Merry Go Rounds and Burial Grounds Are All The Same To Me (13/?)
Title: Merry Go Rounds and Burial Grounds Are All The Same To Me
Author:whreflections
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Word Count: will probably finish out around 150k or so. At present it’s a 88k WIP, but don’t let that discourage you from starting it because I’ve written that much in a month(this was supposed to a Big Bang that I realized I wouldn’t be able to finish in time. *sigh*), and I’ll be writing on this steadily every day so I’ll stay plenty ahead of where I’m at chapter posting wise and I plan to post every other day. ^^
Word Count for this chapter: 5,840
Genre: Little bit of everything. There’s romance and boys desperately in love and there’s crazy amounts of angst in places and drama and action and family and…just all over the place. But the boys in love thing, that’s the heart. <3
Spoilers: Need to have seen through 5.16
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: After getting back from heaven, Sam feels like he’s hit a dead end. They seem to have finally drifted far enough apart that Dean’s unreachable, and he’s staring down the fact that it’s hard to keep the faith when you’re the only doing it, and that at this point they’re probably screwed no matter what he tries to fix. But if Ash is right then him and his brother are soulmates, and that gives him a little bit of something to hold onto, tells him that what he’s felt for his brother all along might not be so wrong. In a last ditch effort to do the right thing he sells his soul to hell to get Crowley to send him back to 6 years before the apocalypse on the night he left for Stanford, giving him the chance to not only fix his relationship with his brother, but to just maybe fix everything else too. Of course, all that hinges on just how inevitable fate really is, and if he fails, he’ll end up right where Lucifer wants him.
So, sorry this was a week instead of four days…I set out to get some work done on that help_chile piece, and I’ve been able to write about 2 pages. X.X I think it’s just a touch of writer’s block brought on by working so hardcore on this one for the last month, but, I’ve still written ahead of where I’m posting at for this so, no worries. My head should be working a little better in a couple of days, and then I’ll be able to really get back on track.
;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;
Sam was pretty sure he paced the entire 2 hours it took Dean to get there.
At the sound of a knock on the door he went and threw it open without even bothering to look outside, and though he’d meant to pull Dean into a hug, Dean actually beat him to it. Sam buried his face against Dean’s neck and breathed him in, his hands pressing against Dean’s back and relishing every familiar detail of having his brother’s body right there in his arms. When he let go it wasn’t all the way, and he kept a hand on Dean’s back as he nearly pulled him in the door.
Now that he was here, it seemed either of them didn’t know exactly what to say.
“I thought about what you said.” Dean’s eyes were darting they way they did sometimes when he was too honest, when he had something to hide. “You know, you’re right. I’ve only really faced almost losin’ you once, with that black dog, and I sure as hell wasn’t anything near reasonable or even sane so…you’re right, I can’t tell you what I’d do. Only that I’ve been thinkin’ about tryin’ to make a deal of my own ever since I found out about yours, so I guess we can be reasonably sure I do know what I’d do if somethin’ happened to you, and it wouldn’t be any different than what you or dad did. The fact that we’d all do it, I don’t think that makes it right, but it doesn’t matter I guess because I would, I’d do it. So I guess I understand. I’m not ok with it.” He took a deep breath, rubbed a hand against the back of his neck in a way that looked far too much like defeat. “But I understand.”
“Dean, I know where you’re comin’ from too; I do. And you’ve gotta believe me, my plan from the beginning wasn’t really to go to hell. I mean, I’m willing to do it if that’s how things play out, but it wasn’t exactly what I was hoping for, here.” Because if he did, he couldn’t guarantee it’d be him that came out. “My plan all along has been to stop it, and I think we can. I really do.” He could see Dean in the set of his shoulders, that this was still everything on the inside that Sam was seeing now, everything he’d been careful to lock away for the past few weeks and Sam knew that like this, Dean just might could accept something from him. “I’m not gonna leave you. Not if I can help it. I promise.”
“Sam, don’t.”
The word jabbed at him, twisting and sharp, and he fought between shrinking back and trying to get closer. “Dean, I mean it, I-“
“I know you do.” Dean’s eyes met his and kept looking for the first time since he’d come in, and the raw, drained look in them was enough to tear the hole that had been growing in Sam’s chest just a little wider. “I know you do, Sam, but don’t do that. Don’t promise me something you can’t promise. I don’t wanna hear it.”
“But you don’t understand, that is something I can promise!” Sam reached out, right hand curving to rest against Dean’s neck. “I didn’t say I could be sure to stop it. I just said that as long as I can fight it, as long as there’s anything left I can do about it, I’m not leaving you.” Because at the root of it, that was what Dean was afraid of. He’d known it already but heaven had drawn it home, complete with Sam’s own stupid memories and Zachariah’s manipulations.
He stepped all the way in, close enough that his chest brushed against Dean’s, and he took his face in his hands. “Dean, what do I have to do? Huh? How can I get you to trust me, because I know, I’ve messed up a few times but it’s always been me tryin’ to protect you. Like you’ve done for me. And so long as I can still fight I’m not goin’ anywhere. I can promise you that.”
“Sam…” Dean’s breath ghosted across his lips, warm and stilted, and his own breath hitched to match it. “I wanna trust you.”
“Then do.” Sometimes, things really could be that simple. At least, he thought so. It had been his philosophy going into those last days of the apocalypse anyway. Sure, it had looked like they had a snowball’s chance in hell, but goddammit, he was gonna keep believing no matter what. Even if there was nothing left to believe in, just the act of believing that somehow they were gonna fucking come through had been enough. He’d never know now if it would’ve been, but he’d liked to believe that that was something that showed how far he’d come, that it was a mark of getting to a point in his life he’d needed to reach, to learn. Sometimes, things just were, without any basis, feeding off of force of will alone.
If his belief in winning could be strong enough to hold itself up even under fire, then it made sense to him that their faith in each other could do even more, be even stronger. At least, it seemed like it should be that way.
Dean’s hand trailed across his jaw, fingertips grazing the bruise that was only just visible.
“ ‘M sorry I missed your call. Phone died.” He whispered, so close now that if he just stopped talking and titled his head forward just right they’d be kissing. That was probably why he had very little idea what he’d just said.
“I thought…I don’t even know.” Dean’s left hand came up behind his head, tugging on his hair enough to tilt his head to the side. Dean’s lips pressed against his jaw, soft enough to break him, and Sam stopped breathing altogether. “Sammy, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve…” He trailed off, fingers tangling deeper in Sam’s hair as Dean rested his forehead against him. “Can’t believe I did that.”
“I can. You’ve done it a dozen times before.” Well, maybe not that many. A few, though. On the list of ‘things Dean does when he’s angry’, hitting people was actually pretty high up there, but he usually went for wrestling with Sam first before he’d actually hit him. That one took some serious anger, and Sam wasn’t in any way uninvolved in it. He’d thrown his own share of punches too over the years.
“Not like this.” Outright, Dean never knew exactly how to refer to them. It was just ‘this’, or ‘but things are different’, or something like that. Not that it mattered, what it was was more important than anything it could ever be called. “It won’t happen again.”
