Spoiling the Barrel -Part 4-
Master Post
Spoiling the Barrel
"Sometimes there's a sheep in wolf's clothing."
-New-ish Winchester Saying
Dean noticed Sam had been acting weirdly about a month after the Mini-War, as he so christened it. They had taken the time to salt and burn the bodies of all who were dead, creatures and Hunters alike. It had been hard, asking the others to notify those who had connections to those who were dead that these people had passed on, and then it had been back on the road for the Winchesters.
The first sign was when Sam merely picked at his eggs one morning at a diner. All Sam had downed that day was a glass of orange juice and five cups of coffee. Dean counted. The second sign was when Sam stared listlessly out of the Impala's passenger seat window. This would have been normal, but he didn't start conversations at all; which was odd because Sam was the one to start eight out of ten conversations when they were on the road like this.
And Dean had had enough. He couldn't stand to see Sam so upset. He figured that the younger was probably blaming himself for the wolf's deaths, survivor's guilt and all that shit. Plus, he'd have to make Sam pay for getting him all sentimental whenever he thought about the whole ordeal that was now behind them.
So of course he made his move while they were in the car. It was where he felt most comfortable talking to Sam. Nowhere on earth, no matter how friendly seeming, no matter how alone they were in a motel room, or how crowded the bars were around them, the Impala was like their little slice of peace. It could be separate from the world around them, yet in and amongst it, too. It was more of a home than either man had ever known.
So far, their relationship had escalated to going as far as kissing and intimate gestures, but what had happened in the cabin's living room had yet to reoccur. Dean, surprisingly, was fine with this. He'd thought it over (for a very, very long time, it seemed) and come to terms with his feelings. Of course, he didn't expect he'd ever fully understand them or anything remotely like that, but he did embrace them. Sam was more than he could ask for- more than he deserved.
Currently, Sam had thrown his arm over the back of the car's bench seat, his fingers tangled softly in the hair at the nape of Dean's neck while he looked out the front windshield, his right arm resting on the door. They had been silent for the last fifteen miles, having run out of things to talk about that were at all interesting.
Dean gave his brother a sidelong look, no longer truly paying attention to the road. No one else was on the highway but them anyways, so it hardly mattered.
"What?" Asked Sam after a while, realizing he was being stared at.
"Are you okay?" Stupid question, really. Dean already knew the answer he was going to get. He didn't need to ask, for he could see it in Sam's eyes and the way he held himself.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Why? And would you keep your eyes on the road? You're making me nervous." The taller muttered the latter, shifting in his seat a little and withdrawing his hand from Dean's hair.
Dean, however, caught it and twined their fingers together. He obeyed Sam's request to concentrate on driving as well as talking, turning back to look at the highway's pavement rather than Sam's tanned and scarred skin. The radio had gone silent a while back, one of the tapes running out of music (at which point both brothers had been too lazy to turn it over to start it up again), otherwise Dean would have reached to turn said music down.
"Damnit, Sam, you're not yourself lately. What's gotten into you? Is it about Sarah, and Rez, and all of that? Or is it this?" Dean raised their linked together hands for emphasis on the 'this'. He still wasn't looking at Sam.
"It's a little bit about all that. But it's got nothing to do with 'this'." Sam sighed, giving in almost instantly. This was another of the bad signs Dean had identified.
"Explain it to me. Because I don't get it. Why are you beating yourself up so much over this?" Dean's voice was rising a little bit, but he caught himself mid-sentence and brought it back down to a normal, level speaking tone.
"And you're not?!" Sam, however, was doing nothing to disguise how he felt.
"Life goes on, Sam!" Dean growled, sending a glare with almost no heat behind it at his brother for a long moment before the road caught his attention again.
"Not for them! Not for all those people we sent to their deathbeds just for one monster! Not for the wolves on our side!" The warmth of Sam's hand was suddenly gone from Dean's as Sam twisted in his seat to look at Dean incredulously.
