Part Four
The next day after work, Dean takes off for Mount Vernon again. Sam offers to come but Dean shakes his head, tells Sam not to worry about it.
His dad's in the hospital. His dad could have died. Sam's not sure how he's supposed to not worry about things.
After dark he gazes out the window for a long time, then heads over to CJ's
"My dad's in the hospital," he says when CJ opens the door.
"Shit. Are you OK? Is he OK?"
Sam nods. "He'll be fine. He got hurt when he was out hunting. He was in surgery for hours but they say he's going to be OK. I don't know."
"Come in," says CJ. "You want something to eat?"
Sam shakes his head.
"You sure? You can have anything that's in the fridge."
Sam opens the fridge and takes out a beer, pops the cap open against the edge of the counter.
"Sam," CJ says, his voice low. "You can't--"
"What? I'm too young for beer but old enough to fuck?"
CJ sighs.
Sam drinks half the beer, tries not to think about what would happen if his father died.
"I never did anything like that before," Sam whispers. He picks at the corner of the beer label with his thumbnail.
"Not with anyone?"
Sam shakes his head.
"I shouldn't have...Christ. I've been kicking myself for days, Sam. I wish I could take it back."
"You didn't make me, you know."
CJ rubs his hands over his face.
Sam shakes his head. "It's just...I don't know. I liked it. But maybe it was too fast."
"This isn't...God. I don't just go around wanting the kids I meet at work," CJ tells him. "I know this is fucked up. I know you're too young. That doesn't change the way I feel around you."
Sam nods. "I wanna do it again. I wanna...I don't know. We can go slower?"
"Yeah," says CJ. "Yeah, of course."
Sam leaves his beer on the kitchen table, moves forward and places his hands on CJ's chest. He can feel the muscles through CJ's henley, can feel his heart beating. "We can just, standing here like this, this won't be too fast."
CJ slides his arms around Sam's waist, pulls him close. He smells like soap and cedar. Sam presses his face against CJ's neck, sighs as CJ rubs his lower back gently.
"You really like the way I look?" Sam asks softly.
"God. Yeah. You're...you don't even know, do you?"
"Know what?"
"How attractive you are."
"I'm not."
"You really are."
Sam smiles, maybe believes it a little bit. It feels good to believe.
"I didn't notice you right away. Well, I did, but I didn't really take notice until halfway through the basketball game that day, when you were guarding Mark Farrell. I watched the way you protected the rest of the team from him, watched you deflect his anger--"
"And his elbows," Sam says.
CJ smiles. Sam can feel it against his temple. "And his elbows. I was so impressed with the way you handled things. It wasn't until after, when I was checking to see how bad he'd hurt you, that it really hit me how gorgeous you were. Your eyes and your mouth, and I thought...you blushed a little bit, when I was touching your neck."
"I did?"
"Yeah."
"I was looking at your arms. I was really blushing?"
"A little bit." CJ pulls back and smiles at Sam. "Kind of like right now."
"God," Sam says, trying to twist away.
"Hey, hey, don't," CJ whispers. "I like it, all right? You look, it just makes you sexier, the way you blush sometimes. It makes me want to kiss you until you're flushed all over."
"Promise?" Sam asks. He can feel the heat in his cheeks, feel the blood rushing down into his cock.
CJ nods and Sam tips his head up and closes his eyes, lets himself fall into the kiss, part his lips when he feels CJ's tongue. He moans when CJ's hands slide down his back, grips his ass, pull him up close. He thinks that maybe they could make out, thinks that if they kept their clothes on they could even stretch out on CJ's bed and kiss and touch each other all night long.
Sam jumps when the back door slams open, when he sees Dean standing there with his hand on the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants.
"You're gonna want to get your hands off my little brother right about now," says Dean.
"Jesus!" Sam snaps. "Don't you know how to knock?"
"Go home, Sammy," Dean says darkly. "Now."
"I'm not a dog," Sam tells him. "You can't just give me commands and expect me to wag my fucking tail."
"You've wagged your tail enough tonight," Dean says. "Go home." He's not kidding, either. His eyes are dark and fierce.
"I hate you!" Sam shouts, stalking past CJ's broken back door.
"I'm used to it!" Dean shouts back.
Sam stomps into the house, slams the front door behind him, stands in the living room shaking with shame and rage. He hopes Dean doesn't shoot CJ, mostly because he doesn't like it when they're on the run.
"Did you have to kick the fucking door down?" he asks when he hears Dean come through the front door a few minutes later.
