The Flames Consume From Within (2/5)
Master Post Part One
Part Two
He figured he should have known that he didn’t have to worry about where he and Sam stood, not after the kiss that he’d been thinking about for 48 hours straight. Not after the way Sam’s breath had hitched when Dean’s hands had slid into his hair that night in the car.
He should have known better.
But, hey, if the result of his worrying got him plastered against the wall by one Sam Wells, then he thought that it might be worth it to start freaking out about everything.
Ah, yeah, there was that stuttering breath again; Dean grinned against Sam’s lips as he cupped the back of Sam’s head, fingers tangling in the curled strands he found.
“Sam,” he panted when Sam pulled away and moved down to Dean’s neck. “Sam. Man, not here. We can’t…What if someone walks in? Sam. Sam?” Even though it was at his insistence, he still groaned when Sam stepped back and wiped his mouth, immediately missing the heat against his skin.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Sam whispered, eyeing Dean like he was the best treat in the world. “I just…You were moping.” He held his hand up when Dean opened his mouth to protest, and his smile grew wider. “You were so moping, dude. You looked like you were terrified of me.”
“Fine,” Dean grumbled, shifting his eyes away from Sam’s face; he could feel his cheeks heat up at being caught. “I was…maybe…worrying. A little.”
Sam snorted. “It was more than a little.”
Dean’s head snapped up, eyes narrowed. “It was not! You…You’re…don’t you have work to do, rookie? I think you’re on dish duty, and they’re pilin’ up, man.”
Sam waved one hand in the air, as if he were erasing Dean’s words. He stood there for a moment, just looking at Dean, making the other man squirm. Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about being so openly ogled by Sam. It wasn’t that he’d never experienced the attention before; on the contrary, he got it all the time, but with Sam…it was different. More innocent. More meaningful.
“We’ll pick this up later, okay?” Sam called over his shoulder as he headed out of the empty locker room.
“Looking forward to it!” Dean yelled back.
He wasn’t quite sure whether Sam meant the talking or the kissing, but he was desperately hoping for the latter.
* * *
Sam loved Dean’s laugh. It was usually so loud, as though he’d kept the sound in for too long and it just exploded out of him. He would throw his head back, noise erupting from his throat in short, sharp barks of laughter that swirled around everyone in the vicinity until they too were joining in.
But there were times when Dean would just let out these soft chuckles, quiet like he didn’t want the world to share his amusement. Like his joy was too intimate to put on show.
This was one of those times. Sam was lying in bed, hand outstretched in a gesture to lure Dean back to the warmth of the covers. Dean was shaking his head, silently laughing at whatever pathetic facial expression Sam had managed to make.
But then something happened. Dean turned away as the wall behind him disappeared, turning into an archway of flame. There was a room beyond it, also on fire, beams falling down. From Sam’s perspective, he could see what had caught Dean’s attention: there was a woman lying on the ground, a firefighter in full gear hunched over and sliding his arms underneath her.
He could hear the wood creaking above them.
His shout to Dean fell on deaf ears, and Sam was rooted to the spot, only able to watch helplessly as his boyfriend ran into the flame, clad only in sweatpants. One of the support beams fell away from the wall, the ceiling above them tilting dangerously.
Dean pushed the firefighter and the woman out of the way just as a corner of the ceiling caved in, a heavy wooden beam knocking Dean to the ground, pinning him underneath.
Sam heard his own scream in stereo as he jerked awake, tears and sweat streaming down his face.
He looked around his bedroom, relaxing when he saw that it was intact, all four walls right where they should be. There was no Dean on the floor, dying right before his eyes.
No. Not in front of his eyes. Dean was still in the hospital, dealing with complications from Sam’s stupidity.
Sam fell back on the bed with a loud thump, breaths coming out more naturally, heart rate slowing down. He wished he could stop having these dreams. It’d been two weeks since the fire. Three days since Dean had woken up and proven himself to be the worst patient ever. Dean was fine. He was going to be fine. Sam just had to keep reminding himself of that. Then maybe all of the nightmares could go away, burn up in the flames that were plaguing him.
Groaning, he looked over at the alarm clock. 6:45 a.m. Which meant that the sun wouldn’t be making an appearance for another hour. Which meant that Sam had only gotten just a couple hours of sleep, again.
Well. Visiting hours began at 7:00 a.m. He figured that since he was up, he may as well get ready.
Bobby had insisted that Sam take an extended vacation. Well, a more accurate explanation would be that he’d refused to let Sam return to work until they knew that Dean was back to par. Okay, Bobby’s exact words were that Sam could come back to the station when he stopped blaming himself for what had happened. Which Sam took to mean that he was fired, since he was pretty sure he’d never get over the immense guilt that had taken to following him around like a bewitched rain cloud.
Bobby had just rolled his eyes and walked away, murmuring something under his breath that had sounded suspiciously like “a big bunch of idjits.”
Freshly showered, Sam chanced a good look in the mirror while he tried to make his hair somewhat manageable. He had no idea how long it had been since he actually bothered to look at his appearance. Ever since that day in the hospital bathroom, when he’d collapsed into a sobbing mess on the floor, he’d been afraid of what he might find.
But it wasn’t as bad as he was expecting. There were still dark circles under his eyes, which were a little bloodshot from the lack of a decent night’s sleep. And his skin still looked too tight for his face, lines appearing where they shouldn’t be for his 21 years. But, he didn’t look as rundown. He didn’t see the evidence of a permanent frown on his face, which was good. He was getting back to himself.
And it was all due to Dean.
Dean was a self-sacrificing idiot, as he’d proven in running after Sam. But, that played in his favor sometimes. Whenever Sam was in his hospital room, Dean skirted the conversations away from what had happened, instead cracking jokes about the nursing staff. He downplayed the pain that he was obviously in, and insisted on telling Sam, several times, that he was going to have to keep the ladies - or guys, whatever - away with a stick after he got out of the hospital with the sexy scar that was going to run along his jaw. He said it gave him character - and, apparently, character on top of Dean Winchester’s charm meant that anyone in a ten-mile radius would be slobbering at his feet.
Dean made sure to keep things light, diffusing the tension that Sam seemed to inadvertently create over the fire. He ignored whatever he was dealing with to make Sam feel better. And, honestly, it did make him feel better. The fact that Dean was still Dean, whining patient or not, made him feel like things could actually turn out okay. Maybe they did stand a chance of getting things back to the way they were before…everything.
It was Dean’s laugh. When Dean was happy, it could make you feel like there was nothing wrong with the world.
“All right, Sam,” Sam said to himself in the mirror. “You gotta be strong for Dean, okay? Get over your hang-ups right the fuck now and make sure your boyfriend knows you love him.”
With a firm nod to himself, and choosing to ignore the fact that he was talking to himself, he made his way out the door, a phantom trace of Dean’s quiet chuckle floating through his mind.
* * *
“So, Dean, we’re both off on Thursday, yeah?” Sam asked, striding in to the kitchen after a shower with his T-shirt in his hands instead of on his body, testing Dean’s restraint.
Dean gulped, audibly if Andy’s weird look was any indication. He nodded, a little too frantically for his liking. “Uh, yeah, I guess” he choked out, keeping his gaze firmly on the newspaper in front of him. “Why? Something up?”
Dean could see Sam shrug out of the corner of his eye, still shirtless. He had to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying something about it. It had been a week and a half since their date, 10 days in which neither of them had been off at the same time. That, in turn, meant 10 days of short, stolen kisses and meaningful glances. All Dean wanted to do was crowd Sam against the wall and kiss him until they were both left breathless and hard and aching for one another.
“Earth to Dean!” accompanied the snapping of fingers right in Dean’s eye line.
He started, rearing back to get away from Andy’s fingers.
“Dude, you okay?” Andy asked, giving him a worried look.
Dean smiled, the action becoming easier when he looked around and saw that Sam had finally pulled on his shirt. “Sorry. Did someone say something?”
Andy just snorted and stood up. “Dude, get some sleep or something. You look terrible. Might help with your spacing out too. I don’t want your ass covering me in a burning building if you’re that out of it,” he threw over his shoulder as he walked toward the lounge.
Anson’s cry of “Damn straight!” floated in through the swinging door seconds later.
Dean shook his head, smirking, and looked back down at the newspaper article he was reading about the woman they’d found murdered a few days before. Police were thinking it was a gay-bashing. Great.
Sam sat down in Andy’s vacated seat, nudging Dean with his shoulder and drawing his attention away from the article. Dean just looked up at him expectantly, eyebrow cocked.
Sam sighed, slouching down in the chair and spreading his legs almost obscenely. Dean had to put in a huge amount of effort to keep his eyes trained on Sam’s face.
“So, we’re both off on Thursday. Right?” Dean nodded rather stiffly. “Okay, so. I was thinking. Maybe. If you wanted. We could, uh…go catch the new Bruce Willis movie or something? Or, whatever, I mean…You don’t have to, it’s cool if you don’t…”
Dean laughed then, holding up a hand to stop Sam in his tracks. He loved it when Sam got all nervous and squirmy. It was cute - though Dean would never tell anyone that he referred to anything as “cute.” But his rambling was likely to go on forever if someone didn’t stop him.
“Dude,” he said through a smile. “Chill, man, okay? Yeah, movie sounds good. Beers afterward or something?”
Sam nodded, cheeks flushed. “Yeah, sure!” he responded enthusiastically.