"I get that. I get why you're upset about that. But we're still alive, Sam. We're still here. And you've gotta move on."
It wasn't like they were severely attached to those people anyways. Most of the hunters were friends of friends of friends of contacts of acquaintances of friends. And the True Wolves were just other monsters to Dean, just one more thing he had to protect people from when they went prowling in the dark.
"… I dunno, Dean. I just…" Sam sighed, and didn't continue.
Dean didn't bring it up for the rest of the drive to Fort Peck, Montana.
-=-
Dean was humming Metallica when Sam got out of the shower later. The taller didn't comment until after he'd gotten dressed in a pair of sweatpants and toweled off his hair and laid down beside Dean to watch whatever happened to be on the motel TV.
"Okay, what's with the look you're giving me?" Dean beat him to the punch, clear amusement in his voice. Their argument previously in the day seemed to have been wiped from the older brother's mind.
"Nothing's with the chimerical look I'm giving you." Sam decided to play along.
"Ri-ight. And in English that is what again…?" Dean raised an eyebrow, smirk plain on his face.
Sam socked him on the shoulder playfully, rolling his eyes. They were distracted for a while by the TV, but neither really minded. It gave them a chance to relieve some of the awkwardness that still hung in the air around them that had been floating about since the living room incident. It was something each of them thought about often, not that they would admit it, of course.
"Anyways, hey, there's this new brand of beer I thought we should try." Dean changed the subject of conversation tactfully.
"Oh really?" Sam raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, right here." Dean missed the expression and reached down under the bed to pull up the six-pack.
"Interesting. Alright, grab me one out then." They weren't on a job, so it was perfectly okay to have some alcohol in Sam's opinion.
They popped open the beers and Sam sat down on the bed next to Dean to watch TV. What the two hadn't been expecting was the fact that the drink was so incredibly strong. Dean held his alcohol extremely well, but even he was feeling a little tipsy. He was almost glad for the practice he had from hitting bars in almost every town they came to.
Sam, on the other hand, was completely drunk.
Dean knew because halfway through the Pay-Per-View movie, Sam rolled over and began planting light, slightly sloppy kisses on his neck. Drunk or not, they gave Dean goosebumps.
"Nnnnh…" Dean hummed, shifting a little so that Sam could get better access.
They slid down the bed to lay down properly, the television forgotten. Sam ignored Dean's small noises of half-hearted protest, and didn't seem to notice when Dean had enough sense to take his beer from him and place it on the floor with Dean's own. Sam rolled them to the middle of the bed so that neither could fall off, and continued what he was doing easily.
Needless to say, the night ended up being somewhat of a de ja vu.
-=-
Sam awoke the next morning with a pounding headache right behind his eyes and his shoulder loudly protesting the position he had fallen asleep in. The space next to him was empty, but it was warm when he slid his hand over, so he assumed that Dean had already gotten up and was in the shower.
True to Sam's prediction, the water started in the bathroom not two minutes later. Sam sighed and closed his eyes again, half in contentment and half in pain. He couldn't remember what had happened the night before beyond kissing Dean and feeling a little more than buzzed.
The younger Winchester groaned when he realized that he had most likely been totally smashed. He groaned again when he remembered that reality did, in fact, exist. And there was an aching in his ass that made him more than suspicious of what they had probably done.
Well, shit.
Sam buried his face in his pillow and dragged the comforter up and over his head lethargically, mumbling nonsense complaints into the cotton. He didn't know how long he stayed like that, trying to shut out the world, but he did take notice of the shower turning off and Dean padding into the room. Sam shifted a little to show he was awake, but other than that did not move.
Dean caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see a Sam-shaped lump in the bed with a large tuft of brown hair sticking out of the top in every-which way. He grinned a little, and decided to play annoying big brother.
He tiptoed over to the bed, careful not to make a single sound, and ripped the covers off of Sam's head. The blinds were open, and he knew the light would have the intended effect on his little brother. Sam rolled over in an attempt to avoid the light and ended up rolling off of the bed and landing on the floor with a thump.
