Requiem For A Dream, Chapter 8
Sam takes the coffee proffered by his brother, smiles at him as his fingers touch his, another secret touch shielded from Bobby by gruff words, or no words at all. But the smile he sends Dean is all for Dean.
Dean smiles back gently, with promise in his eyes and Sam has to sit down suddenly and suppress the shiver that runs through his body as Dean's hand trails over his shoulder, blunt nails grazing over his pulse point.
“So what have we got so far?” Dean asks as he sits down, scooting closer to Sam and pressing his thigh up against Sam's under the table, a wall of heat against Sam's leg and he resists the urge to reach under the table and trail his hand up Dean's thigh.
“Not much considering you don't want us to summon Lilith.” Bobby grumbles from the other side of the table. They have been holed up in the house, endlessly searching for weeks now. And Sam is beginning to get annoyed. Annoyed with Dean's constant need to protect him, annoyed with himself for not being able to find anything to help his brother. Annoyed with the fact that he has hardly been able to kiss his brother for days now.
“Bobby, how many times do we have to go over this?” Dean sighs from next to Sam and Sam can practically feel his irritation humming through his thigh.
“Well, a couple more Dean, because I don't get it.” Bobby says. Dean twitches, Sam can feel it under the table. But Sam can also feel a headache coming on. He rubs a hand over his face and tries to block out Bobby and Dean arguing. He stands and walks over the the sink, pouring a glass of water.
A stab of pain flashes behind his eyes and the glass slips from his hands and crashes to the floor. Sam feels his knees go but before he hits the floor, Dean is in front of him, his strong hands under Sam's arms, keeping him from falling and Sam clutches at him as the waits for the pain to subside.
“Sammy?” Dean sound worried and Sam can see Bobby hovering just behind him, although his vision in blurred by tears springing to his eyes.
“Dean.” Sam manages to get out, letting go of Dean with one hand and placing it against his forehead and the desperate way he says it makes Dean shiver with worry. Dean brushes some hair out of Sam's eyes and when Sam doesn't fall to the floor, he realises that Dean has already lowered them to sitting and that he's practically sitting in Dean's lap.
“What did you see?” Dean asks.
“What?” Midway through rubbing a hand down his face Sam looks at Dean through his fingers. Dean looks caught in the middle of doing something, like a guilty child and shifts slightly as Bobby clears his throat and hauls Sam off the floor and plants him in a chair.
“What do you mean?” Sam asks Dean. Dean shifts again. “Dammit Dean, what aren't you telling me?”
“I'll uh...get some Advil.” Bobby says and Sam can't help but thank the guy for always walking out at the right moments, gently excusing himself like he knows what's going on between the boys and wants to give them space.
“Dean.” Sam says quietly. His voice low and dangerous. Dean looks at him.
“You used to have visions.” Dean said equally as quiet.
“Of what?”
“Other kids like you.”
“What do you mean like me? What the hell have you been keeping from me?” Sam demands. His head is pounding and all he wants is to curl up with Dean's arms around him, his head buried in Dean's shoulder and go to sleep forever.
“Now isn't the time Sammy.” Dean sounds tired and full of regret as he pinches the bridge of his nose.
“No...now is the time. Tell me.”
“Can we please not fight anymore?” Dean turns to him suddenly. And Sam resists the urge to lean back, there is a urgency in Dean's eyes that he hasn't seen before.
“Dean, you can't keep things from me, about me, that are important. You can't protect me from who I am.” Sam says, ignoring the pounding in his head as he leans forward and places a hand on Dean's knee. The muscles in Dean's leg twitch under Sam's hand.
“Where the bloody hell do I start?” Dean asks. And Sam knows he asking himself but he squeezes Dean's knee gently.
“At the beginning.”
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Hours later, Sam has sat patiently listening, occasionally asking questions, as Dean fills him in on the life that Dean remembers him having, rather than the life Sam remembers. There are a few things that are the same, Sam's “mother” died in a fire; Sam's real mother died in a fire, except Sam's real mother was murdered by a demon and then set on fire. Sam's “father” was an absentee father who left Sam mostly to his own devices; Sam's real father was away hunting things that went bump in the night leaving Dean to bring him up the best way he knew how. And Sam can suddenly see why Dean is so protective of him.
