening?" Sam asks, his lips tingling, and Dean tightens his grip on him.
"I don't know," he answers, cradling the back of Sam's head with his free hand and pulling him closer once more. "Need you to-"
He doesn't even finish the sentence before he's kissing Sam, deep and passionate, trying to convey everything Sam himself feels, and Sam kisses him back with the same intense desperation. When they break apart, panting and shaking, Dean rests his forehead against Sam.
"I would have loved you so much," he whispers. Sam nods and closes his eyes. I already do he wants to say, but he doesn't have the time.
The last conscious beat of his heart is for Dean, though, even if he will never know.
During the peak of Madrid rush hour on the morning of Thursday, 11 March 2004, ten explosions occurred aboard four commuter trains. All the affected trains were traveling on the same line and in the same direction between Alcala de Henares and the Atocha station in Madrid.
All four trains had departed the Alcala de Henares station between 07:01 and 07:14. The explosions took place between 07:37 and 07:40 in the morning.
Epilogue