Laughing, Dean helped him up (grumbling and swearing as the other was) and got him in the shower with a promise of a fatty, greasy breakfast. Sam's middle finger and "fuck you" was the only answer he got.
"Love you, too." He called while he shut the door and began hunting for a semi-clean pair of jeans.
Finding the necessary articles of clothing, Dean headed out the door, whistling and twirling his keys on his index finger. He almost felt like singing. Almost.
Today was going to be a beautiful day.
The Impala roared to life under him, and Dean tore out of the motel parking lot and started looking for a fast food place that sold breakfast at seven in the morning. Shouldn't be too hard. He ended up bringing back McDonald's- just about the fattiest breakfast Dean could think of. Plus coffee.
Sam was just stumbling out of the shower when Dean walked through the door. Sam couldn't help but feel a little dismay at this- he'd been planning to close the blinds while his brother was gone and provide a little relief. He winced when Dean slammed the door behind him and turned to get his own clothes on.
"Honey, I'm home." Dean sing-songed.
"Shut the fuck up." Sam growled, throwing a nearby pillow at Dean's head, which the elder deftly ducked.
"Check in my duffel, dumbass." Dean snorted, watching Sam sort through the crap on the table in an attempt to find pain relievers.
Sam glared, but did as Dean suggested and came back victorious. Popping two of them without hesitation (and water, for that matter), Sam sighed and sat down at the table, eyes closed, trying to will away the pain of the migraine until painkillers kicked in. Dean sat the McDonald's bag next to him and began to rummage inside of it for his own food.
They sat in silence for some time, Dean copping the seat across from Sam and staring unabashedly at him as he ate. Sam was somewhat used to this by now and no longer paid it any mind. When each had nearly finished, Dean stared pensively into his uncovered coffee before asking out loud:
"Do you remember…?"
"Not really." Sam answered shortly.
"I didn't think so." Dean sighed and leaned back in his chair.
They didn't say anything for a long time after that.
In fact, it was close to morning again when either of them said anything to the other at all. They started driving around noon, so it was late when they stopped again. In fact, it was around eleven at night. The sky had gone dark, and they were out on one of those open roads in the middle of nowhere USA; so of course there was no streetlights and no one else on the asphalt for miles. Sam could see the stars, and he thought he would count them if not for the fact that they were in the car and moving. Plus, how would he know which ones he had already counted when they looked all the same?
Dean pulled the car over to the side of the road, turning off the engine and just sitting there for a moment, and it made Sam turn from the window with a raised eyebrow.
"You getting tired or something? I can take the wheel if you want." Sam volunteered, a little concerned. Normally, Dean wouldn't do that.
"No, no, it's fine." Dean paused, and the silence was heavy. Sam was hesitant to break it.
Dean folded his hands in his lap for a moment, staring down at them in thought. He knew he wanted to say something. But he wasn't sure what. It was like he knew the words, but they were in some foreign language that he didn't know. He looked up at Sam, a pleading look on his face. He wasn't quite sure what he was searching for in Sam's eyes, honestly. In fact, he wasn't sure about a lot of things these days.
"Dean…" Sam spoke softly, barely above a whisper.
He leaned forward, running a finger back and forth against Dean's jaw. Dean couldn't help closing his eyes and leaning into the touch. There was no one else here to see except the stars, so why should he not?
"Hey, it's okay. I'm here. Anything you need." Sam soothed, capturing Dean's lips in a chaste kiss. "Let me take the wheel for a while." He murmured when they broke apart.
Dean hadn't really been getting much sleep. So it settled right with Sam when he looked over to see Dean leaning against the passenger side door with his forehead on the glass, fast asleep and snoring lightly. Sam returned his eyes to the empty road. This was how it should be. Him and Dean and the Impala and the road, with the night sky above and a crescent moon on the rise.
For the first time in a long time- about a month and a half- things felt right.