“So, Thursday’s like two days from now right?” Sam nodded again. Dean groaned, dropping his head onto the table with a solid thunk. “Damn.”
It was Sam’s turn to laugh then. Dean just raised one arm and flipped him off. “Bitch,” he mumbled.
“Jerk,” Sam responded without a moment’s hesitation.
* * *
“Sammy!”
Dean’s smile was so bright, even with the garish white of the bandage on his face, that Sam could practically feel his skin splitting with the force of his own grin. God, but he loved that man.
“Hey, Dean,” Sam murmured, moving to Dean’s bedside. He looked around quickly, checking for any nurses or parents or firefighters that might be present before he leaned down and kissed Dean quickly.
Well, quick was his intention anyway.
Dean’s non-bandaged hand came up to Sam’s neck and pulled him down again when he made a move to pull away. Sam was helpless to the ministrations of Dean’s lips, he realized, as they moved against his own, tongue sliding into Sam’s mouth on a gasp. He groaned, a low, feral sound from the back of his throat and put his hands on either side of Dean’s head, careful not to disturb the wires connecting to Dean’s chest or knock against Dean’s injured shoulders.
Dean shifted on the bed and then brought his other arm around Sam’s shoulders to pull them closer together. Sam knew that the action was probably hurting Dean’s muscles but if Dean wasn’t complaining, then Sam surely wasn’t. It had been far too long since he’d had Dean like this, mouth pliant against his.
Kissing Dean was like getting a dose of pure oxygen. It was different from every other kiss, making him feel light and refreshed in a way that he never knew he could feel. But, at the same time, it was familiar; there was something deep inside Sam that could recognize any of Dean’s touches for what they were, no matter how soft or ghosting. And, kissing Dean like this - mouths moving against each other hungrily, tongues sliding against each other in a leisurely pace in contrast - it was something that Sam would never tire of.
A throat being cleared from the doorway had them both snapping apart, flushed and embarrassed. Sam was almost afraid to turn around, both because he wasn’t sure who it was and because he was sure that his erection had to be obvious, pressing against the zipper of his jeans.
“Didn’t mean to intrude, boys,” came Bobby Singer’s voice. Sam sagged in relief; he’d been terrified that it was Dean’s father.
“Oh, c’mon, man,” Dean said, familiar smirk firmly in place. “You know you liked the show.”
Sam just rolled his eyes, pulling one of the chairs in the room closer to Dean’s bed. He sat down and turned to look up at his captain, smiling as innocently as he could.
It was Bobby’s turn to roll his eyes. He walked around to the other side of Dean’s bed and gently patted his broken leg. “How you feelin’, buddy?”
Dean nodded, licking his kiss-swollen lips. “M’good. Doc says that some of the bandages might come off soon. The one on my face, for sure. How long’s it been now?” He paused for a moment, brow wrinkled in confusion. Sam reached over and squeezed his hand. Dean shook his head and continued, “Anyway, Doc says that the…medicine they’ve been putting on the burns has been working well. Says that it’s been long enough, and anything else is up to m’body, or something. Might not be too much scarring, except for the leg, I guess. How’d I managed to rip my pants up, anyway? I’d have been okay if it weren’t for the flames getting in through that tear.”
Bobby nodded, eyes going softer than Sam had ever seen them before. “I don’t know, Dean. But, it’s good that you’re getting better,” he supplied. “That’s real good. We’ll have you back on the streets in no time.”
Dean’s smile at that didn’t reach his eyes, and Sam felt his gut clench. Did Dean not want to return to the station? Sam figured he might feel the same if it were him lying in the hospital, but firefighters go into the job knowing all the risks. And, Dean…Dean was so brave, and such a fighter. He was so dedicated to his job that Sam couldn’t imagine him giving it up.
But maybe there was more to the story. He made a mental note to ask about it later, and left Dean to catch up with Bobby, mumbling something about coffee.
* * *
“Dude, that movie completely sucked,” Sam muttered, thumping his head against the passenger window of the Impala as Dean headed out of the theatre parking lot.
Dean chuckled. “Well, you’re the one who thought it might not be as much of a chick flick as it looked,” he reminded Sam.
“Please don’t remind me that this was my idea,” Sam huffed, slumping down further in the seat. “How about getting food? That never goes wrong. Can I claim that idea?”
Dean nodded, fingers drumming out some nonsense rhythm on the steering wheel. “Food sounds great,” he responded, pointing the car towards a diner out by Sam’s apartment.
A comfortable silence settled over the interior of the car, putting a smile on Dean’s face as he tried not to be obvious about his periodic - if every five seconds counts as periodically - glances over at Sam. The constant butterflies in his stomach at the mere thought of Sam were getting fainter, replaced by a deep-seated warmth that spread through Dean’s entire body instead.
It scared him, truth be told, that he was getting so comfortable with Sam. He’d never even seriously thought about having a relationship before, and the fact that Sam had completely changed his entire way of life, in a matter of weeks, terrified him. But, he was surprised to find that he didn’t care as he much as he should. It was still early, and maybe Sam didn’t think they were anything serious, but he couldn’t imagine Sam not being around. And it depressed him to even try.
By the time they pulled into the diner, Sam was practically drooling and chose to ignore Dean’s warning about messing up the upholstery in favor of bolting into the restaurant. Dean just shook his head and stepped out, following after him with a quick pat to the hood of his baby.
They made small talk as they ordered, Dean wondering how Sam could manage to eat healthy, rabbit food and still eat in mass quantities - the veggie burger he’d ordered was the size of his head. Once their food came, they settled in and began to really talk, asking questions that they’d both had on their minds about everything under the sun. Dean sort of grumbled along at first, not much for caring and sharing, but he found it increasingly easier to answer and come up with questions of his own, just seeing how curious Sam was about what made Dean who he was. It was actually fun until they got to the deeper stuff, details coming to light that made Dean’s stomach twist uncomfortably.
“So, what was your longest relationship?” Sam asked innocently, big hazel eyes shining.
Dean fidgeted on his seat, a lump settling in his throat. He had no idea what Sam had heard about him from the other guys at the station, how he was rarely seen leaving a bar without a pretty girl hanging off his arm. And, for the first time in his life, he was actually worried about what his behavior would make people think.
“I, uh,” he mumbled, eyes downcast, idly running a French fry back and forth through his ketchup. “Maybe a month.”
He could see Sam’s eyes widen in his peripheral vision, mouth dropping open slightly. The surprised look was only there for half a second, barely long enough for anyone but Dean to notice, before Sam shook his head and cleared his throat.
“Really?” Sam asked, head cocked to the side in question. “Why is that?”
Dean finally looked up and squared his shoulders, trying hard not to tear his gaze away from Sam’s face. “Relationships aren’t my thing,” he answered with a shrug, trying to give an air of nonchalance that he didn’t really feel. “Never really had the patience for one. And when I decided to stick around long enough for it, I got thrown out for confiding in her. So it was back to one-night stands and back alley hook-ups.”
Sam nodded, eyes taking on a sad, glassy sort of look. Dean looked away then, not wanting to see the pity or disgust that might turn up. “What about you?” he ventured after a few moments of tense silence.
“Little over a year. Jess,” Sam responded. “She was really my only friend, my only link to the world outside my aunt’s house. We broke up when I started realizing I was gay…I haven’t spoken to her since I left town.”
Dean risked a glance up from his place at the tone of Sam’s voice. He sounded disconnected, sad in a vague sort of way, and he looked lost, small somehow. Dean’s heart lurched, and he reached across the table to cover Sam’s hand with his own.
Sam came out of his memories slowly, giving Dean a small smile as he turned his hand and linked their fingers together. Dean tried to return it, but the sympathy he was sure he would be feeling by the end of the night was already threatening to choke him. He didn’t want to dredge up bad memories for Sam, didn’t want to do anything that would make him stop smiling, but a part of him felt like he needed to know.
“You lived with your aunt?” he asked, trying to ease into the questions that had built up in his head.
Sam nodded, smile fading away. He nodded. “Yeah, she took me in after my parents died,” he murmured, focusing his eyes on where his hand was joined with Dean’s. “They died when I was 7. In a fire. S’why I decided to get into this.”
Dean squeezed Sam’s hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing his knuckles lightly, a move that surprised him. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking when he saw the tears in Sam’s eyes. “I had no idea…”
Sam shook his head. “Don’t apologize. It was a long time ago, and I’m okay. Talking about it, I mean.”
Dean smiled, hoping to give Sam some idea of how bad he felt about bringing everything to light, but he’s pretty sure he failed miserably. “So, uh…how’d you end up here? You’re from somewhere down South, right? I think that’s what Andy told me…”
Sam gave Dean a small, sad smile, eyes red-rimmed. “I’m from Missouri, actually. Springfield. After I came out to my aunt, I was more or less banished,” he said, voice oddly detached and monotone. “She didn’t take it well, at all. Told me that she couldn’t believe I would do something like that to her. Told me she’d tried to shelter me from the wicked ways of the world.” He paused for a moment, reaching up with his free hand to rub the tears out of his eyes. “I haven’t talked to her since the day I walked out. I packed up what little I had, and hopped on the first bus out of town. And I ended up in Burlington, started volunteering for the local firehouse. Now here I am.”
