The Undiscovered Country - Fanfic - Slash - PG 13
Title: The Undiscovered Country
Rating: PG - 13
Pairings: Sam/Dean, mentions of prior Sam/Jess
Contains: alcohol abuse, slash, kissing, angst
Warnings: spoilers for Season 3, if you haven’t gotten that far yet
Summary: The boys get themselves drunk, and Sam learns some things about his brother he never realized could be possible. Sam POV.
Author’s Note: As you will soon be able to tell, this is set mostly in Season 3, with the tail end at the very beginning of Season 4. The title and excerpt from Shakespeare come from the famous “To be or not to be” soliliquy. Enjoy!
The Undiscovered Country
They’d gotten drunk that night. That, in and of itself, wasn’t odd. Dean had always loved a good five - or ten - shots of whiskey, and his need for the stuff had increased since he made the demon deal. Sam figured he needed to wash away his fear of the pain he didn’t know with the pain he knew all too well.
Sam tried to keep his number down, knowing he’d have to be able to deal with Dean’s dumbass self. He was always such a damn dumbass when he got himself drunk. But, Dean had kept on ordering more rounds, and Sam felt bad about passing the drinks on to other people, so he eventually started taking them.
And, good God, were they drunk. Sam was glad the bar was next to the motel…hotel…whatever the hell place they were staying at was called. Sam managed to get Dean in the door and lay him down on the bed. Then he went into the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face - sober himself up.
“Sammy! I can’t get my clothes off!” Dean yelled. That would be just like Dean; get himself so drunk he’s the mental age of a toddler.
Sam said in a somewhat softer voice than Dean’s bellow: “Dean, just sleep with your clothes on. You’ve done it before.”
“But I don’t want to!” Dean whined. Christ, was there something in those drinks that made him a preschooler? Sam rolled his eyes and wiped the cold water off his face.
He poked his head out the door and said, “Look, I know it’s hard to imagine getting into a bed without taking your clothes off, but I am not helping you. You are a grown man - either take them off yourself or leave them on.” Sam slapped his face a few times to sober himself up a little more, pulled his jeans off, then walked into the bedroom.
It was worse than he thought. Dean had somehow slid off his bed and was trying to “pull his clothes off” with his fingertips when he was just waving his hands around in mid - air. God, what an overgrown baby.
He managed to pull Dean back up on his bed. He went to pull his shoes off, but Dean grabbed Sam’s arm and jerked him over to the head of the bed.
“Hey, Sammy…come here and kiss me,” he slurred, a goofy grin plastered on his face. Now Sam was terrified. All the times he’d seen his big brother drunk, Dean had never said anything like that.
A scene from Stanford flashed through Sam’s mind: A frat party his freshman year where way too many people had had way too much to drink. A pretty upperclassman girl - Sam couldn’t remember her name now - dared Sam to kiss her boyfriend. Of course, being an impressionable freshman guy, he made good on the dare. It was really freaking weird - plus the shiner he got hurt like hell.
And that was a guy he wasn’t related to. This was Dean, and he was the one egging Sam on. He knew he shouldn’t. On any level, this was completely wrong. Even if neither of it remembered it come morning, it was wrong. They were brothers - that was one taboo Dean would never break if he were sober.
He had to be completely soused. Had to be. There was no way Dean Winchester would do that with any guy, let alone his kid brother. Sam pulled away and said, “Go to sleep, Dean. You’ve had way too much. Just sleep it off.” He decided not to even pull Dean’s shoes off; as drunk as Dean was, there was no telling what would happen.
Dean reached out for Sam. “Not even a goodnight kiss?” he begged, his eyes wide. What a pathetic son of a bitch. He wasn’t even trying to save himself from the pit: He was drinking all the pain away. What, was he hoping to die in a fucking drinking binge? He was still going to Hell, even if he did.
“You. Are. Drunk. Go to sleep,” Sam snapped. He turned to get into his own bed, but he heard a thump behind him. Dean fell out of bed - again. Then he felt Dean’s hands on his ankle.