Sam grinned and gunned the engine.
Spoiling the Barrel
"Sometimes there's a sheep in wolf's clothing."
-New-ish Winchester Saying
Dean noticed Sam had been acting weirdly about a month after the Mini-War, as he so christened it. They had taken the time to salt and burn the bodies of all who were dead, creatures and Hunters alike. It had been hard, asking the others to notify those who had connections to those who were dead that these people had passed on, and then it had been back on the road for the Winchesters.
The first sign was when Sam merely picked at his eggs one morning at a diner. All Sam had downed that day was a glass of orange juice and five cups of coffee. Dean counted. The second sign was when Sam stared listlessly out of the Impala's passenger seat window. This would have been normal, but he didn't start conversations at all; which was odd because Sam was the one to start eight out of ten conversations when they were on the road like this.
And Dean had had enough. He couldn't stand to see Sam so upset. He figured that the younger was probably blaming himself for the wolf's deaths, survivor's guilt and all that shit. Plus, he'd have to make Sam pay for getting him all sentimental whenever he thought about the whole ordeal that was now behind them.
So of course he made his move while they were in the car. It was where he felt most comfortable talking to Sam. Nowhere on earth, no matter how friendly seeming, no matter how alone they were in a motel room, or how crowded the bars were around them, the Impala was like their little slice of peace. It could be separate from the world around them, yet in and amongst it, too. It was more of a home than either man had ever known.
So far, their relationship had escalated to going as far as kissing and intimate gestures, but what had happened in the cabin's living room had yet to reoccur. Dean, surprisingly, was fine with this. He'd thought it over (for a very, very long time, it seemed) and come to terms with his feelings. Of course, he didn't expect he'd ever fully understand them or anything remotely like that, but he did embrace them. Sam was more than he could ask for- more than he deserved.
Currently, Sam had thrown his arm over the back of the car's bench seat, his fingers tangled softly in the hair at the nape of Dean's neck while he looked out the front windshield, his right arm resting on the door. They had been silent for the last fifteen miles, having run out of things to talk about that were at all interesting.
Dean gave his brother a sidelong look, no longer truly paying attention to the road. No one else was on the highway but them anyways, so it hardly mattered.
"What?" Asked Sam after a while, realizing he was being stared at.
"Are you okay?" Stupid question, really. Dean already knew the answer he was going to get. He didn't need to ask, for he could see it in Sam's eyes and the way he held himself.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Why? And would you keep your eyes on the road? You're making me nervous." The taller muttered the latter, shifting in his seat a little and withdrawing his hand from Dean's hair.
Dean, however, caught it and twined their fingers together. He obeyed Sam's request to concentrate on driving as well as talking, turning back to look at the highway's pavement rather than Sam's tanned and scarred skin. The radio had gone silent a while back, one of the tapes running out of music (at which point both brothers had been too lazy to turn it over to start it up again), otherwise Dean would have reached to turn said music down.
"Damnit, Sam, you're not yourself lately. What's gotten into you? Is it about Sarah, and Rez, and all of that? Or is it this?" Dean raised their linked together hands for emphasis on the 'this'. He still wasn't looking at Sam.
"It's a little bit about all that. But it's got nothing to do with 'this'." Sam sighed, giving in almost instantly. This was another of the bad signs Dean had identified.
"Explain it to me. Because I don't get it. Why are you beating yourself up so much over this?" Dean's voice was rising a little bit, but he caught himself mid-sentence and brought it back down to a normal, level speaking tone.
"And you're not?!" Sam, however, was doing nothing to disguise how he felt.
"Life goes on, Sam!" Dean growled, sending a glare with almost no heat behind it at his brother for a long moment before the road caught his attention again.
"Not for them! Not for all those people we sent to their deathbeds just for one monster! Not for the wolves on our side!" The warmth of Sam's hand was suddenly gone from Dean's as Sam twisted in his seat to look at Dean incredulously.