Dean couldn’t get out any noise past the lump in his throat, emotion clogging up his words. He’d always thought that he’d had it rough, dealing with a homophobic, drill sergeant of a father. But, at least he’d had his mother to balance it out, even if he’d ever told either one of them about his sexuality. He had lived under his father’s no-nonsense thumb, desperate to please him and always failing spectacularly. And, once he was old enough to get away, he’d become determined to let everything roll off his back.
But, Sam had been so hurt in the past, it seemed. The only family he had left rejected him because he was different. And, there was just no excuse for that. He knew that, even if he came out to his father and was disowned, he’d always have his mother, his grandparents and extended family. Sam had no one.
“Now here you are,” Dean whispered, finding his words at last and squeezing Sam’s hand in his. “You’re safe here, Sam. You’re wanted here. I hope you know that.”
Sam looked up then, finally, and smiled. His dimples came out, balancing out the watery hazel eyes. He nodded. “Yeah,” he responded. “Yeah, I know.”
Dean nodded back, smile threatening to split his face in two. “Good. Just wanted to make sure.”
Sam smiled back and turned back to his dinner, the two men finishing their meal in comfortable silence.
Dean was amazed at the feelings welling up inside him. He’d never been a selfish person, but he’d never really cared too much for anyone outside of his family and those select few that he’d call his friends over the years. And, even then, it took a long time before he found himself accepting them and trusting them. But, with Sam, every barrier had broken down almost immediately. Barely a months of knowing the guy and he already found himself wanting to protect Sam, wanted to wrap him and never let go. He wanted to shield him, and teach him, and build him up until Sam was his whole world.
Dean knew that he was on the brink of some monumental changes, a virtual roller coaster of everything his life was and could be. And, for once, he found himself just throwing his hands up and enjoying the ride.
* * *
Sam couldn’t contain his nerves, no matter what he did. Breathing techniques didn’t work, making him wonder if Dean was right about all the New Age “crap.” Any distraction he could come up with only led him right back to thoughts of Dean. Even the internet and research couldn’t stop his mind from working overtime.
Really, he couldn’t even figure out why he was so worried. Dean was getting his bandages off today, sure, but was that really such a big deal? Dean was still Dean, as far as he was concerned, even if he had some scars. It made him human and all the more endearing to Sam. But, Dean wouldn’t see it that way. Dean might not be completely shallow, but it was no secret that he valued his looks. He believed that’s what had gotten him through life, holding no value on the intelligence that Sam knew he had. He might have joked about it, but Sam knew that he was worried about the damage that had been done. And he wasn’t sure if he would be able to console a broken Dean, not with his own insecurities weighing him down.
The guilt he’d felt initially was beginning to dissipate, slowly. The fact that Dean didn’t blame him helped a lot. But, now he would be faced with the actual evidence of his foolishness. Dean had been in the process of taking off his gear when Sam had seen that little girl crying for her mother. His gloves were gone, helmet half-off, and still he ran in after Sam, knowing just that little bit of skin would leave him vulnerable. No one could have really expected the outcome though, flames managing to lick their way into the flame-retardant suit and do more damage. Dean’s mangled leg was all due to a tear in his pants leg. A stupid rip in the material left Dean unable to support his own weight.
So, maybe Sam shouldn’t have been surprised that he was so nervous. His own emotions were going haywire, and he knew that trying to help control Dean’s, no matter how hidden his boyfriend tried to keep them, would only make himself worse. He’d been made fun of all his life for being a sensitive sort of guy, but Sam had never once figured that it could be a bad thing. But, now, his more emotional nature was likely to make him crumble. He wanted to be strong for Dean, but he knew that Dean was the strong one. Regardless of how much he tried to shrug people off and say that he was okay, Sam knew that he was the one who needed people. He needed their interaction, their approval. And Dean was everything to him. With the dynamic change that was inevitable, how would they be able to cope? Would their relationship be able to survive?
It was with something of a jolt that Sam found himself facing the door to Dean’s hospital room. He remembered getting in the car and driving off, but he’d been so lost in his thoughts that he couldn’t recall the steps required to lead him here. Not that it really mattered; he’d have to face his demons at some point. The longer he prolonged the inevitable, the worse it would be in the end.
Steeling himself, he raised his hand and knocked on the door a few times, waiting for the muffled “come in” before pushing it open. The sight that greeted him wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought. Though, he’d been picturing a deformed, hunchback-of-Notre-Dame Dean in his head, so anything would be better than that.
Dean’s left arm was out of its bandages, and even from the door, Sam could see the twisted pink skin running from his knuckles to his elbow. His right arm was better, the skin around his wrist red and raw-looking. It looked like his back was still bandaged; the cuts and scratches from the nails in the beam that took him down had required stitches and some extra care for the burns around them. And his left leg was still casted, as it would be for at least another month, but it was new, an actual plaster cast instead of wrappings and gauze.
But, his face. Dean’s rugged, handsome face. It wasn’t nearly as he had feared. There was a healing cut running the length of the right side of Dean’s lower jaw, deep enough that it would inevitably scar. There were smaller, thinner marks running down Dean’s neck, running around to the bandage on his shoulders. Despite the fact that Dean had joked about it, it really did make him look distinguished, even as it squeezed Sam’s heart uncomfortably.
“Dean,” Sam whispered, a smile blooming across his face. It was genuine, in spite of his racing heart. “You’re...wow.”
Dean visibly blushed, ducking his head to his chest. “How bad is it? I’m afraid to look,” he mumbled.
Sam tried desperately to hold onto his thin smile when faced with Dean’s insecurity. “It’s not bad at all,” he said, surprised to find his voice infused with strength he didn’t really feel. “You look great, Dean. You look like you.”
Dean nodded, still not looking up. Sam could see him idly running his fingers along the marred skin of his left arm. “Thank you,” he responded, unconvinced.
He sounded like Sam was just humoring him, which not only wasn’t true, but threatened to turn Sam into a sobbing mess, relieved at having the whole nightmare almost over. The bandages were gone, the last barrier between Sam’s guilt and the healing process.
Sam moved over to Dean’s bedside, sitting once again in his chair. He gently lifted up Dean’s chin and pressed a chaste kiss to his boyfriend’s lips. “Dean, you look wonderful. Okay?” he reassured. “It’s not like you’re the Elephant Man.”
Dean let out a small chuckle, opening his eyes and fixing bright, green eyes on Sam. “You sweet talker, you.”
Sam laughed, loud and bright for a moment, before kissing Dean again, sliding his fingers gently along the cut on Dean’s jaw. “I love you,” he whispered as he pulled back. “Nothing changes that, okay? Nothing.”
Dean nodded, eyes sliding down for a moment before snapping back up to Sam’s. “Yeah,” he replied softly, nodding again. “Thank you.”
Sam could have responded, words on the tip of his tongue. But, for once, he figured Dean’s way might be best, and he let his actions speak for him.
* * *
Dean never thought that he could be filled with so much want for one person. He felt like his skin was on fire, too tight for his bones and all of the muscle to fit inside. He could feel the sweat rolling down his forehead, dripping off the end of his nose, but he wasn’t even sure if it was his or Sam’s.
Sam was currently pressing Dean up against the exterior side of Dean’s door, no space between them, keys long forgotten on the worn-carpeted hallway. Dean had one of his hands threaded in Sam’s hair, gripping tightly, and the other clutched around Sam’s hip, no doubt leaving bruises. But Sam was giving as good as he got, pushing Dean back into the solid wood with his hips while both of his hands cupped Dean’s face, controlling the force of the kiss.
Their tongues were twining around each other in a frenzied dance, lips moving restlessly, teeth clacking every few seconds. Dean was breathing heavily through his noise, and he could feel Sam’s chest heaving with the force of his own labored breathing. It was passion and need and every maniacal feeling Dean had ever had all rolled into one, and he was about to burst with the weight of it all.
Dean reluctantly pulled his mouth away from Sam’s, which just moved down to his neck to suck a bruise into Dean’s skin. He couldn’t catch his breath, Sam’s assault proving to be too much.
“Sam,” he forced past a dry throat, through kiss-swollen lips. “We need…Can’t do this…here. Neighbors.”
Sam laughed against his skin, lips brushing Dean’s neck in a tickle that was contradictory to the harsh pressure of seconds before. “You’re right,” he murmured, still semi-attached to Dean’s skin. “Grab the keys.”
And how Sam could sound so calm and so turned on at the same time, Dean would never know. But any wonderings he had flew right out the window when Sam started sucking on his neck again, moving down over the jugular until he reached the junction where Dean’s neck met his shoulder. Then he bit down, hard, bringing a yelp out of Dean that he would vehemently deny later.
“Sam,” Dean gritted out through clenched teeth. “Can’t get the keys with you doing stuff like that.”
Sam nodded and pulled away. He dropped down to retrieve the keys from Dean’s feet. Dean was sure that he lost at least half of his brain cells when his head thumped back against the door; the sight of Sam on his knees, that fantasy-inducing mouth right there was just too much to handle. He could have come in his pants right then.
And that’s so not how he had planned his first sexual encounter with Sam.
Sam, the little bastard, just smirked up at him, completely aware of Dean’s delicate condition, and leaned forward just enough to nuzzle his face against the bulge in the front of Dean’s jeans.
Dean groaned and thumped his head back against the door again. “You’re evil.”
Sam just laughed and stood up to unlock the door, Dean practically falling back in surprise when he pushed it open and ushered them both inside. Before Dean could protest about the way he was being treated, Sam was on him. The keys were dropping to the floor again as Sam kicked the door shut behind him.