“Please, Sammy…I’m begging you,” Dean sobbed. “What if I die in my sleep? I’ll go to Hell like this, pathetic and alone.” Sam looked down into Dean’s face.
It was red, both from the alcohol and the crying. Starting to get massively wet, too, from the crying. He looked pathetic, never mind how he felt.
Sam knelt down to Dean’s level and pulled Dean up in a hug. He held Dean close and whispered, “You won’t be alone, Dean. I’ll be right here. Always have been, always will.” Dean sobbed on Sam’s shirt, and Sam tried to hold back his own tears.
Somehow, Dean’s face became nestled in the crook of Sam’s neck, and his arms were draped loosely on Sam’s shoulders. At first, Sam barely noticed the feather - light pecks on his skin. That is, until the kisses started moving up to his face. Before Sam could even protest, Dean had him pinned on the ground and was pushing his tongue into his mouth.
It’d been weeks, months even, since Sam had gotten some tail. Not that he really thought about it - he was just reminded of it every time they stopped at a gas station with a checkout girl Dean had chatted up, or every time Dean excused himself to make out with some random chick in a bar. So, that was probably the reason he automatically groaned and he felt himself get hard when Dean was kissing him.
And Dean was a damn good kisser, Sam had to admit. Even if it was his brother, it had been ages…years since he got kissed like this.
When he was with Jess, he got kissed like this…
He lost Jess…he was going to lose Dean. He couldn’t do this to himself!
He violently pushed Dean off him and growled, “NO!” He got up, ran into the bathroom, and locked the door. He could shut Dean out there.
Dean pounded on the door hard. “Sam! Sammy! Come back out here! What did I do? What’s wrong?” he yelled. More sobbing and incoherent gurgles. Sam resolved to not give in; Dean would thank him in the morning. Dean’s sobs, hollering, and gurgles became his lullaby.
***
The next morning, Sam woke up with a headache. No big deal, same old same old with a hangover. Take some Advil and he’d be fine. Dean, however, was another story.
Sam opened up the door, and Dean was curled up against the baseboard. Well, he’d fallen asleep at some point. That was a good sign. Sam wrote a note on the hotel paper for him:
Dean -
Gone out to eat some breakfast. Will be back around 10.
Sam
It was all he could manage to write. He wasn’t sure what Dean would remember, if he remembered anything at all.
He found a hole - in - the - wall place that was still serving breakfast, fortunately. He ordered some scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits, and ate as slowly as he could. He wanted to give Dean enough time to wake up and get some of his hangover dealt with before he tried to talk to him.
When Sam got back, Dean looked like hell, but he was awake. In fact, he was on Sam’s laptop, surfing the web. He’d probably be on bustyasianbeauties.com in no time - and Sam didn’t care, for once. He just wanted Dean to be distracted so they didn’t have to talk about last night. He didn’t care if he crashed the whole damn computer.
Dean smiled as Sam walked in. Sam smiled back, then got his guns out and started cleaning them.
Dean was silent for a long time. Then, finally, he cleared his throat. “You know,” he said, “Shakespeare really knew what he was talking about. Listen to this:
‘But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all…’
You know…that’s what I’m scared of. I know I’m gonna go to Hell, but I don’t know what’s there. I don’t want to die. I’d rather live, even if it is shitty.” After that, words seemed to fail him again. Sam accepted it. That’s how these last few months were probably going to be. Last night was the first and the last, and he was okay with that. He didn’t know what to do with a scared big brother…
***
Months had passed since Dean’s death. Sam hadn’t gotten over it. He couldn’t get over it. All he could remember was all the things he wanted to say before Dean died. He’d declared he didn’t want his last day on earth to be “socially awkward,” and Sam had obliged. But, that night Dean had kissed him would not get out of his head. They’d never discussed it; Sam never even knew if Dean remembered it.
It was getting to the point that, when Ruby made love to him, he shut his eyes and pretended it was Dean. For some damn reason, he wanted to see Dean’s face when he was with Ruby.
He was about to be with her yet again when there was a knock at the door. Ruby went to get the door.
In front of him was all his dreams and all nightmares come true.