Sam wasn’t ready to bet on that, but it wasn’t a question of his trust in Dean or of how much he meant to him, just a matter of his understanding of Dean’s temper. If he got mad enough it’d happen and it’d be alright but he’d still regret it, and Sam’d convince him to move on. There was comfort in things like that, the kind of things that never changed in a way that seemed right rather than just inevitable.
Sam pulled Dean close, hands sliding up under his shirt as his lips brushed over the shell of Dean’s ear. “Forget about it. I didn’t mind.” He dipped his head a little farther, just enough to bite at the soft juncture of Dean’s neck and shoulder. “Let’s just go to bed.” Right then, he literally wanted nothing more. He needed to be with Dean right then, craved it worse than he ever had the blood or anything else. He needed the feel of Dean moving underneath him, lithe and powerful even as he came apart under Sam’s touch. He needed Dean’s hands on his back, strong and steady and grounding, every touch full of that same meticulous devotion he’d had since that first night, showing him he was loved and forgiven, needed and desired.
Dean groaned, his grip tightening, urging Sam’s lips against his skin again. He obliged, sucking just a little harder, humming in pleasure low in his throat when Dean stroked the back of his neck. “Yeah. Yeah, I could go for that.”
His voice was already just a little bit lower, enticing, and Sam couldn’t resist nipping just above the line of his collar one more time before he pulled away just long enough to get what they needed. When he turned back around from shuffling through Dean’s bag Dean had already stripped off his shirt and was nearly out of his jeans, and Sam tossed the bottle onto the bed, hurrying to catch up.
Everything after was an intoxicating mixture of slow and lingering and quick and frantic. There was the way Dean’s tongue laved at the hollow of his throat, as thorough as he would on a lazy afternoon after a hunt, knowing they could take all day with this if they wanted. At the same time, though, there was the way he moved against him, legs tangling and hips canting up like now matter how soon they got on with it Sam couldn’t possibly do it fast enough for how desperately Dean wanted him to. Even hectic like this, they were in perfect synch. Sam’s fingers eased inside him, stroking slow and teasing, savoring the familiar sounds that came uncontrolled from his lips, while at the same time his lips roved quick and rough over his neck and chest, marking him like there was another claim he had to erase.
They kissed the same way, a harried back and forth that they both matched easy and natural though it followed no structure. When Sam pulled his hand away Dean gasped into his mouth at the loss, and Sam whimpered like he was the one suddenly empty. When they joined, everything blurred together. They wrapped tight enough around each other that Sam was hardly sure how he could breathe, but he didn’t feel like he needed to. There was Dean, and there was nothing between them, and that was enough.
He lost track of time, lost track of everything including where he started and Dean began. He’d heard it before as an expression, but just then he was sure he knew what it really meant. There was heat and want and pure blinding need and they were inseparable, irrevocably bound. His hand pressed against the small of Dean’s back, lifting his hips, and Dean’s pressed down between his shoulders, and they came together.
When his head stopped spinning enough that he felt like he could breathe Sam tried to pull away, a last sharp stab of pleasure shooting hard through his veins. It was Dean that moaned, and Sam shuddered, turned his head and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck.
Sam had been ready to believe that they had been meant to be. He hadn’t been sure all the way what that meant for Armageddon before, if anything, but just then, he was thinking he was gonna have to give that some more thought, because he’d been in love with his brother all his life, but the absolute power he’d felt in whatever it was that had just happened had been enough to show him that apparently, he had no idea what he was dealing with.
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’
It never got any less weird doing research about yourself.
Granted, it was a little less weird looking into this than it had been researching his psychic demon powers or Dean’s deal or their potential future life as vessels, but it was still a little odd to be doing the kind of research he’d been taught to put into cases all while knowing whatever he found was going to have actual relevance to them personally.
So far, though, he hadn’t found much. Many cultures had belief in the theory of soul bonds, though several of them differed on what they actually were and what it meant. According to some of the information he found a true soul bond indicated multiple reincarnations, lives shared over and over, possibly even with some sort of ritual performed at some point by the two involved to insure they would continue developing together, permanently joined. Others spoke of souls spilt in two, two complementing or contrasting halves that still shared an overwhelming need to be together. There was too much information, so much he was pretty sure he’d never be able to figure out exactly what he and Dean were, and he’d been just about ready to call it a day when he found something interesting.
It was called a theory of chosen soul bonding, and it was described as stronger and more binding on a deeper level than most soul connections could reach. It came from pure force of will, a choice by both souls to be together, connected in every way for all time. Once initiated, the bond was impossible to severe, and one could not live without the other even in the afterlife, the ability of true independence having been lost in the binding.
Yeah. That sounded just about right, and it meshed with Ash’s knowledge that in heaven, only soulmates could share. And if it was, it added fire to his little glimmer of hope. This didn’t fit with them both being vessels. In fact, it stood in absolute opposition to it, because if they were bound like that, they’d never be willing to say yes no matter what, because a yes for either one of them would mean almost certain death for the other one if not both of them. It was a little head splitting, thinking of it.
Was it really possible for them to have two fates? He’d been dead set against the idea of fate at all before, but this…this didn’t sound so bad. It sounded pretty right, actually, and shouldn’t whatever their destiny was sound right? If one of the two was going to happen regardless, this made a hell of a lot more sense.
It wasn’t until three weeks later that he had some time to spare to look into it a little further, and he called a woman in Tempe, Arizona who’d written a couple of books and seemed to be as close as he was gonna get to an expert on the subject. A lot of what he got out of her wasn’t very useful at first, but once he worked her around to ritualistic applications she got a lot more helpful. According to her, any ritual could be strengthened when aided or performed by two bound individuals. The stronger the bond, the more power it would add.
Finally, he was getting somewhere.
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’
From the minute he got in the car, Sam knew Dean was hiding something. His questions were short, the usual music was absent and he wouldn’t meet Sam’s eyes. The last time he’d gone this quiet had been back in October, when they’d been on their way to head Gordon off and protect the vampires. Sticking to his word about telling the truth he’d told Dean everything about the case before going in, including pretty much everything about Gordon. It was still the truth, really, he just hadn’t clarified exactly why Gordon wanted to kill him beyond the whole demon blood thing. Dean had been pretty quiet at first, listening and agreeing that they needed to get there a good week or so early before the first death and warn the vampires to get their asses outta town, but on the drive to Montana he’d been quiet, and it had taken a few hours before he was willing to tell Sam that when they got there, he was gonna kill Gordon.
He hadn’t asked, had made it pretty damn clear it was happening whether Sam opposed him or not, but honestly Sam hadn’t really had any fight in him about it. By the time he’d killed him Gordon had killed at least 4 or 5 innocents that they knew of and turned another one there at the end, and he’d hurt Dean and God knows how many other people in his insane quest to kill Sam. Crazy couldn’t be reasoned with and the world really would be a better place without him, but all the same Dean’s attitude had worried Sam, if only a little.