“Sam,” Dean mumbled between kisses. “Dude. Slow down.”
He’s pretty sure that Sam snorted in response, but he didn’t let up at all. Instead, Sam pushed their lips together harder, effectively ending any attempt of Dean’s to speak again. It wasn’t that Dean didn’t want this, want Sam. It was the opposite. He wanted him so badly, but he didn’t want that to ruin anything that they could possibly have together. He liked Sam’s company; the sex appeal was just an added factor.
And, if he were being honest with himself, Dean actually felt shy. Sam, geek though he was, could probably have whoever he wanted. Sure, Dean probably could too, and had in the past. But this was different. Sam was different. He didn’t want to sleep with the guy and then lose anything that was between them.
“Sam,” he tried again, pushing Sam back with enough force to get his point across.
Sam just blinked at him, heated skin beginning to pale. “W-what?” he stuttered out, taking a few steps back from Dean. “Did I…I’m moving too fast, aren’t I?”
Dean smiled and stepped back into Sam’s space. He reached up to cup Sam’s face in his hands and kissed him, softly. “I just…I don’t want this to be it.”
Sam’s eyes softened immediately; the corners of his mouth turned up in a small grin, and his face lost that deer-in-the-headlights look. He nodded, moving forward and settling his hands on Dean’s hips.
“I get that,” he whispered, as though he were afraid to break the moment. “But I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about, y’know? Me and you…I like this. Us. We’ll go as slow as you want. But, just so you know, I’m up for whatever.”
Dean sighed, letting out the tension he’d been holding in. That tension was immediately replaced by the all-consuming want that he’d felt before. He couldn’t stand not to be touching Sam. He took a good look at Sam and managed to utter “Oh, thank God,” before he crashed his lips to Sam’s again. He licked and nipped his way inside Sam’s mouth, sucking Sam’s tongue into his; he loved the moan he got in response.
Dean started walking backwards toward his bedroom, pulling Sam along with him and trying desperately to remember the layout of his furniture. After all, he didn’t want to injure either one of them before they got to the good part, regardless of how far they ended up going. He just wanted to be pressed up against Sam, clothes or no clothes.
Once they’d managed to collapse onto the bed, unscathed for the most part, Dean separated their mouths and pulled back enough to see Sam’s face. The light from the streetlamps outside was filtering in through the half-open blinds, illuminating Sam’s face in streaks and causing his hazel eyes to shine brightly.
Dean couldn’t help the goofy grin that spread across his face at the sight. The expression on Sam’s face was so open, so honest, so young that he didn’t really know what to think. All he knew was that a warm feeling had begun to settle deep in his stomach whenever Sam gave him that look.
“Dean?” Sam was giving him a curious look, uncertainty back in his eyes again.
Dean grinned wider, reaching out to pull Sam’s face to his for slow, sweet kiss. Sam scooted closer to Dean on the bed with one hand on his waist, bringing their bodies flush against each other.
Though it wasn’t his intention, Dean could feel the kiss heating up again and couldn’t stop himself from thrusting his hips forward. Sam let out a low moan as their erections came in contact and rolled them so that Dean was flat out on his back, Sam’s hands roaming as he ground down against Dean.
Dean gasped into Sam’s mouth, moving against the body above him at the pace that Sam set for them. He reached in between them to deftly undo Sam’s jeans, sliding the belt out of its loops and popping the buttons of Sam’s fly. He slid them down Sam’s hips enough to be able to pull Sam’s cock out through the slit of his boxers and began to slowly stroke him, loving the sounds that Sam was making at the back of his throat.
He couldn’t look down and see what Sam looked like, his head held in place in Sam’s large hands, but he could feel the weight of Sam in his hands, feel how the silky skin contradicted the hardness underneath. It was amazing, being able to touch Sam like that. Dean was no stranger to sex, sure, but Sam was so trusting that it heightened the experience. He felt like he was being allowed a part of something special, something sacred.
Sam’s low groan above him brought Dean out of his girly meanderings and back into the moment. He hadn’t even realized that they’d stopped kissing and Sam had pulled back. He found himself staring into lust-blown eyes, hazel a mere ring around dark pupils. Sam’s mouth was slightly open, hot breath puffing against Dean’s forehead, and his hands were on either side of Dean’s head, holding himself up with shaky arms.
In a move that surprised even Dean, Dean had them twisting, switching positions on the bed so that Dean could get better leverage on Sam’s dick. With Sam beneath him, his hand was at a more comfortable angle and he could jack Sam off in steadier strokes. He twisted his wrist a little on every downstroke, grazing the slit with his thumb on every upstroke. He judged Sam’s breath with every thing he tried, noting what worked and what didn’t, memorizing what had Sam’s breath hitching and what made him moan.
“Dean,” Sam whispered, stretching his neck to brush his lips against Dean’s softly. “God, so good.”
Dean smirked down at Sam as his breaths starting coming faster, little grunts and whimpers pouring out of his mouth as Dean kept up his strokes. He wanted to get Sam off, watch him fall apart with nothing more than this, heavy breathing and a slick hand. He wasn’t even aware that he’d slipped his other hand into his own jeans, but with the sight of Sam beneath him, he couldn’t stop himself from jerking himself off to the same pace.
“C’mon,” he murmured as he leaned down to press soft, suckling kisses to Sam’s neck, speeding up his strokes on both of them. “Come for me. Wanna see you, Sammy.”
At Dean’s last word, Sam gasped and warm liquid spilled over the top of Dean’s hand. Dean kept up his ministrations on Sam’s neck, stroking him through the aftershocks until Sam stopped him with a wince. A few strokes later, he followed Sam into orgasm, cum flooding his boxers.
He barely managed to move himself to the side, so as not to collapse directly on top of Sam, before he landed on his stomach on the bed, face pressed into the comforter. They were both panting, gasping for enough breath to say something. Dean was sure that he’d never experienced anything like that, an orgasm that would cause his world to tilt on its axis.
“Wow,” Sam said into the still room, pulling his pants back mindless of the mess they’d made. “That was…wow.”
Dean chuckled and turned on his side, grimacing as he felt the cooling liquid in his underwear. “Wow? That’s good. Wow is good,” he responded, half teasing, half serious.
Sam laughed then, too, rolling over to face Dean. He looked exhausted, eyelids drooping, but he was smiling. He looked so content, so blissed-out, that Dean wanted to take a picture of that moment. He wanted to be able to look at that expression on Sam’s face whenever he needed a pick-me-up because it had that warm, tingly feeling settling all over his body.
“Dean?” Sam asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence.
Dean, who’d been drifting off to sleep, could only grunt in response. He didn’t open his eyes, but he could hear Sam shuffling around.
“You called me ‘Sammy,’” Sam said softly a few moments later.
Dean did open his eyes then, sitting up rather stiffly. He saw Sam perched on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, and staring at the wall. He reached out and laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder, squeezing lightly and smiling when Sam leaned into the touch.
“Is that a problem?” he questioned, hesitantly. He hadn’t even realized that he’d said anything out of the ordinary, but this was obviously a big thing for Sam.
It was with something of a jolt that he realized he and Sam still didn’t really know each other that well. Sure they’d hung out over the past month or two, but there hadn’t been more than passing mentions of their hang-ups. And he knew then that he wanted to know everything, every little thing that had ever happened to Sam. He wanted to know it all, be able to store it in his own memory.
“No,” Sam answered, shaking his head and bringing Sam out of his thoughts. “I just…no one’s ever called me that before, not even when I was little. I mean, my aunt didn’t neglect me exactly, but there was no…I didn’t have a very affectionate childhood.”
Dean cleared his throat and moved closer, settling himself behind Sam and wrapping his arms around Sam’s waist. He laid his chin on Sam’s shoulder, tilting his head into Sam’s hair. “You don’t remember your parents?” he breathed.
Sam shook his head slightly. “After my aunt took me in, she home-schooled me until high school, where I became too smart for her. I was a bit of an outcast then, because no one knew who I was. So, I’ve never…never really been close to people. Not enough for nicknames and everything. You guys, at the garage, you’re the first people I’ve really considered friends, you know?”
Dean gave a small nod, tightening his hold on Sam. He wanted to wrap Sam up and hide him away from the world, keep him safe from everything that could possibly hurt him. It made sense now, why he always seemed so innocent, looking at the world with a sense of wonder. Why he wanted to learn so much, know the little details about everything from why Wisconsin is known for their cheese to the life of Mozart.
After another few minutes of lapsed silence, Sam spoke again. “I like it. I like that you can do that, call me something like ‘Sammy.’ Pretty lame, huh?” he laughed softly.
Dean scooted around until he had his legs on either side of Sam’s hips, getting a better hold on Sam’s torso. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he whispered into Sam’s ear, placing a soft kiss on the skin behind it. “You’re absolutely amazing. And I want to know more. I want to know things like this, if you’ll let me.”
Sam turned then, awkwardly rearranging them until they were both lying back on the bed, Dean on his back with Sam tucked against his side. “I want you to know more,” he said in a voice so sweet that Dean’s heart ached.
There wasn’t anything that Dean could say. So he just wrapped his arm around Sam’s shoulder and pulled him in closer.
After a few seconds, the sound of Sam’s soft breathing evening out filtered into Dean’s ears, and he smiled. He was all too aware of their sticky clothes, and he was sure that they’d regret not cleaning up in the morning. But, for now, he didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to mess up this moment that Sam had created.