"I get that. I get why you're upset about that. But we're still alive, Sam. We're still here. And you've gotta move on."
It wasn't like they were severely attached to those people anyways. Most of the hunters were friends of friends of friends of contacts of acquaintances of friends. And the True Wolves were just other monsters to Dean, just one more thing he had to protect people from when they went prowling in the dark.
"… I dunno, Dean. I just…" Sam sighed, and didn't continue.
Dean didn't bring it up for the rest of the drive to Fort Peck, Montana.
-=-
Dean was humming Metallica when Sam got out of the shower later. The taller didn't comment until after he'd gotten dressed in a pair of sweatpants and toweled off his hair and laid down beside Dean to watch whatever happened to be on the motel TV.
"Okay, what's with the look you're giving me?" Dean beat him to the punch, clear amusement in his voice. Their argument previously in the day seemed to have been wiped from the older brother's mind.
"Nothing's with the chimerical look I'm giving you." Sam decided to play along.
"Ri-ight. And in English that is what again…?" Dean raised an eyebrow, smirk plain on his face.
Sam socked him on the shoulder playfully, rolling his eyes. They were distracted for a while by the TV, but neither really minded. It gave them a chance to relieve some of the awkwardness that still hung in the air around them that had been floating about since the living room incident. It was something each of them thought about often, not that they would admit it, of course.
"Anyways, hey, there's this new brand of beer I thought we should try." Dean changed the subject of conversation tactfully.
"Oh really?" Sam raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, right here." Dean missed the expression and reached down under the bed to pull up the six-pack.
"Interesting. Alright, grab me one out then." They weren't on a job, so it was perfectly okay to have some alcohol in Sam's opinion.
They popped open the beers and Sam sat down on the bed next to Dean to watch TV. What the two hadn't been expecting was the fact that the drink was so incredibly strong. Dean held his alcohol extremely well, but even he was feeling a little tipsy. He was almost glad for the practice he had from hitting bars in almost every town they came to.
Sam, on the other hand, was completely drunk.
Dean knew because halfway through the Pay-Per-View movie, Sam rolled over and began planting light, slightly sloppy kisses on his neck. Drunk or not, they gave Dean goosebumps.
"Nnnnh…" Dean hummed, shifting a little so that Sam could get better access.
They slid down the bed to lay down properly, the television forgotten. Sam ignored Dean's small noises of half-hearted protest, and didn't seem to notice when Dean had enough sense to take his beer from him and place it on the floor with Dean's own. Sam rolled them to the middle of the bed so that neither could fall off, and continued what he was doing easily.
Needless to say, the night ended up being somewhat of a de ja vu.
-=-
Sam awoke the next morning with a pounding headache right behind his eyes and his shoulder loudly protesting the position he had fallen asleep in. The space next to him was empty, but it was warm when he slid his hand over, so he assumed that Dean had already gotten up and was in the shower.
True to Sam's prediction, the water started in the bathroom not two minutes later. Sam sighed and closed his eyes again, half in contentment and half in pain. He couldn't remember what had happened the night before beyond kissing Dean and feeling a little more than buzzed.
The younger Winchester groaned when he realized that he had most likely been totally smashed. He groaned again when he remembered that reality did, in fact, exist. And there was an aching in his ass that made him more than suspicious of what they had probably done.
Well, shit.
Sam buried his face in his pillow and dragged the comforter up and over his head lethargically, mumbling nonsense complaints into the cotton. He didn't know how long he stayed like that, trying to shut out the world, but he did take notice of the shower turning off and Dean padding into the room. Sam shifted a little to show he was awake, but other than that did not move.
Dean caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see a Sam-shaped lump in the bed with a large tuft of brown hair sticking out of the top in every-which way. He grinned a little, and decided to play annoying big brother.
He tiptoed over to the bed, careful not to make a single sound, and ripped the covers off of Sam's head. The blinds were open, and he knew the light would have the intended effect on his little brother. Sam rolled over in an attempt to avoid the light and ended up rolling off of the bed and landing on the floor with a thump.