"I saw him through the window," Dean says. "He was grabbing you."
Sam sits down hard on the couch and doesn't say anything.
"Christ, Sammy," Dean says, raking his fingers through his hair. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Sam crosses his arms over his chest and grits his teeth and stares at the floor.
"That guy...Christ. You don’t...I don't even..." He sits down on the coffee table and leans towards Sam, his arms resting on his knees. "Look, I know that he's our neighbor and he probably made you think he was this cool guy or whatever, but that wasn't...he wanted to do stuff to you, Sam. He wasn't giving you beer just because he's a cool guy. He was trying to get you drunk so he could fuck around with you."
Sam looks up at Dean, his nostrils flared. "I'm not an idiot," he says.
Dean looks baffled. "There's easier ways to get beer."
"I wasn't there for the beer."
Dean's silent for a long time. Finally he asks, "Did you have sex with him?"
"Why does it even matter?"
"Because I'm going to fucking kill him if he laid a finger on you. Did you sleep with him?"
Sam clenches his jaw and glares at Dean.
"He's a fucking pedophile!" Dean cries.
"I'm not a little kid!"
"You're a hell of a lot younger than he is."
"At least he's around!" Sam shouts back. "At least he gives a shit about me. He cares about me, cares about how I'm doing in school, listens to me and cares about what I think."
Dean looks like Sam's just slapped him. He looks like Sam's just shot him in the chest. His face goes pale and his mouth moves but no sound comes out.
"I didn't mean it like that," Sam says, regretting the words. He knows Dean cares, knows Dean cares more about him than anyone else in the world. "I didn't mean...I know that you...I just..." He pulls his knees to his chest and buries his face in them. He wishes he wasn't so tall, wishes he were still small enough to hide. "I want somebody to love me," he whispers, and it sounds pathetic even to him.
Dean's quiet for a while and Sam's starting to think that he's left, but then Dean sighs.
Sam looks up at him. Dean's still sitting on the coffee table, staring down at his hands, lips pursed.
"Are you pissed at me?" Sam asks.
Dean shakes his head but doesn't say anything.
"Are you going to tell Dad?"
Dean shakes his head again.
"Say something."
"What am I supposed to say, Sammy?"
It's on the tip of Sam's tongue to correct him, to object to the use of the stupid nickname, but he stays silent.
"What am I supposed to say? That I fucked up? Yeah, OK, I fucked up."
"What?" Sam asks.
"I'm supposed to be watching you and because I'm too wrapped up in my own shit, you fall into the hands of this fucking..." Dean shakes his head. "That what you want me to say, Sam? That this is my fault?"
"It's not your fault!" Sam snaps. "God! It doesn't have anything to do with you."
"You said yourself you want somebody to pay attention to you. That's me, Sam. I'm the one who's supposed to ask you how school's going and, I don't know, go to your soccer games and put your fucking report card on the fridge. And I didn't do that well enough, obviously, so--"
"Can you stop making everything about you?" Sam asks. "Give your ego a fucking break for once. The only way this is about you is how I fucking hate the way I'm invisible when you're around."
"Sammy," Dean says, reaching out for him, and Sam can't handle it. He wants Dean to say, You're beautiful, Sammy. He wants Dean to tell him that he's gorgeous and sexy and that Dean's glad Sam's invisible because that way no one but Dean can look at him. He wants Dean to say so many things that he'll never say, and he can't take whatever pity is going to come out of Dean's mouth so he slaps Dean's hand away and shoves up off the couch and slams his bedroom door behind him as hard as he can before throwing himself onto his bed.
He expects Dean to be right behind him, expects the door to slam open and Dean to be there at the foot of his bed shouting at him. There's nothing but silence, though. He can't even hear Dean moving around. He curls onto his side and watches the door. After an hour he starts willing Dean to come after him, but he won't. Sam's pushed him too far. He always pushes at Dean, always takes things out on Dean, and Dean's never walked away from him, not once. Sam doesn't know what he's going to do if Dean walks away now, if finally Sam did something Dean can't forgive him for.
He presses his face to his pillow, terrified and heartbroken, and he hates the sobs that well up within him but he can't stop them, can't help but cry himself to sleep.
It's the middle of the night when he wakes, and Dean's there, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Hey," Sam whispers.
Dean sighs. Sam's never seen him look so tired. "I'm going to," Dean starts. "I'll take better care of you from now on, OK?"
"It's not about that," Sam whispers. "You don't have to take care of me."