He never wanted to let go.
* * *
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
_
Part Two
He figured he should have known that he didn’t have to worry about where he and Sam stood, not after the kiss that he’d been thinking about for 48 hours straight. Not after the way Sam’s breath had hitched when Dean’s hands had slid into his hair that night in the car.
He should have known better.
But, hey, if the result of his worrying got him plastered against the wall by one Sam Wells, then he thought that it might be worth it to start freaking out about everything.
Ah, yeah, there was that stuttering breath again; Dean grinned against Sam’s lips as he cupped the back of Sam’s head, fingers tangling in the curled strands he found.
“Sam,” he panted when Sam pulled away and moved down to Dean’s neck. “Sam. Man, not here. We can’t…What if someone walks in? Sam. Sam?” Even though it was at his insistence, he still groaned when Sam stepped back and wiped his mouth, immediately missing the heat against his skin.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Sam whispered, eyeing Dean like he was the best treat in the world. “I just…You were moping.” He held his hand up when Dean opened his mouth to protest, and his smile grew wider. “You were so moping, dude. You looked like you were terrified of me.”
“Fine,” Dean grumbled, shifting his eyes away from Sam’s face; he could feel his cheeks heat up at being caught. “I was…maybe…worrying. A little.”
Sam snorted. “It was more than a little.”
Dean’s head snapped up, eyes narrowed. “It was not! You…You’re…don’t you have work to do, rookie? I think you’re on dish duty, and they’re pilin’ up, man.”
Sam waved one hand in the air, as if he were erasing Dean’s words. He stood there for a moment, just looking at Dean, making the other man squirm. Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about being so openly ogled by Sam. It wasn’t that he’d never experienced the attention before; on the contrary, he got it all the time, but with Sam…it was different. More innocent. More meaningful.
“We’ll pick this up later, okay?” Sam called over his shoulder as he headed out of the empty locker room.
“Looking forward to it!” Dean yelled back.
He wasn’t quite sure whether Sam meant the talking or the kissing, but he was desperately hoping for the latter.
* * *
Sam loved Dean’s laugh. It was usually so loud, as though he’d kept the sound in for too long and it just exploded out of him. He would throw his head back, noise erupting from his throat in short, sharp barks of laughter that swirled around everyone in the vicinity until they too were joining in.
But there were times when Dean would just let out these soft chuckles, quiet like he didn’t want the world to share his amusement. Like his joy was too intimate to put on show.
This was one of those times. Sam was lying in bed, hand outstretched in a gesture to lure Dean back to the warmth of the covers. Dean was shaking his head, silently laughing at whatever pathetic facial expression Sam had managed to make.
But then something happened. Dean turned away as the wall behind him disappeared, turning into an archway of flame. There was a room beyond it, also on fire, beams falling down. From Sam’s perspective, he could see what had caught Dean’s attention: there was a woman lying on the ground, a firefighter in full gear hunched over and sliding his arms underneath her.
He could hear the wood creaking above them.
His shout to Dean fell on deaf ears, and Sam was rooted to the spot, only able to watch helplessly as his boyfriend ran into the flame, clad only in sweatpants. One of the support beams fell away from the wall, the ceiling above them tilting dangerously.
Dean pushed the firefighter and the woman out of the way just as a corner of the ceiling caved in, a heavy wooden beam knocking Dean to the ground, pinning him underneath.
Sam heard his own scream in stereo as he jerked awake, tears and sweat streaming down his face.
He looked around his bedroom, relaxing when he saw that it was intact, all four walls right where they should be. There was no Dean on the floor, dying right before his eyes.
No. Not in front of his eyes. Dean was still in the hospital, dealing with complications from Sam’s stupidity.
Sam fell back on the bed with a loud thump, breaths coming out more naturally, heart rate slowing down. He wished he could stop having these dreams. It’d been two weeks since the fire. Three days since Dean had woken up and proven himself to be the worst patient ever. Dean was fine. He was going to be fine. Sam just had to keep reminding himself of that. Then maybe all of the nightmares could go away, burn up in the flames that were plaguing him.
Groaning, he looked over at the alarm clock. 6:45 a.m. Which meant that the sun wouldn’t be making an appearance for another hour. Which meant that Sam had only gotten just a couple hours of sleep, again.
Well. Visiting hours began at 7:00 a.m. He figured that since he was up, he may as well get ready.
Bobby had insisted that Sam take an extended vacation. Well, a more accurate explanation would be that he’d refused to let Sam return to work until they knew that Dean was back to par. Okay, Bobby’s exact words were that Sam could come back to the station when he stopped blaming himself for what had happened. Which Sam took to mean that he was fired, since he was pretty sure he’d never get over the immense guilt that had taken to following him around like a bewitched rain cloud.
Bobby had just rolled his eyes and walked away, murmuring something under his breath that had sounded suspiciously like “a big bunch of idjits.”
Freshly showered, Sam chanced a good look in the mirror while he tried to make his hair somewhat manageable. He had no idea how long it had been since he actually bothered to look at his appearance. Ever since that day in the hospital bathroom, when he’d collapsed into a sobbing mess on the floor, he’d been afraid of what he might find.
But it wasn’t as bad as he was expecting. There were still dark circles under his eyes, which were a little bloodshot from the lack of a decent night’s sleep. And his skin still looked too tight for his face, lines appearing where they shouldn’t be for his 21 years. But, he didn’t look as rundown. He didn’t see the evidence of a permanent frown on his face, which was good. He was getting back to himself.
And it was all due to Dean.
Dean was a self-sacrificing idiot, as he’d proven in running after Sam. But, that played in his favor sometimes. Whenever Sam was in his hospital room, Dean skirted the conversations away from what had happened, instead cracking jokes about the nursing staff. He downplayed the pain that he was obviously in, and insisted on telling Sam, several times, that he was going to have to keep the ladies - or guys, whatever - away with a stick after he got out of the hospital with the sexy scar that was going to run along his jaw. He said it gave him character - and, apparently, character on top of Dean Winchester’s charm meant that anyone in a ten-mile radius would be slobbering at his feet.
Dean made sure to keep things light, diffusing the tension that Sam seemed to inadvertently create over the fire. He ignored whatever he was dealing with to make Sam feel better. And, honestly, it did make him feel better. The fact that Dean was still Dean, whining patient or not, made him feel like things could actually turn out okay. Maybe they did stand a chance of getting things back to the way they were before…everything.
It was Dean’s laugh. When Dean was happy, it could make you feel like there was nothing wrong with the world.
“All right, Sam,” Sam said to himself in the mirror. “You gotta be strong for Dean, okay? Get over your hang-ups right the fuck now and make sure your boyfriend knows you love him.”
With a firm nod to himself, and choosing to ignore the fact that he was talking to himself, he made his way out the door, a phantom trace of Dean’s quiet chuckle floating through his mind.
* * *
“So, Dean, we’re both off on Thursday, yeah?” Sam asked, striding in to the kitchen after a shower with his T-shirt in his hands instead of on his body, testing Dean’s restraint.
Dean gulped, audibly if Andy’s weird look was any indication. He nodded, a little too frantically for his liking. “Uh, yeah, I guess” he choked out, keeping his gaze firmly on the newspaper in front of him. “Why? Something up?”
Dean could see Sam shrug out of the corner of his eye, still shirtless. He had to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying something about it. It had been a week and a half since their date, 10 days in which neither of them had been off at the same time. That, in turn, meant 10 days of short, stolen kisses and meaningful glances. All Dean wanted to do was crowd Sam against the wall and kiss him until they were both left breathless and hard and aching for one another.
“Earth to Dean!” accompanied the snapping of fingers right in Dean’s eye line.
He started, rearing back to get away from Andy’s fingers.
“Dude, you okay?” Andy asked, giving him a worried look.
Dean smiled, the action becoming easier when he looked around and saw that Sam had finally pulled on his shirt. “Sorry. Did someone say something?”
Andy just snorted and stood up. “Dude, get some sleep or something. You look terrible. Might help with your spacing out too. I don’t want your ass covering me in a burning building if you’re that out of it,” he threw over his shoulder as he walked toward the lounge.
Anson’s cry of “Damn straight!” floated in through the swinging door seconds later.
Dean shook his head, smirking, and looked back down at the newspaper article he was reading about the woman they’d found murdered a few days before. Police were thinking it was a gay-bashing. Great.
Sam sat down in Andy’s vacated seat, nudging Dean with his shoulder and drawing his attention away from the article. Dean just looked up at him expectantly, eyebrow cocked.
Sam sighed, slouching down in the chair and spreading his legs almost obscenely. Dean had to put in a huge amount of effort to keep his eyes trained on Sam’s face.
“So, we’re both off on Thursday. Right?” Dean nodded rather stiffly. “Okay, so. I was thinking. Maybe. If you wanted. We could, uh…go catch the new Bruce Willis movie or something? Or, whatever, I mean…You don’t have to, it’s cool if you don’t…”
Dean laughed then, holding up a hand to stop Sam in his tracks. He loved it when Sam got all nervous and squirmy. It was cute - though Dean would never tell anyone that he referred to anything as “cute.” But his rambling was likely to go on forever if someone didn’t stop him.
“Dude,” he said through a smile. “Chill, man, okay? Yeah, movie sounds good. Beers afterward or something?”
Sam nodded, cheeks flushed. “Yeah, sure!” he responded enthusiastically.