Sam is reeling as Dean finishes off the tale that a few months ago Sam would have laughed at.
“So...I'm some kinda Anti-Christ, then?” He asks looking at Dean. Bobby has been mostly silent throughout the whole thing and Sam knows it because he was listening too. Because Bobby doesn't remember Sam as being John's son either.
“No Sam.” And the vehemence in Dean's tone makes both Sam and Bobby flinch slightly. “You were used. That son of a bitch ripped our family apart and played with the broken pieces.” Sam can't help but notice the way Dean's voice hitches when he says that and he longs to pull him into his arms.
Sam doesn't know what to say. Its all too much. He stands, watching Dean stand with him a second later. Sam holds his hand out and Dean stops moving, stop moving towards Sam. Sam hates the look of desolation that crosses Dean's face.
“I'll...uh...” Sam mutters, but can't figure out what to say, he just needs to leave, needs to get out of the kitchen, the house, because it has all become too much suddenly.
“Sam...” Dean calls after him. Sam turns, opens his mouth to say something and snaps it shut. He stars at Dean for a few seconds, his gaze speaking for him, its not you Dean, I just need space, please don't follow me.
Dean nods as Sam turns and walks out, always walking out on Dean.
“Dean.” Bobby's hand is warm and solid on Dean's shoulder and Dean unconsciously leans into the touch. Because he's missed this. Missed paternal touches that mean it's ok. Even though Dean knows its not ok, its so far from ok, and he doesn't even know if it ever will be ok. And the way he feels when his brother looks at him, well, he knows that's not ok. Knows it right down to his very toes, the word incest running around his brain, taunting him and making him squirm, uncomfortable to even sit next to Sam sometimes.
That's why he's been taking his time, he supposes. Trying to learn Sam again before jumping across that final line.
“You need to find out what he saw, Dean. It could be useful.” Bobby says. His voice quite and understanding and Dean looks at him, not for the first time thinking that maybe Bobby knows what's going on. Because there is an comprehension in the older man's eyes that shouldn't be there. Because Dean himself doesn't even comprehend it. Sam is his brother, and its not ok that he should want him. And he keeps coming back to that. Even when Sam is outside probably cursing the day he left his perfect life in Stanford to follow his dreams, literally follow a man he saw in his dreams.
“I don't wanna use him anymore Bobby. He's not an instrument in this fight.” Dean knows he sounds defensive but he can't stop himself. Always wanting to protect Sam, not matter what the cost. And if one person is in trouble, damn them if it means probing Sam for information Dean isn't even sure Sam will understand.
Bobby looks at him, understandingly again.
“Just go talk to the boy Dean.” He gives Dean a light push.
Dean is out of the door before he even knows it, desperate to find Sam, to be next to him.
He finds him lying flat on his back with his hands locked behind his head, staring up at the dark sky. Dean takes a moment to look, to really look at Sam. And everytime he looks at Sam since Sam came bundling back into his life, Dean can't breathe properly. Like something large and heavy is sitting on his chest.
Sam turns his head and catches Dean's gaze. There is a brief flicker of a smile like Sam can't help himself before resolute stubbornness settles back on his face and he turns away. Dean sighs.
“Sammy.” He says gently, lowering himself on the ground, crossing his legs. He scoots closer to Sam, batting his hands away when Sam makes to push him away. Dean lifts Sam's head and places on his crosses legs, running a hand through his hair. Sam shifts once then settles, shivering slightly when Dean's nails catch on his scalp.
“You've gotta tell me what you saw.” Dean says and he feels Sam stiffen. Sam sits, his back to Dean and just as Dean is reaching out to run his hand down Sam's spine, Sam half turns.
“You wanna know what I saw? Really? I saw you die.” Sam's eyes have gone dark with anger and Dean wants to shout at him, tell him that none of this is his fault. Although he knows he would be lying, its all his fault.
“Its not your fault.” Sam says as if he can read Dean's mind. “I'm sorry. But I saw you die. I saw you...” He trails off and turns away from Dean again. Dean places his hand on Sam's shoulder and forcibly turns him back.
“Sammy. We'll find a way out of this. We'll get through this. It's gonna be ok.” He says. He tries to put as much of his own belief into that speech as he can, but most of him doesn't believe it anyway and Sam can see through that.
“You're lying.” He says.