Laughing, Dean helped him up (grumbling and swearing as the other was) and got him in the shower with a promise of a fatty, greasy breakfast. Sam's middle finger and "fuck you" was the only answer he got.
"Love you, too." He called while he shut the door and began hunting for a semi-clean pair of jeans.
Finding the necessary articles of clothing, Dean headed out the door, whistling and twirling his keys on his index finger. He almost felt like singing. Almost.
Today was going to be a beautiful day.
The Impala roared to life under him, and Dean tore out of the motel parking lot and started looking for a fast food place that sold breakfast at seven in the morning. Shouldn't be too hard. He ended up bringing back McDonald's- just about the fattiest breakfast Dean could think of. Plus coffee.
Sam was just stumbling out of the shower when Dean walked through the door. Sam couldn't help but feel a little dismay at this- he'd been planning to close the blinds while his brother was gone and provide a little relief. He winced when Dean slammed the door behind him and turned to get his own clothes on.
"Honey, I'm home." Dean sing-songed.
"Shut the fuck up." Sam growled, throwing a nearby pillow at Dean's head, which the elder deftly ducked.
"Check in my duffel, dumbass." Dean snorted, watching Sam sort through the crap on the table in an attempt to find pain relievers.
Sam glared, but did as Dean suggested and came back victorious. Popping two of them without hesitation (and water, for that matter), Sam sighed and sat down at the table, eyes closed, trying to will away the pain of the migraine until painkillers kicked in. Dean sat the McDonald's bag next to him and began to rummage inside of it for his own food.
They sat in silence for some time, Dean copping the seat across from Sam and staring unabashedly at him as he ate. Sam was somewhat used to this by now and no longer paid it any mind. When each had nearly finished, Dean stared pensively into his uncovered coffee before asking out loud:
"Do you remember…?"
"Not really." Sam answered shortly.
"I didn't think so." Dean sighed and leaned back in his chair.
They didn't say anything for a long time after that.
In fact, it was close to morning again when either of them said anything to the other at all. They started driving around noon, so it was late when they stopped again. In fact, it was around eleven at night. The sky had gone dark, and they were out on one of those open roads in the middle of nowhere USA; so of course there was no streetlights and no one else on the asphalt for miles. Sam could see the stars, and he thought he would count them if not for the fact that they were in the car and moving. Plus, how would he know which ones he had already counted when they looked all the same?
Dean pulled the car over to the side of the road, turning off the engine and just sitting there for a moment, and it made Sam turn from the window with a raised eyebrow.
"You getting tired or something? I can take the wheel if you want." Sam volunteered, a little concerned. Normally, Dean wouldn't do that.
"No, no, it's fine." Dean paused, and the silence was heavy. Sam was hesitant to break it.
Dean folded his hands in his lap for a moment, staring down at them in thought. He knew he wanted to say something. But he wasn't sure what. It was like he knew the words, but they were in some foreign language that he didn't know. He looked up at Sam, a pleading look on his face. He wasn't quite sure what he was searching for in Sam's eyes, honestly. In fact, he wasn't sure about a lot of things these days.
"Dean…" Sam spoke softly, barely above a whisper.
He leaned forward, running a finger back and forth against Dean's jaw. Dean couldn't help closing his eyes and leaning into the touch. There was no one else here to see except the stars, so why should he not?
"Hey, it's okay. I'm here. Anything you need." Sam soothed, capturing Dean's lips in a chaste kiss. "Let me take the wheel for a while." He murmured when they broke apart.
Dean hadn't really been getting much sleep. So it settled right with Sam when he looked over to see Dean leaning against the passenger side door with his forehead on the glass, fast asleep and snoring lightly. Sam returned his eyes to the empty road. This was how it should be. Him and Dean and the Impala and the road, with the night sky above and a crescent moon on the rise.
For the first time in a long time- about a month and a half- things felt right.
Sam grinned and gunned the engine.