The more Dean was willing to go to any lengths for Sam, the more he was likely to try and do any number of crazy things. At the same time, though, there wasn’t a single option that came without any consequences. The minute they started trying to be reasonable they lost something between them, and they headed toward a world that ended with him saying yes in Detroit and Dean being ready to say yes to Michael, too. They couldn’t do this halfway; if this was the direction they took, every last bit of them had to go into it, whatever the consequences.
Which was why right then, he knew most of what Dean was going to say before he ever opened his mouth.
“We’ve only got one bullet left in the Colt.” The words were clipped, rough and quick like he just wanted to get the conversation over with with as few questions as possible.
“So let me guess…when you told me you got Evan out of his deal and let her go, that’s not how it really went down.” Dean’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles going white, and Sam looked back out the windshield at the empty highway. “Yeah, that’s kind of what I figured.”
“So, get it over with.”
“Get what over with?”
Dean shrugged, muttering. “Go ahead, bitch me out about the gun, how we don’t need to waste anymore bullets, all that shit.”
“Dean…” Sam shifted over in the seat, halfway facing him. “You already know we don’t need to waste anymore bullets. And at this point you also realize shooting her just cause you were pissed off didn’t solve anything but…” He shrugged. “She didn’t take your deal, so no, I’m not really that mad. I don’t wanna fight with you about anything related to the deal anymore; it’s pointless and we shouldn’t be fighting over it anyway. And besides…” And this, this was really the biggest reason. “I know why you did it. I did the same thing.”
That at least got him a little bit of a laugh, though it didn’t hold any real humor. “ ‘M guessing the stupid bitch told you the same thing, then.”
“That she doesn’t hold my contract and she won’t tell you who does?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, that was it.” The glare Dean was giving the windshield looked about like it should’ve melted the glass, but Sam really couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t been any less pissed when this particular plan had failed him, either.
“Well, don’t worry. Cause she might not have had the contract, but I know who does.”
It was a good thing the road was empty. Dean took his eyes off it entirely, turning his head to gawk at Sam like he’d just started speaking Russian. “What the hell, Sam?! You couldn’t have, oh I don’t know, brought this up sooner?!”
“I didn’t cause we don’t have a way to get at her right now!” And they wouldn’t, not until a few other things that he wasn’t exactly ready to think about happened first. “Her name’s Lilith, and when we get a chance, we’ll have her. And as for the bullets, I’m not really worried, cause I know where that last one goes.”
“Oh you do, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Dean shook his head, but Sam could see the corners of his lips almost curving up, just barely holding back a smile. “This knowing how everything turns out thing you’ve got goin’? It’s terrible for your ego, you know.”
“Bothers you that I’m the one with the master plan, huh?”
Dean reached over, ruffling his hair over his eyes. “Shuddup.”
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’
2007
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’
“Alright.”
Sam shut the door behind him, throwing the deadbolt without looking down. “Bobby?”
“What in the hell’s wrong with Dean?”
Sam swallowed hard against the sudden knot is his throat, tried not to look as suspicious as he felt. Of course, that was hard when he couldn’t look Bobby in the eye. “Nothin’, he’s fine. Why do ask, something happen while I was gone?” God, he hoped not.
“You could say that. He’s upstairs, drunk off his ass.”
Well. That sounded just great. He’d been drinking more for awhile now, and though Sam had definitely started to notice and worry, he’d kept it to himself. He already knew what was wrong with Dean. He shrugged, smiling a little as he slouched against the doorframe. “He’s Dean. C’mon, you can’t tell me you haven’t seen him drunk about 50 times before.”
“I have, an’ that’s exactly what I’m talkin’ about! He’s usually up for a hand of poker or he’s tellin’ stories or stealin’ my computer for porn and all of that, believe me, I’m more than used to as much as I’ve had you boys around since the time he first started drinkin’, but this isn’t like that, and I’m not an idjit, son. So do you wanna tell me why I came home to him already half a bottle of Jack down, cryin’ and tellin’ me that he’d failed as a brother?”
Shit. “I…I don’t know, Bobby, there was stuff awhile back that bothered him, dad and everything but…” He couldn’t explain, not now. Especially not when he needed to be with Dean. “You said he’s upstairs? I’ll go talk to him.”
“And Sam? I’d also like to know how stupid you boys really think I am.” He’d almost made it into the hallway but he froze, reaching out to lean on one hand against the wall with his back still to Bobby. The plunge of ice cold fear was sudden, enough that he felt like if he hadn’t had his palm pressed to the wall he couldn’t’ve held himself up.
“What’re you talkin’ about, Bobby?”
“I’m talkin’ about the fact that I hope to hell you two’re more careful to keep your cover on hunts than you are here.” Sam turned around slow, his mouth too dry to speak. They’d been fearing this for a long time. Well, not ‘fearing’ anymore so much as just knowing it couldn’t get out. He had to be giving Bobby an absolute deer in the headlights stare, but he literally didn’t have a word. Not a sound. The weird thing was, though, Bobby wasn’t yelling. “Yeah, I know. I’ve known for a long time.”
Oh God. “Bobby, it’s-“
“You don’t have to explain; I don’t wanna hear it.” Sam flinched, and Bobby shook his head, hard and adamant. “And I didn’t mean it like that. I’m only sayin’ however the hell this happened doesn’t matter, because I don’t think anyone that watched you two grow up’d be overly surprised. Hell, Sam, in this job we see enough that…” He waved his hand, shaking his head a little slower this time. “I don’t care. You do what you want. I hadn’t condemned you for it for years and I’m not about to start now, but if he’s all torn up over somethin’ to do with that, then-“
“He’s not.” He realized a little late that he’d said it a bit too quick to sound believable, and he took a breath and started over. “I mean, no. Not really. Something else.”
“Hm. If you say so.” He pulled his flask from his pocket for a sip, and he’d half turned back toward the kitchen before Sam called out to him.
“Hey, Bobby?” Of course, how exactly he wanted to phrase this got a little jumbled. “Are you…I mean, how are you…you’re not mad.” Obviously.
“Course I’m not mad, what the hell good would that do?” He took another drink, grimacing at the burn on his tongue. “I can’t say I understand all the way, but then how could I? It doesn’t matter if I understand or not, I’m not involved. This is between the two of you, and the only part of it that affects me is that you’re family. That’s it. So like I said, the extent of how much I give a damn about this is only related to if there’s somethin’ wrong with either of you because of it, which is the only reason I ever even brought it up to begin with. He’s screwed to hell over somethin’, and if you did this, then you’d better fix it. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
With that, he walked away and left Sam standing in the hall. He was trapped in a weird mixed state of relief and of still wondering what the hell just happened. The need to go to Dean was still there, though, and it wasn’t long before it overpowered everything else and he turned back down the hall and toward the stairs. The top two creaked, wood shifting under his boots. The guest room light was still on, shining out from the crack at the bottom of the door, and he made his way down there as quietly as he could.
He knocked softly first, knuckles barely rapping against the door. “Dean, it’s me.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned the flimsy knob and pushed it open, quickly shoving it shut behind him, his eyes scanning and finding Dean where he sat on the window seat in the dark, one knee pulled up against his chest, a far too empty bottle of Jack dangling from his fingers.