Dean's hand is still on his shoulder and he moves it, his fingers curl around Sam's neck and give a small tug. Sam comes willingly.
“Yeah, I am.” He admits. Sam bites on his bottom lip for a second, then leans forward and kisses Dean. His tongue running over Dean's lips just as Dean can open his mouth and lets Sam in with a moan.
Before he can think he's on his back and Sam is heavy on top of him. Sam's hips are grinding into his and Dean can't help but arch upwards, revelling in the gasp that escapes his brothers throat at the friction that his movement causes.
Dean, on instinct, hooks a leg around Sam, pulling him closer and wriggles a hand under Sam's t-shirt. His fingers dance upwards, tracing skin, trailing over the bumps of Sam's spine and feeling the muscles move beneath his skin as Sam arches, bringing their hips even closer.
Dean curls his hand downwards, around his brothers hip and up his stomach, nails catching on Sam's nipple in a way that makes Sam hiss against Dean's throat. Suddenly there is too much between them and Dean pushes Sam off. And the look that crosses Sam's face is heartbreaking. Dean grabs the bottom of Sam's shirt in both hands and tugs, loving the triumphant look that replaces the pain at the thought the Dean was pushing him away again. Sam grabs him by the arms, finger digging in again and hauls Dean to his knees, pressing their chests as close together as they can get whilst Sam bites gently on his collar bone.
Dean winds his fingers into Sam's hair, arches into his brother and allows his name to spill from his lips in a way that would normally embarrass Dean. Full of need. And Dean has never needed anything other than this, never needed anything more in his life than Sam. Sam's hands are trailing up his sides, bunching his own t-shirt up and Dean pulls away, shucking off the excess material and pulling Sam back with a growl.
Its takes him a while to realise that Sam's hands are fumbling with the buckle of his belt, lost in the sensation of his brothers chest against his own, his brother's accelerated heartbeat mirroring his.
“Jesus Sammy...you sure?” He manages to drag out. He feels Sam nod his head but he pulls away anyway, cups his brothers face and searches his eyes for any hint of doubt.
“Dean...” Sam practically whimpers, his hips moving on their own accord, rubbing against Dean's. “I...just...Dean, I need you.” Sam manages to get the belt undone and pushes Dean's jeans down his hips. His hand snakes into his boxers and wraps around Dean's already half hard cock.
“Jesus Sammy.” Dean whispers again as Sam begins to move his hand, slowly, twisting on the upstroke, his thumb dragging over the head, with just the right amount of friction and Dean is lost. He wouldn't be able to drag himself away for anything, not now Sam is breathing words of encouragement in his ear, his breath hot, his teeth occasionally nibbling just below. Not when Sam twists his wrist, tightens his grips just ever so slight and Dean is coming, hard, over his brothers hand. And certainly not when Sam continues to stroke him through his orgasm, dragging over last ounce of Dean's strength out of him with each stroke.
Sam is still breathing his ear, Dean's knees are screaming and when Sam bucks against him he remembers that he's still not finished. Dean unbuckles Sam's jeans and drags them down down, his nails scratching over skin, over hips, and down thighs and Sam arches towards him with a moan. Dean wraps his hand around Sam's rock hard cock and it doesn't take more than a few strokes before Sam is coming himself, Dean's name and a string of curses spilling from his lips.
They both still, stay in each other's arms both silent, both stunned slightly from the fact that they have taken one of the last steps from brotherhood to something else, that they have touched each other in ways that brothers should never do. And Dean panics, just a bit, that Sam is going to walk away, this time for real.
But the kiss Sam gives him when he manages to lift his head from Dean's shoulder, is more than enough to make Dean realise that Sam isn't walking away. Sam is staying with him. And Dean feels a little bit lighter and he manages to push the thought of oh god what have you done down as he kisses him back.
“Hey Dean?” Sam says as Dean is concentrating too hard on his own belt buckle, suddenly not sure if he wants to meet Sam's gaze.
“Yeah.”
“You know I am gonna get you out of this right?” Sam asks, his voice quite, all promise and begging to be believed. And even though Dean knows he is lying to Sam, again, he can't bring himself not to. He cups Sam's face and rubs a thumb over his lower lip, watching Sam's eyes flutter closed for a second.
“Yeah, Sammy. I know.”
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