“So, Thursday’s like two days from now right?” Sam nodded again. Dean groaned, dropping his head onto the table with a solid thunk. “Damn.”
It was Sam’s turn to laugh then. Dean just raised one arm and flipped him off. “Bitch,” he mumbled.
“Jerk,” Sam responded without a moment’s hesitation.
* * *
“Sammy!”
Dean’s smile was so bright, even with the garish white of the bandage on his face, that Sam could practically feel his skin splitting with the force of his own grin. God, but he loved that man.
“Hey, Dean,” Sam murmured, moving to Dean’s bedside. He looked around quickly, checking for any nurses or parents or firefighters that might be present before he leaned down and kissed Dean quickly.
Well, quick was his intention anyway.
Dean’s non-bandaged hand came up to Sam’s neck and pulled him down again when he made a move to pull away. Sam was helpless to the ministrations of Dean’s lips, he realized, as they moved against his own, tongue sliding into Sam’s mouth on a gasp. He groaned, a low, feral sound from the back of his throat and put his hands on either side of Dean’s head, careful not to disturb the wires connecting to Dean’s chest or knock against Dean’s injured shoulders.
Dean shifted on the bed and then brought his other arm around Sam’s shoulders to pull them closer together. Sam knew that the action was probably hurting Dean’s muscles but if Dean wasn’t complaining, then Sam surely wasn’t. It had been far too long since he’d had Dean like this, mouth pliant against his.
Kissing Dean was like getting a dose of pure oxygen. It was different from every other kiss, making him feel light and refreshed in a way that he never knew he could feel. But, at the same time, it was familiar; there was something deep inside Sam that could recognize any of Dean’s touches for what they were, no matter how soft or ghosting. And, kissing Dean like this - mouths moving against each other hungrily, tongues sliding against each other in a leisurely pace in contrast - it was something that Sam would never tire of.
A throat being cleared from the doorway had them both snapping apart, flushed and embarrassed. Sam was almost afraid to turn around, both because he wasn’t sure who it was and because he was sure that his erection had to be obvious, pressing against the zipper of his jeans.
“Didn’t mean to intrude, boys,” came Bobby Singer’s voice. Sam sagged in relief; he’d been terrified that it was Dean’s father.
“Oh, c’mon, man,” Dean said, familiar smirk firmly in place. “You know you liked the show.”
Sam just rolled his eyes, pulling one of the chairs in the room closer to Dean’s bed. He sat down and turned to look up at his captain, smiling as innocently as he could.
It was Bobby’s turn to roll his eyes. He walked around to the other side of Dean’s bed and gently patted his broken leg. “How you feelin’, buddy?”
Dean nodded, licking his kiss-swollen lips. “M’good. Doc says that some of the bandages might come off soon. The one on my face, for sure. How long’s it been now?” He paused for a moment, brow wrinkled in confusion. Sam reached over and squeezed his hand. Dean shook his head and continued, “Anyway, Doc says that the…medicine they’ve been putting on the burns has been working well. Says that it’s been long enough, and anything else is up to m’body, or something. Might not be too much scarring, except for the leg, I guess. How’d I managed to rip my pants up, anyway? I’d have been okay if it weren’t for the flames getting in through that tear.”
Bobby nodded, eyes going softer than Sam had ever seen them before. “I don’t know, Dean. But, it’s good that you’re getting better,” he supplied. “That’s real good. We’ll have you back on the streets in no time.”
Dean’s smile at that didn’t reach his eyes, and Sam felt his gut clench. Did Dean not want to return to the station? Sam figured he might feel the same if it were him lying in the hospital, but firefighters go into the job knowing all the risks. And, Dean…Dean was so brave, and such a fighter. He was so dedicated to his job that Sam couldn’t imagine him giving it up.
But maybe there was more to the story. He made a mental note to ask about it later, and left Dean to catch up with Bobby, mumbling something about coffee.
* * *
“Dude, that movie completely sucked,” Sam muttered, thumping his head against the passenger window of the Impala as Dean headed out of the theatre parking lot.
Dean chuckled. “Well, you’re the one who thought it might not be as much of a chick flick as it looked,” he reminded Sam.
“Please don’t remind me that this was my idea,” Sam huffed, slumping down further in the seat. “How about getting food? That never goes wrong. Can I claim that idea?”
Dean nodded, fingers drumming out some nonsense rhythm on the steering wheel. “Food sounds great,” he responded, pointing the car towards a diner out by Sam’s apartment.
A comfortable silence settled over the interior of the car, putting a smile on Dean’s face as he tried not to be obvious about his periodic - if every five seconds counts as periodically - glances over at Sam. The constant butterflies in his stomach at the mere thought of Sam were getting fainter, replaced by a deep-seated warmth that spread through Dean’s entire body instead.
It scared him, truth be told, that he was getting so comfortable with Sam. He’d never even seriously thought about having a relationship before, and the fact that Sam had completely changed his entire way of life, in a matter of weeks, terrified him. But, he was surprised to find that he didn’t care as he much as he should. It was still early, and maybe Sam didn’t think they were anything serious, but he couldn’t imagine Sam not being around. And it depressed him to even try.
By the time they pulled into the diner, Sam was practically drooling and chose to ignore Dean’s warning about messing up the upholstery in favor of bolting into the restaurant. Dean just shook his head and stepped out, following after him with a quick pat to the hood of his baby.
They made small talk as they ordered, Dean wondering how Sam could manage to eat healthy, rabbit food and still eat in mass quantities - the veggie burger he’d ordered was the size of his head. Once their food came, they settled in and began to really talk, asking questions that they’d both had on their minds about everything under the sun. Dean sort of grumbled along at first, not much for caring and sharing, but he found it increasingly easier to answer and come up with questions of his own, just seeing how curious Sam was about what made Dean who he was. It was actually fun until they got to the deeper stuff, details coming to light that made Dean’s stomach twist uncomfortably.
“So, what was your longest relationship?” Sam asked innocently, big hazel eyes shining.
Dean fidgeted on his seat, a lump settling in his throat. He had no idea what Sam had heard about him from the other guys at the station, how he was rarely seen leaving a bar without a pretty girl hanging off his arm. And, for the first time in his life, he was actually worried about what his behavior would make people think.
“I, uh,” he mumbled, eyes downcast, idly running a French fry back and forth through his ketchup. “Maybe a month.”
He could see Sam’s eyes widen in his peripheral vision, mouth dropping open slightly. The surprised look was only there for half a second, barely long enough for anyone but Dean to notice, before Sam shook his head and cleared his throat.
“Really?” Sam asked, head cocked to the side in question. “Why is that?”
Dean finally looked up and squared his shoulders, trying hard not to tear his gaze away from Sam’s face. “Relationships aren’t my thing,” he answered with a shrug, trying to give an air of nonchalance that he didn’t really feel. “Never really had the patience for one. And when I decided to stick around long enough for it, I got thrown out for confiding in her. So it was back to one-night stands and back alley hook-ups.”
Sam nodded, eyes taking on a sad, glassy sort of look. Dean looked away then, not wanting to see the pity or disgust that might turn up. “What about you?” he ventured after a few moments of tense silence.
“Little over a year. Jess,” Sam responded. “She was really my only friend, my only link to the world outside my aunt’s house. We broke up when I started realizing I was gay…I haven’t spoken to her since I left town.”
Dean risked a glance up from his place at the tone of Sam’s voice. He sounded disconnected, sad in a vague sort of way, and he looked lost, small somehow. Dean’s heart lurched, and he reached across the table to cover Sam’s hand with his own.
Sam came out of his memories slowly, giving Dean a small smile as he turned his hand and linked their fingers together. Dean tried to return it, but the sympathy he was sure he would be feeling by the end of the night was already threatening to choke him. He didn’t want to dredge up bad memories for Sam, didn’t want to do anything that would make him stop smiling, but a part of him felt like he needed to know.
“You lived with your aunt?” he asked, trying to ease into the questions that had built up in his head.
Sam nodded, smile fading away. He nodded. “Yeah, she took me in after my parents died,” he murmured, focusing his eyes on where his hand was joined with Dean’s. “They died when I was 7. In a fire. S’why I decided to get into this.”
Dean squeezed Sam’s hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing his knuckles lightly, a move that surprised him. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking when he saw the tears in Sam’s eyes. “I had no idea…”
Sam shook his head. “Don’t apologize. It was a long time ago, and I’m okay. Talking about it, I mean.”
Dean smiled, hoping to give Sam some idea of how bad he felt about bringing everything to light, but he’s pretty sure he failed miserably. “So, uh…how’d you end up here? You’re from somewhere down South, right? I think that’s what Andy told me…”
Sam gave Dean a small, sad smile, eyes red-rimmed. “I’m from Missouri, actually. Springfield. After I came out to my aunt, I was more or less banished,” he said, voice oddly detached and monotone. “She didn’t take it well, at all. Told me that she couldn’t believe I would do something like that to her. Told me she’d tried to shelter me from the wicked ways of the world.” He paused for a moment, reaching up with his free hand to rub the tears out of his eyes. “I haven’t talked to her since the day I walked out. I packed up what little I had, and hopped on the first bus out of town. And I ended up in Burlington, started volunteering for the local firehouse. Now here I am.”
Dean couldn’t get out any noise past the lump in his throat, emotion clogging up his words. He’d always thought that he’d had it rough, dealing with a homophobic, drill sergeant of a father. But, at least he’d had his mother to balance it out, even if he’d ever told either one of them about his sexuality. He had lived under his father’s no-nonsense thumb, desperate to please him and always failing spectacularly. And, once he was old enough to get away, he’d become determined to let everything roll off his back.