Dean reaches out, smoothes Sam's hair off his forehead. "Course I do. It's my job." He pulls his hand back and lets it drop into his lap. "I'm not very good at saying stuff like this, but I think you need to hear it. There's a difference, Sam, between somebody who wants you and somebody who loves you."
Sam closes his eyes in shame.
"And there's nothing wrong with having sex just because you want to. It's a good thing, OK? Totally natural. But you have to know the difference, you have to know that sleeping with somebody isn't going to make them love you."
"I know," Sam whispers. He's on the verge of tears but he won't cry, he won't let himself.
"And you have to...you can't make somebody think you love them when you don't. You have to be honest, all the time, OK? You can't take advantage of anybody and you can't let anybody take advantage of you."
"He didn't," Sam says.
Dean sighs deeply.
Sam opens his eyes, reaches out to touch Dean's hand. Dean's chewing on his lower lip and gazing down at the floor. "Are you mad that I like guys?" he asks softly.
Dean shakes his head.
"I didn't want to tell you. I didn't know how to tell you."
"Is that what you've been so upset about these past few months?" Dean asks him. "When you said that you were broken, is that what you meant? Because you're not, you're not broken."
"I really am."
"You're not. This doesn't...it doesn't matter, OK? Everything's fine. You're normal, Sam."
"I'm so far from normal it's not even funny."
"It doesn't matter if you like guys, it doesn't--"
Sam surges up, presses his mouth against Dean's. For a second, Sam thinks Dean's going to kiss him back, but then Dean pushes him away.
"What was that?" Dean asks, hand at his mouth like he's really not sure.
"I'm in love with you."
Dean doesn't move, doesn't even breathe for a long moment. He sucks in a sharp breath, then, shakes his head. "Sam--"
"I mean it. I'm not...I didn't want to tell you. I thought I'd rather die before I told you but I can't...I don't care. I don't care anymore because I love you so much I can't breathe." He sits up and scoots until his back is against the headboard. He wraps his arms around his legs and presses his face to his knees. He can't look at Dean, can't bear the disgust he knows is going to be written plain on his face.
"I know I'm a freak," he whispers, eyes closed tight. He'd cry if he had any energy left. "I know I'm fucked up, but I can't change it. I can't make it go away. I'm in love with you and it's never going to stop."
Dean doesn't say anything. Sam feels his hand on his shoulder for a moment, but then it drops away.
"Sam," Dean says finally, voice broken. "I didn't...fuck. Look at me."
Sam shakes his head.
"Come on, Sammy. Look at me."
Sam lifts his head and opens his eyes and Dean's gazing at him gently, not with disgust or hate or fear, and something inside Sam eases open. "Do you hate me?" he asks.
Dean shakes his head. His eyes are shiny, like he's about to cry. "Could never hate you. Not ever. No matter what. You got that?"
Sam nods.
"I mean it. I could never hate you, Sam."
"What am I supposed to do?" Sam asks. "I've tried to stop, Dean. I've tried so hard and I can't...I'm never gonna stop feeling this way."
"We'll figure it out," Dean says, and he seems so sure of himself that some of the ache eases from Sam's chest. “Go to sleep,” he says.
“Will you stay with me?” Sam asks.
“I’m always right here,” Dean says. He moves to his own bed, though, maybe knowing what Sam really wanted was for the two of them to sleep next to each other, but maybe not.
Sam slides back down into his bed and turns to face Dean, closes his eyes and listens to Dean moving around, getting ready for bed. He wants to say more, wants to tell Dean how sorry he is and that he’s trying to change and that he can’t help it and it won’t ever stop because Dean’s so beautiful and good and strong that Sam will never be able to fall out of love with him.
He doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep, but then he does. He wakes with the sun coming bright through the window and gets out of bed slowly, shuffles into the kitchen where Dean’s got a thick layer of newspaper spread over the kitchen table and his guns in pieces across it.
“Why didn’t you wake me for school?” he asks.
“Because it’s Saturday,” Dean says. He takes a deep breath and reaches for the cylinder of a revolver. He doesn’t look at Sam.
“Oh.” Sam thinks about breakfast but his stomach lurches and he sits down across from Dean instead.
“Leaded all to shit,” Dean mutters as he inspects the cylinder. He doesn’t curse their father, but Sam knows how much his hard use and infrequent cleaning of the guns wears on Dean.
Sam picks up a cleaning rod and screws a patch holder onto the end. The solvent’s next to Dean’s left elbow so he reaches across the table for it. Dean freezes for a moment, Sam freezes in response, and then forces himself to move, to pick up the solvent and set it down in front of him. He doesn’t look up, just starts cleaning the bore of the Walther P99.