“Dean? Is that you?”
Rating: PG - 13
Pairings: Sam/Dean, mentions of prior Sam/Jess
Contains: alcohol abuse, slash, kissing, angst
Warnings: spoilers for Season 3, if you haven’t gotten that far yet
Summary: The boys get themselves drunk, and Sam learns some things about his brother he never realized could be possible. Sam POV.
Author’s Note: As you will soon be able to tell, this is set mostly in Season 3, with the tail end at the very beginning of Season 4. The title and excerpt from Shakespeare come from the famous “To be or not to be” soliliquy. Enjoy!
The Undiscovered Country
They’d gotten drunk that night. That, in and of itself, wasn’t odd. Dean had always loved a good five - or ten - shots of whiskey, and his need for the stuff had increased since he made the demon deal. Sam figured he needed to wash away his fear of the pain he didn’t know with the pain he knew all too well.
Sam tried to keep his number down, knowing he’d have to be able to deal with Dean’s dumbass self. He was always such a damn dumbass when he got himself drunk. But, Dean had kept on ordering more rounds, and Sam felt bad about passing the drinks on to other people, so he eventually started taking them.
And, good God, were they drunk. Sam was glad the bar was next to the motel…hotel…whatever the hell place they were staying at was called. Sam managed to get Dean in the door and lay him down on the bed. Then he went into the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face - sober himself up.
“Sammy! I can’t get my clothes off!” Dean yelled. That would be just like Dean; get himself so drunk he’s the mental age of a toddler.
Sam said in a somewhat softer voice than Dean’s bellow: “Dean, just sleep with your clothes on. You’ve done it before.”
“But I don’t want to!” Dean whined. Christ, was there something in those drinks that made him a preschooler? Sam rolled his eyes and wiped the cold water off his face.
He poked his head out the door and said, “Look, I know it’s hard to imagine getting into a bed without taking your clothes off, but I am not helping you. You are a grown man - either take them off yourself or leave them on.” Sam slapped his face a few times to sober himself up a little more, pulled his jeans off, then walked into the bedroom.
It was worse than he thought. Dean had somehow slid off his bed and was trying to “pull his clothes off” with his fingertips when he was just waving his hands around in mid - air. God, what an overgrown baby.
He managed to pull Dean back up on his bed. He went to pull his shoes off, but Dean grabbed Sam’s arm and jerked him over to the head of the bed.
“Hey, Sammy…come here and kiss me,” he slurred, a goofy grin plastered on his face. Now Sam was terrified. All the times he’d seen his big brother drunk, Dean had never said anything like that.
A scene from Stanford flashed through Sam’s mind: A frat party his freshman year where way too many people had had way too much to drink. A pretty upperclassman girl - Sam couldn’t remember her name now - dared Sam to kiss her boyfriend. Of course, being an impressionable freshman guy, he made good on the dare. It was really freaking weird - plus the shiner he got hurt like hell.
And that was a guy he wasn’t related to. This was Dean, and he was the one egging Sam on. He knew he shouldn’t. On any level, this was completely wrong. Even if neither of it remembered it come morning, it was wrong. They were brothers - that was one taboo Dean would never break if he were sober.
He had to be completely soused. Had to be. There was no way Dean Winchester would do that with any guy, let alone his kid brother. Sam pulled away and said, “Go to sleep, Dean. You’ve had way too much. Just sleep it off.” He decided not to even pull Dean’s shoes off; as drunk as Dean was, there was no telling what would happen.
Dean reached out for Sam. “Not even a goodnight kiss?” he begged, his eyes wide. What a pathetic son of a bitch. He wasn’t even trying to save himself from the pit: He was drinking all the pain away. What, was he hoping to die in a fucking drinking binge? He was still going to Hell, even if he did.
“You. Are. Drunk. Go to sleep,” Sam snapped. He turned to get into his own bed, but he heard a thump behind him. Dean fell out of bed - again. Then he felt Dean’s hands on his ankle.