But, Sam had been so hurt in the past, it seemed. The only family he had left rejected him because he was different. And, there was just no excuse for that. He knew that, even if he came out to his father and was disowned, he’d always have his mother, his grandparents and extended family. Sam had no one.
“Now here you are,” Dean whispered, finding his words at last and squeezing Sam’s hand in his. “You’re safe here, Sam. You’re wanted here. I hope you know that.”
Sam looked up then, finally, and smiled. His dimples came out, balancing out the watery hazel eyes. He nodded. “Yeah,” he responded. “Yeah, I know.”
Dean nodded back, smile threatening to split his face in two. “Good. Just wanted to make sure.”
Sam smiled back and turned back to his dinner, the two men finishing their meal in comfortable silence.
Dean was amazed at the feelings welling up inside him. He’d never been a selfish person, but he’d never really cared too much for anyone outside of his family and those select few that he’d call his friends over the years. And, even then, it took a long time before he found himself accepting them and trusting them. But, with Sam, every barrier had broken down almost immediately. Barely a months of knowing the guy and he already found himself wanting to protect Sam, wanted to wrap him and never let go. He wanted to shield him, and teach him, and build him up until Sam was his whole world.
Dean knew that he was on the brink of some monumental changes, a virtual roller coaster of everything his life was and could be. And, for once, he found himself just throwing his hands up and enjoying the ride.
* * *
Sam couldn’t contain his nerves, no matter what he did. Breathing techniques didn’t work, making him wonder if Dean was right about all the New Age “crap.” Any distraction he could come up with only led him right back to thoughts of Dean. Even the internet and research couldn’t stop his mind from working overtime.
Really, he couldn’t even figure out why he was so worried. Dean was getting his bandages off today, sure, but was that really such a big deal? Dean was still Dean, as far as he was concerned, even if he had some scars. It made him human and all the more endearing to Sam. But, Dean wouldn’t see it that way. Dean might not be completely shallow, but it was no secret that he valued his looks. He believed that’s what had gotten him through life, holding no value on the intelligence that Sam knew he had. He might have joked about it, but Sam knew that he was worried about the damage that had been done. And he wasn’t sure if he would be able to console a broken Dean, not with his own insecurities weighing him down.
The guilt he’d felt initially was beginning to dissipate, slowly. The fact that Dean didn’t blame him helped a lot. But, now he would be faced with the actual evidence of his foolishness. Dean had been in the process of taking off his gear when Sam had seen that little girl crying for her mother. His gloves were gone, helmet half-off, and still he ran in after Sam, knowing just that little bit of skin would leave him vulnerable. No one could have really expected the outcome though, flames managing to lick their way into the flame-retardant suit and do more damage. Dean’s mangled leg was all due to a tear in his pants leg. A stupid rip in the material left Dean unable to support his own weight.
So, maybe Sam shouldn’t have been surprised that he was so nervous. His own emotions were going haywire, and he knew that trying to help control Dean’s, no matter how hidden his boyfriend tried to keep them, would only make himself worse. He’d been made fun of all his life for being a sensitive sort of guy, but Sam had never once figured that it could be a bad thing. But, now, his more emotional nature was likely to make him crumble. He wanted to be strong for Dean, but he knew that Dean was the strong one. Regardless of how much he tried to shrug people off and say that he was okay, Sam knew that he was the one who needed people. He needed their interaction, their approval. And Dean was everything to him. With the dynamic change that was inevitable, how would they be able to cope? Would their relationship be able to survive?
It was with something of a jolt that Sam found himself facing the door to Dean’s hospital room. He remembered getting in the car and driving off, but he’d been so lost in his thoughts that he couldn’t recall the steps required to lead him here. Not that it really mattered; he’d have to face his demons at some point. The longer he prolonged the inevitable, the worse it would be in the end.
Steeling himself, he raised his hand and knocked on the door a few times, waiting for the muffled “come in” before pushing it open. The sight that greeted him wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought. Though, he’d been picturing a deformed, hunchback-of-Notre-Dame Dean in his head, so anything would be better than that.
Dean’s left arm was out of its bandages, and even from the door, Sam could see the twisted pink skin running from his knuckles to his elbow. His right arm was better, the skin around his wrist red and raw-looking. It looked like his back was still bandaged; the cuts and scratches from the nails in the beam that took him down had required stitches and some extra care for the burns around them. And his left leg was still casted, as it would be for at least another month, but it was new, an actual plaster cast instead of wrappings and gauze.
But, his face. Dean’s rugged, handsome face. It wasn’t nearly as he had feared. There was a healing cut running the length of the right side of Dean’s lower jaw, deep enough that it would inevitably scar. There were smaller, thinner marks running down Dean’s neck, running around to the bandage on his shoulders. Despite the fact that Dean had joked about it, it really did make him look distinguished, even as it squeezed Sam’s heart uncomfortably.
“Dean,” Sam whispered, a smile blooming across his face. It was genuine, in spite of his racing heart. “You’re...wow.”
Dean visibly blushed, ducking his head to his chest. “How bad is it? I’m afraid to look,” he mumbled.
Sam tried desperately to hold onto his thin smile when faced with Dean’s insecurity. “It’s not bad at all,” he said, surprised to find his voice infused with strength he didn’t really feel. “You look great, Dean. You look like you.”
Dean nodded, still not looking up. Sam could see him idly running his fingers along the marred skin of his left arm. “Thank you,” he responded, unconvinced.
He sounded like Sam was just humoring him, which not only wasn’t true, but threatened to turn Sam into a sobbing mess, relieved at having the whole nightmare almost over. The bandages were gone, the last barrier between Sam’s guilt and the healing process.
Sam moved over to Dean’s bedside, sitting once again in his chair. He gently lifted up Dean’s chin and pressed a chaste kiss to his boyfriend’s lips. “Dean, you look wonderful. Okay?” he reassured. “It’s not like you’re the Elephant Man.”
Dean let out a small chuckle, opening his eyes and fixing bright, green eyes on Sam. “You sweet talker, you.”
Sam laughed, loud and bright for a moment, before kissing Dean again, sliding his fingers gently along the cut on Dean’s jaw. “I love you,” he whispered as he pulled back. “Nothing changes that, okay? Nothing.”
Dean nodded, eyes sliding down for a moment before snapping back up to Sam’s. “Yeah,” he replied softly, nodding again. “Thank you.”
Sam could have responded, words on the tip of his tongue. But, for once, he figured Dean’s way might be best, and he let his actions speak for him.
* * *
Dean never thought that he could be filled with so much want for one person. He felt like his skin was on fire, too tight for his bones and all of the muscle to fit inside. He could feel the sweat rolling down his forehead, dripping off the end of his nose, but he wasn’t even sure if it was his or Sam’s.
Sam was currently pressing Dean up against the exterior side of Dean’s door, no space between them, keys long forgotten on the worn-carpeted hallway. Dean had one of his hands threaded in Sam’s hair, gripping tightly, and the other clutched around Sam’s hip, no doubt leaving bruises. But Sam was giving as good as he got, pushing Dean back into the solid wood with his hips while both of his hands cupped Dean’s face, controlling the force of the kiss.
Their tongues were twining around each other in a frenzied dance, lips moving restlessly, teeth clacking every few seconds. Dean was breathing heavily through his noise, and he could feel Sam’s chest heaving with the force of his own labored breathing. It was passion and need and every maniacal feeling Dean had ever had all rolled into one, and he was about to burst with the weight of it all.
Dean reluctantly pulled his mouth away from Sam’s, which just moved down to his neck to suck a bruise into Dean’s skin. He couldn’t catch his breath, Sam’s assault proving to be too much.
“Sam,” he forced past a dry throat, through kiss-swollen lips. “We need…Can’t do this…here. Neighbors.”
Sam laughed against his skin, lips brushing Dean’s neck in a tickle that was contradictory to the harsh pressure of seconds before. “You’re right,” he murmured, still semi-attached to Dean’s skin. “Grab the keys.”
And how Sam could sound so calm and so turned on at the same time, Dean would never know. But any wonderings he had flew right out the window when Sam started sucking on his neck again, moving down over the jugular until he reached the junction where Dean’s neck met his shoulder. Then he bit down, hard, bringing a yelp out of Dean that he would vehemently deny later.
“Sam,” Dean gritted out through clenched teeth. “Can’t get the keys with you doing stuff like that.”
Sam nodded and pulled away. He dropped down to retrieve the keys from Dean’s feet. Dean was sure that he lost at least half of his brain cells when his head thumped back against the door; the sight of Sam on his knees, that fantasy-inducing mouth right there was just too much to handle. He could have come in his pants right then.
And that’s so not how he had planned his first sexual encounter with Sam.
Sam, the little bastard, just smirked up at him, completely aware of Dean’s delicate condition, and leaned forward just enough to nuzzle his face against the bulge in the front of Dean’s jeans.
Dean groaned and thumped his head back against the door again. “You’re evil.”
Sam just laughed and stood up to unlock the door, Dean practically falling back in surprise when he pushed it open and ushered them both inside. Before Dean could protest about the way he was being treated, Sam was on him. The keys were dropping to the floor again as Sam kicked the door shut behind him.
“Sam,” Dean mumbled between kisses. “Dude. Slow down.”