They don’t speak, just spend the morning cleaning the guns in silence. Sam starts to cry after nearly an hour of tense silence, but he stops it quick, chokes it back and bites his lip hard and looks away. Dean doesn’t say anything and Sam thinks he can feel Dean’s eyes on him but he doesn’t look up to check.
They’re not going to talk about it. Sam doesn’t even have to ask to know that Dean’s going to pretend that it never happened, that Sam never told him the truth.
“You coming to visit Dad?” Dean asks once they’ve reassembled and stored the guns.
“Homework,” Sam whispers. Really, he just can’t stand the idea of an hour trapped in the car with Dean so quietly angry.
Dean nods and looks relieved, like he doesn’t want to spend an hour both ways trapped in the car with Sam, either. “Stick around here, OK?” he asks. “Don’t go running off with your friends.”
He means Don’t go over to CJ’s, but saying it would mean acknowledging everything that had happened the night before.
“Yeah,” Sam says. “OK.”
When Dean leaves, Sam goes to the back pantry and pulls the bottle of whiskey down from the ceiling beams. His father’s hiding places are predictable and easy to find. He takes a swig, then another, coughs and sputters and feels the warmth spreading through his belly, the calm spreading through his chest. He understands it, then, a little bit anyway. He understands why his dad drinks so much, why that oblivion would be so tempting.
He recaps the bottle and puts it back. He’s not going to be like that. He’s not going to numb himself no matter how bad he hurts. So Dean’s not in love with him, so what? He knew that anyway, that Dean didn’t feel the same. The important thing is that he didn’t kill Sam when he found out, didn’t want to put him down like the other monsters he fights.
He’d missed a day of school, doesn’t know what his assignments are for the weekend. He thinks about calling Aaron to find out, but he doesn’t. He thinks that maybe it’s best if he just lets his friendships with Aaron and Cora fade away, thinks that will hurt less than the sudden break when his Dad tells him it’s time to move on.
After dark he heads over to CJ’s. He’s not home, but Sam picks the lock easily and curls up in the armchair to wait. It’s only an hour or so until he hears CJ’s car in the driveway, then CJ’s key in the lock.
"Hey," Sam says when CJ sets his bag down by the front door.
"Jesus Christ," CJ says, placing a hand over his heart. "I thought for a second you were your brother back to make good on his threat to kill me."
"Did he draw his gun?" Sam asks. "I'm sorry if he did. He can be really protective."
"He owns a gun?”
"He's not really going to kill you."
"Yeah, well, he seemed pretty damn set on it last night. Jesus Christ, Sam. You really shouldn't be here."
"He's not going to kill you," Sam says.
"Yeah, well, I can't decide which would be worse--that or ending up in jail."
"He's not going to kill you and he's definitely not going to call the cops."
"Well, maybe he should." CJ takes his laptop out of its bag and walks it over to the coffee table, plugs it in next to the TV. "I work with kids, Sam. That's my fucking job, and I can't go around..." He sighs. "I thought we were an exception to the rule, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that the rules are in place for exactly these sorts of situations."
Sam sits forward on his chair. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that not only am I ten years older than you, I'm in a position of authority, and I can't...it's fucked up, Sam, no matter how attracted to you I am. I can't be that guy. I can't take advantage of you."
"You're not," Sam says. “You didn’t.”
“But we can’t--“
“I know.” He leans back in the chair and looks down at his hands, picks at the dried skin around his thumbnail. “We probably won’t be here much longer, anyway. My dad’ll probably want to move on as soon as he’s out of the hospital. He promised we’d stay until the end of the year, but...” Sam shrugs. He doesn’t want to move again, likes the fantasy of putting down roots, of really letting Aaron and Cora in instead of just pretending to. He likes the fantasy of CJ being his boyfriend.
“Sam,” CJ says, kneeling on the floor in front of him. He places his hand over Sam’s. “You don’t have to...you can have your own life.”
Sam shakes his head. He’s not going to cry.
“I know it’s scary, but one day you’ll find a place and it’ll be the right place. And you’ll stay when they move on.”
“I won’t,” Sam whispers. He can’t live without Dean.
“You will. And one day you’ll realize it. But you’re still a kid, and I...I don’t know. I saw myself in you. I let myself believe that I was different, that we could do this and it wouldn’t be a bad thing.”