“Sam’y” It was just slurred enough to not sound right, just enough that he knew Dean had had far too much to drink. “You’re back.”
“Yeah. I am.” Sam shrugged out of his jacket, went over and tugged the bottle out of Dean’s fingers to minimal protest. He sat it down on the hardwood with a clunk, and he pushed Dean’s hand away when he reached for it again. “Nah, I think you’re done for tonight, Dean. You’re really drunk.”
“This? This i’n’t drunk. I’ve been…I’ve been plenty…where’d you go?” Dean tried to sling his legs around off the bench but he couldn’t all the way manage and Sam helped him, catching them and shifting their position so Dean could have his feet on the floor, Sam kneeling between his knees.
“You know that, remember? I went out to talk to that hunter that was passin’ through, and I stopped and got us some money on the way home.”
“Mm.” Dean’s hands trailed drunkenly through his hair, movements stilted as they came down to trace his face. “Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Nothin’. Just…nothin’. Wanna kiss you, c’mere.” Sam shuffled forward just a little bit, tilted his head up and let Dean kiss him, messy and disorganized. He tasted overwhelmingly of whiskey, and even though Sam usually thought Dean and whiskey went pretty damn well together, at the moment it was just too distracting, a barb to dig under his skin and reminded him of everything Bobby’d said and everything he’d already seen with his own eyes. Dean wasn’t dealing, not well and hardly at all, and that couldn’t bode well for the future in any form.
Sam rubbed his hands against Dean’s thighs, thumb rubbing against a newly fraying tiny hole in his jeans. “Dean, you gotta talk to me, man. You gotta tell me what’s wrong, or I can’t help you.”
“That’s it.”
“What’s it?” He reached for the bottle again and Sam caught his wrist, holding on. “Dean, what’s it? Talk to me.”
Dean just shook his head, his eyes clenching shut. His next words were whispered through clenched teeth, soft and desperate. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
At first it was like a punch to the gut, and Sam hardly recognized his own voice after he started talking. “Dean, if you didn’t want…if you don’t-“
“Not this.” Dean shook Sam’s hand off and grasped at his collar, pulling him closer. “That’s…I think that’s right. But this.” Yes, because those words were so different and he was making so much sense. “ ‘M your big brother.”
Sam let go of him altogether, reaching up to pinch hard at the bridge of his nose as his eyes squeezed shut. “I know. I know that. But when we talked about it, you said you-“
“No, Sam! You don’t…” His voice had risen, loud and frustrated, and he shook Sam just a little as his fingers tightened in his collar. “It should’ve been me goin’ to hell, not you! Should’ve been me doin’ all of this, all the hard stuff, everything that I see it’s nearly drivin’ you crazy to know. ‘s my job, Sammy. You’re my little brother, I look out for you, no matter what and I haven’t, I can’t, I…I can’t do anything. Even if we save you there’s not really anything I can do to manage it myself, I mean Crowley, he said-“
“You talked to Crowley?” Goddamn. Well, he wasn’t the only one not telling every last bit of the truth.
Dean didn’t seem to notice how shocked the question sounded, and he mostly just kept right on going. “Didn’t do me any good, he just said I couldn’t help you. I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do, Sammy? Just…just sit around and watch you carry everything yourself? I can’t…I don’t know enough, there’s nothin’ I can do to help you, nothin’ I can do to make it better. Hell, we might not even be able to save you, and that’s on me too, you know? I should be able to find something else, some kinda back up plan at least, some…I just…I let you down.” A tear slid across his cheek, another hovering at the edges of his eyelashes. “Now, and obviously before because if I’d been doin’ my job then you’d have never done this at all; I shouldn’t’ve let that happen. And I’m sorry. I’m supposed to take care of you and -“
“Dean, stop, stop it and listen to me, ok? Please.” He was panicking, and trying to get Dean to listen when he was panicking never worked well when he was sober. “Dean…” Sam took his face in his hands, held him steady. “Breathe. Calm down, and listen to me, alright?” It at least worked well enough to get his attention, but as for what he could say the help…well, there wasn’t much, at least not that Dean would be willing to believe, especially while he was like this. “Dean, you’re doin’ fine, ok? You haven’t let me down, not once, not ever.”
“Sam…” He tried to turn away, pushing halfheartedly at Sam’s wrist.
“No, look at me.” He mostly managed. “You’ve taken care of me my whole life. Why is it so wrong for me to want to look out for you for awhile, huh? What’s wrong with that, Dean? Doesn’t mean I don’t need you to watch my back, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean I’m gonna be able to do this all by myself because, Dean, I’m scared, man. There’s…there’s more, later on, and I’m terrified.” There was a certain feeling that came only when thinking of Lucifer, and honestly terrified didn’t even begin to scratch the surface of it.
Dean leaned forward, hands reaching and finally bracing against Sam’s shoulders, pressing unevenly. “Then lemme help you. ‘s what I’m for, remember?”
“No. No, Dean, that’s not true.” Hurt flashed in his eyes, and Sam rushed into the rest of what he had to say before it could take hold. “You’re my big brother, yeah, and believe me, Dean, that means everything. But you’re more than that, too. And we can look out for each other. We do this together or not at all, because Dean, we tried goin’ at it uneven before, and it didn’t work. It didn’t.” The more he thought about it now, the more he realized he was falling into the same damn trap. He couldn’t stop trying to protect Dean, but he had to stop trying to shelter him. There really was a difference, and so far he clearly hadn’t found the right side of it yet.
Being honest and trying to head off problems just wasn’t enough. Dean was gonna have to be active in this with him, or everything ran the risk of ending up in a not all that much better place than it had before.
Comforting.
“We were really doin’ this together, you’d tell me what scares you.”
Dean was so much sharper than he wanted people to think he was. Sam sighed, nodding as he conceded the point. “You’re right. And I will.” He slid his right hand from Dean’s face, patted his shoulder. “When you’re sober. C’mon, let’s go to bed.”
When they stood up Dean’s legs wobbled hard, and he leaned almost all the way into Sam even just on the short walk over to the bed. Sam stripped himself first and Dean second, as quick as he could. Dean’s body was warm and pliant under his hands, and when his palms pressed against Dean’s hipbones as he went to slide his jeans down, Dean made a soft, hungry noise and pushed up into the touch. He looked like sex personified, all tan skin spread out against the sheets, the amulet on his chest gleaming in the moonlight as his back arched just a little, but Sam forced himself to look away. Dean was clearly well past too drunk for sex, and considering how often Dean was plenty capable of all kinds of drunk sex, that really spoke for just how ridiculously much he’d had. Among other things, they were gonna have a talk about that tomorrow too.
Probably sometime after he finished puking.
Sam settled back against the pillow, arms crossed behind his head. Dean rolled over, squirming around until his head rested against Sam’s shoulder and Sam couldn’t help but smile, his fingers combing through short spiky hair before he kissed the top of Dean’s head.
“You throw up on me tomorrow, and I’m gonna kick your ass, Dean.”
