It doesn't matter (Dean/Sam; ficlet)
It doesn’t matter, you realize. It doesn’t matter if you feel the minutes go by, if you know that in less than a year you’ll go to hell. You don’t care.
All you care about is in front of you: breathing, pissed off, hellbent on saving you.
His eyes are open and his gaze is piercing and, for a moment, you feel free…lighter than you’ve ever felt in your life. For a moment the love, the devotion…the sheer need you see in his eyes floors you, and you have no defenses, you feel raw, exposed, you’re not strong enough to pretend it doesn’t exist.
You’ve sold your soul for the man in front of you, you’d do it again in a heartbeat…denial is redundant.
You’re just…there, smiling, tired and sore…and for the briefest moment, happy.
And you let yourself hope and dream. You imagine: what it would be like, now, to rest your open palm on his chest? You imagine what it would be like to feel his heart, beating, furiously pounding against his chest, under your palm, a reminder that he’s alive…that you haven’t lost him.
You wonder what it’d be like to forget, to just…feel, yet you don’t move, you keep looking at him, a tired smile playing on your lips and his eyes are bright with unshed tears, and damn it was worth it: selling your soul, dying…tearing the world apart if necessary would have been worth it.
Tomorrow reality might set in, the walls will probably be up again, thick and solid as they’ve always been and you’ll go back pretending, you’ll both will.
For a moment, though, you allow yourself to love him…like in a chick flick, and you want to shout it from the rooftops, and the old litany of no, bad, can’t, wrong, dirty, incest, fuck..why us? Oh, God, Sammy… fades.
For a moment you see it in his eyes too, you know he feels it too: real, living, a third presence that fills the air around you with promises and images of things you’ve ignored, kept hidden for so long that you don’t remember when it wasn’t there.
For a moment you see yourself taking a step, shortening the distance between you and your dreams, hopes and secrets…you see yourself feeling, tasting the heat of his body, without doubts and guilt. You see yourself running your hands through his hair as he pulls you close and you can almost taste it.
You *can* taste it…because somehow you *have* moved, you have closed the distance between Sam and you, and his eyes are still impossibly bright, and he’s smiling, breathing against your forehead, trailing soft kisses along your jaws, promising you things you don’t want to think about, whispering things you need to hear, scattering his love and his devotion on your skin as you do the same.
For a moment it’s reality: safe, bright, heartbreaking and exhilarating.
It’s enough. It has to be.