Sam turns his hand over, palm up, squeezes CJ’s hand. “It’s never been a bad thing. Even if we don’t...it’s not like I’m ever going to look back and wish I’d never met you.”
CJ leans and kisses Sam’s fingers. “You should go.”
“I could stay.” He doesn’t just mean for the night. He wonders if he could do it, if he could stay in Snow Pass and watch Dean and their father drive away.
CJ shakes his head. Pulls away from Sam and stands up. “I’ll see you around, all right?”
Sam’s not sure he wants to see CJ around. He feels like if he can’t have everything he doesn’t want anything at all. He says, “Yeah. Of course.” He touches the broken hinge on his way out the door but he doesn’t look back.
He brushes his teeth and gets ready for bed but he doesn’t sleep. He hears Dean get in near midnight, hears him trying to be quiet as he fixes himself dinner and watches a little TV. Sam stays in bed with his eyes closed, hurts so much inside that it’s pushed past pain and made him calm.
When Dean slips into their room Sam opens his eyes a slit, watches Dean trying to be quiet as he strips out of his clothes and pulls on sweats.
“I’m never going to have anybody, am I?” Sam asks.
Dean stills. Sam had startled him. He returns to fluid movement in the next second, pulls on his t-shirt and sits on the edge of his bed. He takes his socks off and tosses them towards the corner of the room. “Hey,” he says.
“Are we leaving when Dad gets out?”
Dean purses his lips.
“Because the hunt’s over, right? The big hunt? The reason he came here, that’s what he fought in the woods.”
Dean nods.
“Did he kill it?”
Dean nods again.
“So we’re leaving.”
“We’ll stay until summer.”
It’s not the first time Dean’s promised him something he couldn’t make good on, but he knows Dean will try his hardest to make it true.
“I’m never going to have anybody, Dean. Not the way Dad and Mom had each other. I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life.”
“Jesus, Sam. You say that like you haven’t had me and Dad protecting you your entire life.”
“I don’t want you to protect me anymore. You can’t, not really. Not from the stuff that really hurts. I’d rather walk into a nest of ghuls than feel the way I do right now.”
“Sammy,” Dean says, and for the first time Sam hears it as the endearment it’s meant to be. It’s not Dean thinking he’s still twelve and fat and weak, it’s Dean’s way of saying I love you.
“Do you love me?”
Dean looks away from him. “How can you even ask me that? How can you not fucking know that, Sam?”
“I know you love me, I just...” Sam turns onto his side, props himself up on his elbow to see Dean better. “Do you ever feel the same way I feel about you?”
Dean shakes his head. It’s not an answer and he won’t meet Sam’s eyes.
“I have to know, Dean. I have to know if I’m the only one who’s this fucked up.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Dean says darkly. “How I feel doesn’t matter, OK?”
“It does.”
“It doesn’t. Because taking care of you, putting you first, that’s my job.”
“That’s a fucked up job.”
Dean shrugs, moves to sit on the edge of Sam’s bed. “Beats fixing cars for minimum wage.”
“I’m not going to be able to do it, to be like you,” Sam whispers. “I can’t just see somebody I want to have sex with and fuck them and walk away. It would probably be easier if I could, but I don’t think I can.”
Dean sighs and reaches out, strokes Sam’s hair gently. “You’ll find somebody,” he says.
Sam closes his eyes. He can't help it, the way he shudders when Dean's hand brushes his skin, can't help the small gasp Dean's touch provokes.
"I..." Dean pulls his hand away. "Oh."
"I’m sorry," Sam whispers. His cock is thick and heavy, filling quickly with blood. Just having Dean so close is always going to make him want. His breath catches in his throat and his hips rock as if of their own volition.
“I can...” Dean’s voice is so soft Sam can hardly hear him. “I can take care of you. If you want.”
Sam can't speak, doesn't know what to say, just looks at him pleadingly and whimpers when Dean peels the covers back.
"It's OK," Dean murmurs. "You just...anything you want, OK? And any time you want me to stop, just say the word."
"Please," Sam says, reaching out and cupping the back of Dean's head in his hand. He wants Dean to kiss him. He wants Dean to tell him how gorgeous he is. He wants Dean to never stop touching him ever.
Dean slides off the bed, onto his knees, tips his head and mouths Sam's cock through his boxers and that's it. Sam drops his head back and moans and his fingers twist in the sheets so hard it's painful.
"Hey," Dean whispers, kissing Sam's stomach gently as he eases his boxers down. "It's OK. It's OK, Sammy. I got you."