It didn’t matter. He was already out.
;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;
Master post is here.
Author:whreflections
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Word Count: will probably finish out around 150k or so. At present it’s a 88k WIP, but don’t let that discourage you from starting it because I’ve written that much in a month(this was supposed to a Big Bang that I realized I wouldn’t be able to finish in time. *sigh*), and I’ll be writing on this steadily every day so I’ll stay plenty ahead of where I’m at chapter posting wise and I plan to post every other day. ^^
Word Count for this chapter: 5,840
Genre: Little bit of everything. There’s romance and boys desperately in love and there’s crazy amounts of angst in places and drama and action and family and…just all over the place. But the boys in love thing, that’s the heart. <3
Spoilers: Need to have seen through 5.16
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: After getting back from heaven, Sam feels like he’s hit a dead end. They seem to have finally drifted far enough apart that Dean’s unreachable, and he’s staring down the fact that it’s hard to keep the faith when you’re the only doing it, and that at this point they’re probably screwed no matter what he tries to fix. But if Ash is right then him and his brother are soulmates, and that gives him a little bit of something to hold onto, tells him that what he’s felt for his brother all along might not be so wrong. In a last ditch effort to do the right thing he sells his soul to hell to get Crowley to send him back to 6 years before the apocalypse on the night he left for Stanford, giving him the chance to not only fix his relationship with his brother, but to just maybe fix everything else too. Of course, all that hinges on just how inevitable fate really is, and if he fails, he’ll end up right where Lucifer wants him.
So, sorry this was a week instead of four days…I set out to get some work done on that help_chile piece, and I’ve been able to write about 2 pages. X.X I think it’s just a touch of writer’s block brought on by working so hardcore on this one for the last month, but, I’ve still written ahead of where I’m posting at for this so, no worries. My head should be working a little better in a couple of days, and then I’ll be able to really get back on track.
;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;
Sam was pretty sure he paced the entire 2 hours it took Dean to get there.
At the sound of a knock on the door he went and threw it open without even bothering to look outside, and though he’d meant to pull Dean into a hug, Dean actually beat him to it. Sam buried his face against Dean’s neck and breathed him in, his hands pressing against Dean’s back and relishing every familiar detail of having his brother’s body right there in his arms. When he let go it wasn’t all the way, and he kept a hand on Dean’s back as he nearly pulled him in the door.
Now that he was here, it seemed either of them didn’t know exactly what to say.
“I thought about what you said.” Dean’s eyes were darting they way they did sometimes when he was too honest, when he had something to hide. “You know, you’re right. I’ve only really faced almost losin’ you once, with that black dog, and I sure as hell wasn’t anything near reasonable or even sane so…you’re right, I can’t tell you what I’d do. Only that I’ve been thinkin’ about tryin’ to make a deal of my own ever since I found out about yours, so I guess we can be reasonably sure I do know what I’d do if somethin’ happened to you, and it wouldn’t be any different than what you or dad did. The fact that we’d all do it, I don’t think that makes it right, but it doesn’t matter I guess because I would, I’d do it. So I guess I understand. I’m not ok with it.” He took a deep breath, rubbed a hand against the back of his neck in a way that looked far too much like defeat. “But I understand.”
“Dean, I know where you’re comin’ from too; I do. And you’ve gotta believe me, my plan from the beginning wasn’t really to go to hell. I mean, I’m willing to do it if that’s how things play out, but it wasn’t exactly what I was hoping for, here.” Because if he did, he couldn’t guarantee it’d be him that came out. “My plan all along has been to stop it, and I think we can. I really do.” He could see Dean in the set of his shoulders, that this was still everything on the inside that Sam was seeing now, everything he’d been careful to lock away for the past few weeks and Sam knew that like this, Dean just might could accept something from him. “I’m not gonna leave you. Not if I can help it. I promise.”
“Sam, don’t.”
The word jabbed at him, twisting and sharp, and he fought between shrinking back and trying to get closer. “Dean, I mean it, I-“
“I know you do.” Dean’s eyes met his and kept looking for the first time since he’d come in, and the raw, drained look in them was enough to tear the hole that had been growing in Sam’s chest just a little wider. “I know you do, Sam, but don’t do that. Don’t promise me something you can’t promise. I don’t wanna hear it.”
“But you don’t understand, that is something I can promise!” Sam reached out, right hand curving to rest against Dean’s neck. “I didn’t say I could be sure to stop it. I just said that as long as I can fight it, as long as there’s anything left I can do about it, I’m not leaving you.” Because at the root of it, that was what Dean was afraid of. He’d known it already but heaven had drawn it home, complete with Sam’s own stupid memories and Zachariah’s manipulations.
He stepped all the way in, close enough that his chest brushed against Dean’s, and he took his face in his hands. “Dean, what do I have to do? Huh? How can I get you to trust me, because I know, I’ve messed up a few times but it’s always been me tryin’ to protect you. Like you’ve done for me. And so long as I can still fight I’m not goin’ anywhere. I can promise you that.”
“Sam…” Dean’s breath ghosted across his lips, warm and stilted, and his own breath hitched to match it. “I wanna trust you.”
“Then do.” Sometimes, things really could be that simple. At least, he thought so. It had been his philosophy going into those last days of the apocalypse anyway. Sure, it had looked like they had a snowball’s chance in hell, but goddammit, he was gonna keep believing no matter what. Even if there was nothing left to believe in, just the act of believing that somehow they were gonna fucking come through had been enough. He’d never know now if it would’ve been, but he’d liked to believe that that was something that showed how far he’d come, that it was a mark of getting to a point in his life he’d needed to reach, to learn. Sometimes, things just were, without any basis, feeding off of force of will alone.
If his belief in winning could be strong enough to hold itself up even under fire, then it made sense to him that their faith in each other could do even more, be even stronger. At least, it seemed like it should be that way.
Dean’s hand trailed across his jaw, fingertips grazing the bruise that was only just visible.
“ ‘M sorry I missed your call. Phone died.” He whispered, so close now that if he just stopped talking and titled his head forward just right they’d be kissing. That was probably why he had very little idea what he’d just said.
“I thought…I don’t even know.” Dean’s left hand came up behind his head, tugging on his hair enough to tilt his head to the side. Dean’s lips pressed against his jaw, soft enough to break him, and Sam stopped breathing altogether. “Sammy, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve…” He trailed off, fingers tangling deeper in Sam’s hair as Dean rested his forehead against him. “Can’t believe I did that.”
“I can. You’ve done it a dozen times before.” Well, maybe not that many. A few, though. On the list of ‘things Dean does when he’s angry’, hitting people was actually pretty high up there, but he usually went for wrestling with Sam first before he’d actually hit him. That one took some serious anger, and Sam wasn’t in any way uninvolved in it. He’d thrown his own share of punches too over the years.
“Not like this.” Outright, Dean never knew exactly how to refer to them. It was just ‘this’, or ‘but things are different’, or something like that. Not that it mattered, what it was was more important than anything it could ever be called. “It won’t happen again.”