He’s pretty sure that Sam snorted in response, but he didn’t let up at all. Instead, Sam pushed their lips together harder, effectively ending any attempt of Dean’s to speak again. It wasn’t that Dean didn’t want this, want Sam. It was the opposite. He wanted him so badly, but he didn’t want that to ruin anything that they could possibly have together. He liked Sam’s company; the sex appeal was just an added factor.
And, if he were being honest with himself, Dean actually felt shy. Sam, geek though he was, could probably have whoever he wanted. Sure, Dean probably could too, and had in the past. But this was different. Sam was different. He didn’t want to sleep with the guy and then lose anything that was between them.
“Sam,” he tried again, pushing Sam back with enough force to get his point across.
Sam just blinked at him, heated skin beginning to pale. “W-what?” he stuttered out, taking a few steps back from Dean. “Did I…I’m moving too fast, aren’t I?”
Dean smiled and stepped back into Sam’s space. He reached up to cup Sam’s face in his hands and kissed him, softly. “I just…I don’t want this to be it.”
Sam’s eyes softened immediately; the corners of his mouth turned up in a small grin, and his face lost that deer-in-the-headlights look. He nodded, moving forward and settling his hands on Dean’s hips.
“I get that,” he whispered, as though he were afraid to break the moment. “But I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about, y’know? Me and you…I like this. Us. We’ll go as slow as you want. But, just so you know, I’m up for whatever.”
Dean sighed, letting out the tension he’d been holding in. That tension was immediately replaced by the all-consuming want that he’d felt before. He couldn’t stand not to be touching Sam. He took a good look at Sam and managed to utter “Oh, thank God,” before he crashed his lips to Sam’s again. He licked and nipped his way inside Sam’s mouth, sucking Sam’s tongue into his; he loved the moan he got in response.
Dean started walking backwards toward his bedroom, pulling Sam along with him and trying desperately to remember the layout of his furniture. After all, he didn’t want to injure either one of them before they got to the good part, regardless of how far they ended up going. He just wanted to be pressed up against Sam, clothes or no clothes.
Once they’d managed to collapse onto the bed, unscathed for the most part, Dean separated their mouths and pulled back enough to see Sam’s face. The light from the streetlamps outside was filtering in through the half-open blinds, illuminating Sam’s face in streaks and causing his hazel eyes to shine brightly.
Dean couldn’t help the goofy grin that spread across his face at the sight. The expression on Sam’s face was so open, so honest, so young that he didn’t really know what to think. All he knew was that a warm feeling had begun to settle deep in his stomach whenever Sam gave him that look.
“Dean?” Sam was giving him a curious look, uncertainty back in his eyes again.
Dean grinned wider, reaching out to pull Sam’s face to his for slow, sweet kiss. Sam scooted closer to Dean on the bed with one hand on his waist, bringing their bodies flush against each other.
Though it wasn’t his intention, Dean could feel the kiss heating up again and couldn’t stop himself from thrusting his hips forward. Sam let out a low moan as their erections came in contact and rolled them so that Dean was flat out on his back, Sam’s hands roaming as he ground down against Dean.
Dean gasped into Sam’s mouth, moving against the body above him at the pace that Sam set for them. He reached in between them to deftly undo Sam’s jeans, sliding the belt out of its loops and popping the buttons of Sam’s fly. He slid them down Sam’s hips enough to be able to pull Sam’s cock out through the slit of his boxers and began to slowly stroke him, loving the sounds that Sam was making at the back of his throat.
He couldn’t look down and see what Sam looked like, his head held in place in Sam’s large hands, but he could feel the weight of Sam in his hands, feel how the silky skin contradicted the hardness underneath. It was amazing, being able to touch Sam like that. Dean was no stranger to sex, sure, but Sam was so trusting that it heightened the experience. He felt like he was being allowed a part of something special, something sacred.
Sam’s low groan above him brought Dean out of his girly meanderings and back into the moment. He hadn’t even realized that they’d stopped kissing and Sam had pulled back. He found himself staring into lust-blown eyes, hazel a mere ring around dark pupils. Sam’s mouth was slightly open, hot breath puffing against Dean’s forehead, and his hands were on either side of Dean’s head, holding himself up with shaky arms.
In a move that surprised even Dean, Dean had them twisting, switching positions on the bed so that Dean could get better leverage on Sam’s dick. With Sam beneath him, his hand was at a more comfortable angle and he could jack Sam off in steadier strokes. He twisted his wrist a little on every downstroke, grazing the slit with his thumb on every upstroke. He judged Sam’s breath with every thing he tried, noting what worked and what didn’t, memorizing what had Sam’s breath hitching and what made him moan.
“Dean,” Sam whispered, stretching his neck to brush his lips against Dean’s softly. “God, so good.”
Dean smirked down at Sam as his breaths starting coming faster, little grunts and whimpers pouring out of his mouth as Dean kept up his strokes. He wanted to get Sam off, watch him fall apart with nothing more than this, heavy breathing and a slick hand. He wasn’t even aware that he’d slipped his other hand into his own jeans, but with the sight of Sam beneath him, he couldn’t stop himself from jerking himself off to the same pace.
“C’mon,” he murmured as he leaned down to press soft, suckling kisses to Sam’s neck, speeding up his strokes on both of them. “Come for me. Wanna see you, Sammy.”
At Dean’s last word, Sam gasped and warm liquid spilled over the top of Dean’s hand. Dean kept up his ministrations on Sam’s neck, stroking him through the aftershocks until Sam stopped him with a wince. A few strokes later, he followed Sam into orgasm, cum flooding his boxers.
He barely managed to move himself to the side, so as not to collapse directly on top of Sam, before he landed on his stomach on the bed, face pressed into the comforter. They were both panting, gasping for enough breath to say something. Dean was sure that he’d never experienced anything like that, an orgasm that would cause his world to tilt on its axis.
“Wow,” Sam said into the still room, pulling his pants back mindless of the mess they’d made. “That was…wow.”
Dean chuckled and turned on his side, grimacing as he felt the cooling liquid in his underwear. “Wow? That’s good. Wow is good,” he responded, half teasing, half serious.
Sam laughed then, too, rolling over to face Dean. He looked exhausted, eyelids drooping, but he was smiling. He looked so content, so blissed-out, that Dean wanted to take a picture of that moment. He wanted to be able to look at that expression on Sam’s face whenever he needed a pick-me-up because it had that warm, tingly feeling settling all over his body.
“Dean?” Sam asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence.
Dean, who’d been drifting off to sleep, could only grunt in response. He didn’t open his eyes, but he could hear Sam shuffling around.
“You called me ‘Sammy,’” Sam said softly a few moments later.
Dean did open his eyes then, sitting up rather stiffly. He saw Sam perched on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, and staring at the wall. He reached out and laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder, squeezing lightly and smiling when Sam leaned into the touch.
“Is that a problem?” he questioned, hesitantly. He hadn’t even realized that he’d said anything out of the ordinary, but this was obviously a big thing for Sam.
It was with something of a jolt that he realized he and Sam still didn’t really know each other that well. Sure they’d hung out over the past month or two, but there hadn’t been more than passing mentions of their hang-ups. And he knew then that he wanted to know everything, every little thing that had ever happened to Sam. He wanted to know it all, be able to store it in his own memory.
“No,” Sam answered, shaking his head and bringing Sam out of his thoughts. “I just…no one’s ever called me that before, not even when I was little. I mean, my aunt didn’t neglect me exactly, but there was no…I didn’t have a very affectionate childhood.”
Dean cleared his throat and moved closer, settling himself behind Sam and wrapping his arms around Sam’s waist. He laid his chin on Sam’s shoulder, tilting his head into Sam’s hair. “You don’t remember your parents?” he breathed.
Sam shook his head slightly. “After my aunt took me in, she home-schooled me until high school, where I became too smart for her. I was a bit of an outcast then, because no one knew who I was. So, I’ve never…never really been close to people. Not enough for nicknames and everything. You guys, at the garage, you’re the first people I’ve really considered friends, you know?”
Dean gave a small nod, tightening his hold on Sam. He wanted to wrap Sam up and hide him away from the world, keep him safe from everything that could possibly hurt him. It made sense now, why he always seemed so innocent, looking at the world with a sense of wonder. Why he wanted to learn so much, know the little details about everything from why Wisconsin is known for their cheese to the life of Mozart.
After another few minutes of lapsed silence, Sam spoke again. “I like it. I like that you can do that, call me something like ‘Sammy.’ Pretty lame, huh?” he laughed softly.
Dean scooted around until he had his legs on either side of Sam’s hips, getting a better hold on Sam’s torso. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he whispered into Sam’s ear, placing a soft kiss on the skin behind it. “You’re absolutely amazing. And I want to know more. I want to know things like this, if you’ll let me.”
Sam turned then, awkwardly rearranging them until they were both lying back on the bed, Dean on his back with Sam tucked against his side. “I want you to know more,” he said in a voice so sweet that Dean’s heart ached.
There wasn’t anything that Dean could say. So he just wrapped his arm around Sam’s shoulder and pulled him in closer.
After a few seconds, the sound of Sam’s soft breathing evening out filtered into Dean’s ears, and he smiled. He was all too aware of their sticky clothes, and he was sure that they’d regret not cleaning up in the morning. But, for now, he didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to mess up this moment that Sam had created.
He never wanted to let go.
* * *
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
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