“Please, Sammy…I’m begging you,” Dean sobbed. “What if I die in my sleep? I’ll go to Hell like this, pathetic and alone.” Sam looked down into Dean’s face.
It was red, both from the alcohol and the crying. Starting to get massively wet, too, from the crying. He looked pathetic, never mind how he felt.
Sam knelt down to Dean’s level and pulled Dean up in a hug. He held Dean close and whispered, “You won’t be alone, Dean. I’ll be right here. Always have been, always will.” Dean sobbed on Sam’s shirt, and Sam tried to hold back his own tears.
Somehow, Dean’s face became nestled in the crook of Sam’s neck, and his arms were draped loosely on Sam’s shoulders. At first, Sam barely noticed the feather - light pecks on his skin. That is, until the kisses started moving up to his face. Before Sam could even protest, Dean had him pinned on the ground and was pushing his tongue into his mouth.
It’d been weeks, months even, since Sam had gotten some tail. Not that he really thought about it - he was just reminded of it every time they stopped at a gas station with a checkout girl Dean had chatted up, or every time Dean excused himself to make out with some random chick in a bar. So, that was probably the reason he automatically groaned and he felt himself get hard when Dean was kissing him.
And Dean was a damn good kisser, Sam had to admit. Even if it was his brother, it had been ages…years since he got kissed like this.
When he was with Jess, he got kissed like this…
He lost Jess…he was going to lose Dean. He couldn’t do this to himself!
He violently pushed Dean off him and growled, “NO!” He got up, ran into the bathroom, and locked the door. He could shut Dean out there.
Dean pounded on the door hard. “Sam! Sammy! Come back out here! What did I do? What’s wrong?” he yelled. More sobbing and incoherent gurgles. Sam resolved to not give in; Dean would thank him in the morning. Dean’s sobs, hollering, and gurgles became his lullaby.
***
The next morning, Sam woke up with a headache. No big deal, same old same old with a hangover. Take some Advil and he’d be fine. Dean, however, was another story.
Sam opened up the door, and Dean was curled up against the baseboard. Well, he’d fallen asleep at some point. That was a good sign. Sam wrote a note on the hotel paper for him:
Dean -
Gone out to eat some breakfast. Will be back around 10.
Sam
It was all he could manage to write. He wasn’t sure what Dean would remember, if he remembered anything at all.
He found a hole - in - the - wall place that was still serving breakfast, fortunately. He ordered some scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits, and ate as slowly as he could. He wanted to give Dean enough time to wake up and get some of his hangover dealt with before he tried to talk to him.
When Sam got back, Dean looked like hell, but he was awake. In fact, he was on Sam’s laptop, surfing the web. He’d probably be on bustyasianbeauties.com in no time - and Sam didn’t care, for once. He just wanted Dean to be distracted so they didn’t have to talk about last night. He didn’t care if he crashed the whole damn computer.
Dean smiled as Sam walked in. Sam smiled back, then got his guns out and started cleaning them.
Dean was silent for a long time. Then, finally, he cleared his throat. “You know,” he said, “Shakespeare really knew what he was talking about. Listen to this:
‘But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all…’
You know…that’s what I’m scared of. I know I’m gonna go to Hell, but I don’t know what’s there. I don’t want to die. I’d rather live, even if it is shitty.” After that, words seemed to fail him again. Sam accepted it. That’s how these last few months were probably going to be. Last night was the first and the last, and he was okay with that. He didn’t know what to do with a scared big brother…
***
Months had passed since Dean’s death. Sam hadn’t gotten over it. He couldn’t get over it. All he could remember was all the things he wanted to say before Dean died. He’d declared he didn’t want his last day on earth to be “socially awkward,” and Sam had obliged. But, that night Dean had kissed him would not get out of his head. They’d never discussed it; Sam never even knew if Dean remembered it.
It was getting to the point that, when Ruby made love to him, he shut his eyes and pretended it was Dean. For some damn reason, he wanted to see Dean’s face when he was with Ruby.
He was about to be with her yet again when there was a knock at the door. Ruby went to get the door.
In front of him was all his dreams and all nightmares come true.
“Dean? Is that you?”