Sam wasn’t ready to bet on that, but it wasn’t a question of his trust in Dean or of how much he meant to him, just a matter of his understanding of Dean’s temper. If he got mad enough it’d happen and it’d be alright but he’d still regret it, and Sam’d convince him to move on. There was comfort in things like that, the kind of things that never changed in a way that seemed right rather than just inevitable.
Sam pulled Dean close, hands sliding up under his shirt as his lips brushed over the shell of Dean’s ear. “Forget about it. I didn’t mind.” He dipped his head a little farther, just enough to bite at the soft juncture of Dean’s neck and shoulder. “Let’s just go to bed.” Right then, he literally wanted nothing more. He needed to be with Dean right then, craved it worse than he ever had the blood or anything else. He needed the feel of Dean moving underneath him, lithe and powerful even as he came apart under Sam’s touch. He needed Dean’s hands on his back, strong and steady and grounding, every touch full of that same meticulous devotion he’d had since that first night, showing him he was loved and forgiven, needed and desired.
Dean groaned, his grip tightening, urging Sam’s lips against his skin again. He obliged, sucking just a little harder, humming in pleasure low in his throat when Dean stroked the back of his neck. “Yeah. Yeah, I could go for that.”
His voice was already just a little bit lower, enticing, and Sam couldn’t resist nipping just above the line of his collar one more time before he pulled away just long enough to get what they needed. When he turned back around from shuffling through Dean’s bag Dean had already stripped off his shirt and was nearly out of his jeans, and Sam tossed the bottle onto the bed, hurrying to catch up.
Everything after was an intoxicating mixture of slow and lingering and quick and frantic. There was the way Dean’s tongue laved at the hollow of his throat, as thorough as he would on a lazy afternoon after a hunt, knowing they could take all day with this if they wanted. At the same time, though, there was the way he moved against him, legs tangling and hips canting up like now matter how soon they got on with it Sam couldn’t possibly do it fast enough for how desperately Dean wanted him to. Even hectic like this, they were in perfect synch. Sam’s fingers eased inside him, stroking slow and teasing, savoring the familiar sounds that came uncontrolled from his lips, while at the same time his lips roved quick and rough over his neck and chest, marking him like there was another claim he had to erase.
They kissed the same way, a harried back and forth that they both matched easy and natural though it followed no structure. When Sam pulled his hand away Dean gasped into his mouth at the loss, and Sam whimpered like he was the one suddenly empty. When they joined, everything blurred together. They wrapped tight enough around each other that Sam was hardly sure how he could breathe, but he didn’t feel like he needed to. There was Dean, and there was nothing between them, and that was enough.
He lost track of time, lost track of everything including where he started and Dean began. He’d heard it before as an expression, but just then he was sure he knew what it really meant. There was heat and want and pure blinding need and they were inseparable, irrevocably bound. His hand pressed against the small of Dean’s back, lifting his hips, and Dean’s pressed down between his shoulders, and they came together.
When his head stopped spinning enough that he felt like he could breathe Sam tried to pull away, a last sharp stab of pleasure shooting hard through his veins. It was Dean that moaned, and Sam shuddered, turned his head and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck.
Sam had been ready to believe that they had been meant to be. He hadn’t been sure all the way what that meant for Armageddon before, if anything, but just then, he was thinking he was gonna have to give that some more thought, because he’d been in love with his brother all his life, but the absolute power he’d felt in whatever it was that had just happened had been enough to show him that apparently, he had no idea what he was dealing with.
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’
It never got any less weird doing research about yourself.
Granted, it was a little less weird looking into this than it had been researching his psychic demon powers or Dean’s deal or their potential future life as vessels, but it was still a little odd to be doing the kind of research he’d been taught to put into cases all while knowing whatever he found was going to have actual relevance to them personally.
So far, though, he hadn’t found much. Many cultures had belief in the theory of soul bonds, though several of them differed on what they actually were and what it meant. According to some of the information he found a true soul bond indicated multiple reincarnations, lives shared over and over, possibly even with some sort of ritual performed at some point by the two involved to insure they would continue developing together, permanently joined. Others spoke of souls spilt in two, two complementing or contrasting halves that still shared an overwhelming need to be together. There was too much information, so much he was pretty sure he’d never be able to figure out exactly what he and Dean were, and he’d been just about ready to call it a day when he found something interesting.
It was called a theory of chosen soul bonding, and it was described as stronger and more binding on a deeper level than most soul connections could reach. It came from pure force of will, a choice by both souls to be together, connected in every way for all time. Once initiated, the bond was impossible to severe, and one could not live without the other even in the afterlife, the ability of true independence having been lost in the binding.
Yeah. That sounded just about right, and it meshed with Ash’s knowledge that in heaven, only soulmates could share. And if it was, it added fire to his little glimmer of hope. This didn’t fit with them both being vessels. In fact, it stood in absolute opposition to it, because if they were bound like that, they’d never be willing to say yes no matter what, because a yes for either one of them would mean almost certain death for the other one if not both of them. It was a little head splitting, thinking of it.
Was it really possible for them to have two fates? He’d been dead set against the idea of fate at all before, but this…this didn’t sound so bad. It sounded pretty right, actually, and shouldn’t whatever their destiny was sound right? If one of the two was going to happen regardless, this made a hell of a lot more sense.
It wasn’t until three weeks later that he had some time to spare to look into it a little further, and he called a woman in Tempe, Arizona who’d written a couple of books and seemed to be as close as he was gonna get to an expert on the subject. A lot of what he got out of her wasn’t very useful at first, but once he worked her around to ritualistic applications she got a lot more helpful. According to her, any ritual could be strengthened when aided or performed by two bound individuals. The stronger the bond, the more power it would add.
Finally, he was getting somewhere.
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’
From the minute he got in the car, Sam knew Dean was hiding something. His questions were short, the usual music was absent and he wouldn’t meet Sam’s eyes. The last time he’d gone this quiet had been back in October, when they’d been on their way to head Gordon off and protect the vampires. Sticking to his word about telling the truth he’d told Dean everything about the case before going in, including pretty much everything about Gordon. It was still the truth, really, he just hadn’t clarified exactly why Gordon wanted to kill him beyond the whole demon blood thing. Dean had been pretty quiet at first, listening and agreeing that they needed to get there a good week or so early before the first death and warn the vampires to get their asses outta town, but on the drive to Montana he’d been quiet, and it had taken a few hours before he was willing to tell Sam that when they got there, he was gonna kill Gordon.
He hadn’t asked, had made it pretty damn clear it was happening whether Sam opposed him or not, but honestly Sam hadn’t really had any fight in him about it. By the time he’d killed him Gordon had killed at least 4 or 5 innocents that they knew of and turned another one there at the end, and he’d hurt Dean and God knows how many other people in his insane quest to kill Sam. Crazy couldn’t be reasoned with and the world really would be a better place without him, but all the same Dean’s attitude had worried Sam, if only a little.