And when he actually feels the wet heat of Dean's mouth on him, feels Dean's tongue flat against the underside of his dick, Sam groans from somewhere deep inside and wants to just thrust up into Dean's mouth over and over again, would if Dean didn't have his arm draped over Sam's hips, holding him down.
"It's OK, Sammy," Dean whispers when he pulls off, keeps his hand stroking at the same rhythm, kisses the tip over and over again. "It's OK. I got you. I got you. I promise."
Sam comes quickly, not much of a warning except a gasped, "Dean," just seconds before. Dean takes it in stride, jerks him hard and fast right up next to his face, murmurs things like, "That's it," and, "Come on, Sammy," and Sam's entire body shakes and his vision goes slightly black.
He props himself up on his elbows when he starts getting blood back into his brain, looks down at Dean so fucking beautiful, Sam's come right there on his cheek and neck and shoulder.
"Sorry," Sam whispers, reaching out to touch Dean's face, to feel it, make sure it's real.
Dean just closes his eyes, shudders even as Sam's fingers rub the come into his skin.
"Come here," Sam says.
Dean shakes his head, pulls away and stands up. Sam can see how hard he is, tenting out the front of his sweats, and he's never wanted anything so bad.
"Dean," he says, and Dean just shakes his head. "Let me."
"Go to sleep, Sam. All right? Just...you can sleep now, right?"
"You're hard."
"Doesn’t matter."
"Of course it does."
Dean shakes his head, takes another step back. "This isn't about me, OK? This can't, if this ever happens again, it can't ever be about me."
Dean's such an idiot sometimes, thinks he's being selfless by sucking Sam off and denying himself any pleasure. Sam's hazy from orgasm but his reflexes are still faster than Dean's, who's not getting much blood to his brain. He pushes himself out of bed, grabs Dean's shirt and uses his forward momentum to propel them both onto Dean's bed, works his hand into Dean's sweats and jerks him quick and hard.
"Don't," Dean gasps but his hips snap up and he moans.
"Tell me you mean that," Sam says, kissing Dean's mouth, then his cheek and his earlobe when Dean twists his face away. "Tell me you really want me to stop."
Dean grunts, gasps, "I can't," then shoves his hand down to cover Sam's. He doesn't force Sam's hand away, just increases the pressure and shows Sam what he wants, how he likes it. "I need," he whimpers. "Fuck, Sam, I need..."
"Yeah," Sam says. His wrist aches a little bit from the strange angle and his other arm is crushed beneath Dean's shoulder but he doesn't stop. He's got Dean's cock in his hand and Dean's panting and moaning and so, so close. Dean comes quietly, biting his lower lip so hard it turns white, shaking in Sam's embrace.
Sam keeps stroking him, coaxes out every drop until Dean winces and pushes his hand away.
"Don't," Sam tells him. "Don't feel guilty."
Dean sighs and the look in his eyes is wild, like he's trapped.
"You wanted it too, right? We both had the same secret?"
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
"Sammy."
"Tell me the truth. Tell me if you feel the same way I do or if I was just a pity fuck."
"Jesus--"
"I deserve that much, at least."
"Stop fucking with my head, OK? Just let me--"
"Tell me."
"Yeah. I feel it, too. You happy now?" Dean drops his head back against the pillow.
"Yes," Sam says honestly, and Dean peeks up at him through slitted eyes. "What? I am."
"You're a freak."
Sam kisses him then. Finally. Kisses him over and over again, soft little kisses until Dean stop fighting it and kisses him back. He shifts and pulls his arm out from beneath Dean, doesn't stop kissing him.
Dean grumbles something about Sam hogging the covers as they both drift towards sleep, but he doesn't push Sam away, doesn't tell him to go back to his own bed. His hand is heavy and gentle as it presses to the small of Sam's back and holds him there, warm and close.
Sam turns his head and kisses Dean's jaw and thinks, Oh. This is what it's supposed to be like.
Dean's curled around him, mostly asleep, cradling Sam to his chest. Sam's so happy he can't stop smiling, even with his eyes closed, even when he's trying to sleep. He feels stupid and sappy, like every lame song on the radio, like lying in Dean's arms is everything he's longed for his entire life, like it's home.
"When I go to college, will you come with me?" he asks, his smile fading.
"Mmm?"
"I want you to come with me. When I go to school. I want you there with me and I want a life. A normal life. Will you do that with me?"
"Mmm," Dean says, pulling Sam in tighter. "Never let you go, Sammy."
Sam smiles again, nips at Dean's jaw, sighs happily, and drifts towards sleep.
Thank Yous