The more Dean was willing to go to any lengths for Sam, the more he was likely to try and do any number of crazy things. At the same time, though, there wasn’t a single option that came without any consequences. The minute they started trying to be reasonable they lost something between them, and they headed toward a world that ended with him saying yes in Detroit and Dean being ready to say yes to Michael, too. They couldn’t do this halfway; if this was the direction they took, every last bit of them had to go into it, whatever the consequences.
Which was why right then, he knew most of what Dean was going to say before he ever opened his mouth.
“We’ve only got one bullet left in the Colt.” The words were clipped, rough and quick like he just wanted to get the conversation over with with as few questions as possible.
“So let me guess…when you told me you got Evan out of his deal and let her go, that’s not how it really went down.” Dean’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles going white, and Sam looked back out the windshield at the empty highway. “Yeah, that’s kind of what I figured.”
“So, get it over with.”
“Get what over with?”
Dean shrugged, muttering. “Go ahead, bitch me out about the gun, how we don’t need to waste anymore bullets, all that shit.”
“Dean…” Sam shifted over in the seat, halfway facing him. “You already know we don’t need to waste anymore bullets. And at this point you also realize shooting her just cause you were pissed off didn’t solve anything but…” He shrugged. “She didn’t take your deal, so no, I’m not really that mad. I don’t wanna fight with you about anything related to the deal anymore; it’s pointless and we shouldn’t be fighting over it anyway. And besides…” And this, this was really the biggest reason. “I know why you did it. I did the same thing.”
That at least got him a little bit of a laugh, though it didn’t hold any real humor. “ ‘M guessing the stupid bitch told you the same thing, then.”
“That she doesn’t hold my contract and she won’t tell you who does?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, that was it.” The glare Dean was giving the windshield looked about like it should’ve melted the glass, but Sam really couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t been any less pissed when this particular plan had failed him, either.
“Well, don’t worry. Cause she might not have had the contract, but I know who does.”
It was a good thing the road was empty. Dean took his eyes off it entirely, turning his head to gawk at Sam like he’d just started speaking Russian. “What the hell, Sam?! You couldn’t have, oh I don’t know, brought this up sooner?!”
“I didn’t cause we don’t have a way to get at her right now!” And they wouldn’t, not until a few other things that he wasn’t exactly ready to think about happened first. “Her name’s Lilith, and when we get a chance, we’ll have her. And as for the bullets, I’m not really worried, cause I know where that last one goes.”
“Oh you do, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Dean shook his head, but Sam could see the corners of his lips almost curving up, just barely holding back a smile. “This knowing how everything turns out thing you’ve got goin’? It’s terrible for your ego, you know.”
“Bothers you that I’m the one with the master plan, huh?”
Dean reached over, ruffling his hair over his eyes. “Shuddup.”
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’
2007
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’
“Alright.”
Sam shut the door behind him, throwing the deadbolt without looking down. “Bobby?”
“What in the hell’s wrong with Dean?”
Sam swallowed hard against the sudden knot is his throat, tried not to look as suspicious as he felt. Of course, that was hard when he couldn’t look Bobby in the eye. “Nothin’, he’s fine. Why do ask, something happen while I was gone?” God, he hoped not.
“You could say that. He’s upstairs, drunk off his ass.”
Well. That sounded just great. He’d been drinking more for awhile now, and though Sam had definitely started to notice and worry, he’d kept it to himself. He already knew what was wrong with Dean. He shrugged, smiling a little as he slouched against the doorframe. “He’s Dean. C’mon, you can’t tell me you haven’t seen him drunk about 50 times before.”
“I have, an’ that’s exactly what I’m talkin’ about! He’s usually up for a hand of poker or he’s tellin’ stories or stealin’ my computer for porn and all of that, believe me, I’m more than used to as much as I’ve had you boys around since the time he first started drinkin’, but this isn’t like that, and I’m not an idjit, son. So do you wanna tell me why I came home to him already half a bottle of Jack down, cryin’ and tellin’ me that he’d failed as a brother?”
Shit. “I…I don’t know, Bobby, there was stuff awhile back that bothered him, dad and everything but…” He couldn’t explain, not now. Especially not when he needed to be with Dean. “You said he’s upstairs? I’ll go talk to him.”
“And Sam? I’d also like to know how stupid you boys really think I am.” He’d almost made it into the hallway but he froze, reaching out to lean on one hand against the wall with his back still to Bobby. The plunge of ice cold fear was sudden, enough that he felt like if he hadn’t had his palm pressed to the wall he couldn’t’ve held himself up.
“What’re you talkin’ about, Bobby?”
“I’m talkin’ about the fact that I hope to hell you two’re more careful to keep your cover on hunts than you are here.” Sam turned around slow, his mouth too dry to speak. They’d been fearing this for a long time. Well, not ‘fearing’ anymore so much as just knowing it couldn’t get out. He had to be giving Bobby an absolute deer in the headlights stare, but he literally didn’t have a word. Not a sound. The weird thing was, though, Bobby wasn’t yelling. “Yeah, I know. I’ve known for a long time.”
Oh God. “Bobby, it’s-“
“You don’t have to explain; I don’t wanna hear it.” Sam flinched, and Bobby shook his head, hard and adamant. “And I didn’t mean it like that. I’m only sayin’ however the hell this happened doesn’t matter, because I don’t think anyone that watched you two grow up’d be overly surprised. Hell, Sam, in this job we see enough that…” He waved his hand, shaking his head a little slower this time. “I don’t care. You do what you want. I hadn’t condemned you for it for years and I’m not about to start now, but if he’s all torn up over somethin’ to do with that, then-“
“He’s not.” He realized a little late that he’d said it a bit too quick to sound believable, and he took a breath and started over. “I mean, no. Not really. Something else.”
“Hm. If you say so.” He pulled his flask from his pocket for a sip, and he’d half turned back toward the kitchen before Sam called out to him.
“Hey, Bobby?” Of course, how exactly he wanted to phrase this got a little jumbled. “Are you…I mean, how are you…you’re not mad.” Obviously.
“Course I’m not mad, what the hell good would that do?” He took another drink, grimacing at the burn on his tongue. “I can’t say I understand all the way, but then how could I? It doesn’t matter if I understand or not, I’m not involved. This is between the two of you, and the only part of it that affects me is that you’re family. That’s it. So like I said, the extent of how much I give a damn about this is only related to if there’s somethin’ wrong with either of you because of it, which is the only reason I ever even brought it up to begin with. He’s screwed to hell over somethin’, and if you did this, then you’d better fix it. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
With that, he walked away and left Sam standing in the hall. He was trapped in a weird mixed state of relief and of still wondering what the hell just happened. The need to go to Dean was still there, though, and it wasn’t long before it overpowered everything else and he turned back down the hall and toward the stairs. The top two creaked, wood shifting under his boots. The guest room light was still on, shining out from the crack at the bottom of the door, and he made his way down there as quietly as he could.
He knocked softly first, knuckles barely rapping against the door. “Dean, it’s me.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned the flimsy knob and pushed it open, quickly shoving it shut behind him, his eyes scanning and finding Dean where he sat on the window seat in the dark, one knee pulled up against his chest, a far too empty bottle of Jack dangling from his fingers.
“Sam’y” It was just slurred enough to not sound right, just enough that he knew Dean had had far too much to drink. “You’re back.”
“Yeah. I am.” Sam shrugged out of his jacket, went over and tugged the bottle out of Dean’s fingers to minimal protest. He sat it down on the hardwood with a clunk, and he pushed Dean’s hand away when he reached for it again. “Nah, I think you’re done for tonight, Dean. You’re really drunk.”
“This? This i’n’t drunk. I’ve been…I’ve been plenty…where’d you go?” Dean tried to sling his legs around off the bench but he couldn’t all the way manage and Sam helped him, catching them and shifting their position so Dean could have his feet on the floor, Sam kneeling between his knees.
“You know that, remember? I went out to talk to that hunter that was passin’ through, and I stopped and got us some money on the way home.”
“Mm.” Dean’s hands trailed drunkenly through his hair, movements stilted as they came down to trace his face. “Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Nothin’. Just…nothin’. Wanna kiss you, c’mere.” Sam shuffled forward just a little bit, tilted his head up and let Dean kiss him, messy and disorganized. He tasted overwhelmingly of whiskey, and even though Sam usually thought Dean and whiskey went pretty damn well together, at the moment it was just too distracting, a barb to dig under his skin and reminded him of everything Bobby’d said and everything he’d already seen with his own eyes. Dean wasn’t dealing, not well and hardly at all, and that couldn’t bode well for the future in any form.
Sam rubbed his hands against Dean’s thighs, thumb rubbing against a newly fraying tiny hole in his jeans. “Dean, you gotta talk to me, man. You gotta tell me what’s wrong, or I can’t help you.”
“That’s it.”
“What’s it?” He reached for the bottle again and Sam caught his wrist, holding on. “Dean, what’s it? Talk to me.”
Dean just shook his head, his eyes clenching shut. His next words were whispered through clenched teeth, soft and desperate. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
At first it was like a punch to the gut, and Sam hardly recognized his own voice after he started talking. “Dean, if you didn’t want…if you don’t-“
“Not this.” Dean shook Sam’s hand off and grasped at his collar, pulling him closer. “That’s…I think that’s right. But this.” Yes, because those words were so different and he was making so much sense. “ ‘M your big brother.”
Sam let go of him altogether, reaching up to pinch hard at the bridge of his nose as his eyes squeezed shut. “I know. I know that. But when we talked about it, you said you-“
“No, Sam! You don’t…” His voice had risen, loud and frustrated, and he shook Sam just a little as his fingers tightened in his collar. “It should’ve been me goin’ to hell, not you! Should’ve been me doin’ all of this, all the hard stuff, everything that I see it’s nearly drivin’ you crazy to know. ‘s my job, Sammy. You’re my little brother, I look out for you, no matter what and I haven’t, I can’t, I…I can’t do anything. Even if we save you there’s not really anything I can do to manage it myself, I mean Crowley, he said-“
“You talked to Crowley?” Goddamn. Well, he wasn’t the only one not telling every last bit of the truth.
Dean didn’t seem to notice how shocked the question sounded, and he mostly just kept right on going. “Didn’t do me any good, he just said I couldn’t help you. I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do, Sammy? Just…just sit around and watch you carry everything yourself? I can’t…I don’t know enough, there’s nothin’ I can do to help you, nothin’ I can do to make it better. Hell, we might not even be able to save you, and that’s on me too, you know? I should be able to find something else, some kinda back up plan at least, some…I just…I let you down.” A tear slid across his cheek, another hovering at the edges of his eyelashes. “Now, and obviously before because if I’d been doin’ my job then you’d have never done this at all; I shouldn’t’ve let that happen. And I’m sorry. I’m supposed to take care of you and -“
“Dean, stop, stop it and listen to me, ok? Please.” He was panicking, and trying to get Dean to listen when he was panicking never worked well when he was sober. “Dean…” Sam took his face in his hands, held him steady. “Breathe. Calm down, and listen to me, alright?” It at least worked well enough to get his attention, but as for what he could say the help…well, there wasn’t much, at least not that Dean would be willing to believe, especially while he was like this. “Dean, you’re doin’ fine, ok? You haven’t let me down, not once, not ever.”
“Sam…” He tried to turn away, pushing halfheartedly at Sam’s wrist.
“No, look at me.” He mostly managed. “You’ve taken care of me my whole life. Why is it so wrong for me to want to look out for you for awhile, huh? What’s wrong with that, Dean? Doesn’t mean I don’t need you to watch my back, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean I’m gonna be able to do this all by myself because, Dean, I’m scared, man. There’s…there’s more, later on, and I’m terrified.” There was a certain feeling that came only when thinking of Lucifer, and honestly terrified didn’t even begin to scratch the surface of it.
Dean leaned forward, hands reaching and finally bracing against Sam’s shoulders, pressing unevenly. “Then lemme help you. ‘s what I’m for, remember?”
“No. No, Dean, that’s not true.” Hurt flashed in his eyes, and Sam rushed into the rest of what he had to say before it could take hold. “You’re my big brother, yeah, and believe me, Dean, that means everything. But you’re more than that, too. And we can look out for each other. We do this together or not at all, because Dean, we tried goin’ at it uneven before, and it didn’t work. It didn’t.” The more he thought about it now, the more he realized he was falling into the same damn trap. He couldn’t stop trying to protect Dean, but he had to stop trying to shelter him. There really was a difference, and so far he clearly hadn’t found the right side of it yet.
Being honest and trying to head off problems just wasn’t enough. Dean was gonna have to be active in this with him, or everything ran the risk of ending up in a not all that much better place than it had before.
Comforting.
“We were really doin’ this together, you’d tell me what scares you.”
Dean was so much sharper than he wanted people to think he was. Sam sighed, nodding as he conceded the point. “You’re right. And I will.” He slid his right hand from Dean’s face, patted his shoulder. “When you’re sober. C’mon, let’s go to bed.”
When they stood up Dean’s legs wobbled hard, and he leaned almost all the way into Sam even just on the short walk over to the bed. Sam stripped himself first and Dean second, as quick as he could. Dean’s body was warm and pliant under his hands, and when his palms pressed against Dean’s hipbones as he went to slide his jeans down, Dean made a soft, hungry noise and pushed up into the touch. He looked like sex personified, all tan skin spread out against the sheets, the amulet on his chest gleaming in the moonlight as his back arched just a little, but Sam forced himself to look away. Dean was clearly well past too drunk for sex, and considering how often Dean was plenty capable of all kinds of drunk sex, that really spoke for just how ridiculously much he’d had. Among other things, they were gonna have a talk about that tomorrow too.
Probably sometime after he finished puking.
Sam settled back against the pillow, arms crossed behind his head. Dean rolled over, squirming around until his head rested against Sam’s shoulder and Sam couldn’t help but smile, his fingers combing through short spiky hair before he kissed the top of Dean’s head.
“You throw up on me tomorrow, and I’m gonna kick your ass, Dean.”
It didn’t matter. He was already out.
;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;
Master post is here.