Interlude
Title: Interlude
Author: Sara Ellison
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 7x10. Spoilers by implication.
Disclaimer: I don't own, please don't sue
Warnings: Allusions to canon character death, angst, incest, language
Summary: The boys cling to the only ones they have left.
Author's notes: I refuse to believe they're dead, but the boys don't know that, so it's angst galore for them.
He finds Sam in the back alley, some distance from the dumpsters, crouched on the dirty pavement, the cloth of his jacket catching against the rough brick at his back. He's folded in on himself, knees drawn up and his face pressed into them, arms wrapped over his head as though he can hide from the world.
Dean sinks down next to him, silently. Sam's muscles are all tensed up and he doesn't move willingly, but Dean wrestles with him, tugging until his brother uncurls enough for Dean to pull him into his arms. Sam's face is wet, his lower lip bloody where he's bitten it to keep his sobs inside. Dean holds him, pulling Sam's head in against his own chest, his fingers carding absently through Sam's hair. You need a haircut, Sammy, he thinks, same thing he's said a billion times but he doesn't say it now. He doesn't think he can speak past the thickness in his throat, so he just rests his face on the top of his brother's head while Sam's fists slowly uncurl and re-form around the material of Dean's shirt.
"Don't you leave me," Sam growls, quietly, muffled against Dean's chest. "Not ever. You hear me?"
He tries to answer, he does, but the words get caught somewhere in the mass of grief in his chest and he only nods, knowing Sam can feel the motion, so tightly are they clinging to each other.
"You're all I have left," Sam mumbles, and Dean wraps himself around his brother and squeezes because he thinks he might implode if he doesn't.
That's not true, he almost says, but he is sick of lying to Sam.
"We've lost too much," his brother continues. "Too many of our friends and family. All we have now is each other so don't you fucking dare ever leave me, Dean. I never want to have to bury you again."
"Sammy," Dean manages, muffled in his brother's hair. His eyes feel like sandpaper, painfully dry, and his chest aches except where Sam is pressed against it.
Sam exhales heavily, his breath hot even through the layers of cotton over Dean's skin. "Say it, Dean."
He shifts uncomfortably, but he doesn't slacken his hold on Sam. For over three decades he'd seen no need to state the obvious. "Doesn't need to be said," he mutters.
"Yes, it does," Sam insists. His nails dig into Dean's skin, blunt pressure through his shirt. "Don't you get it? It's just us now. You're my brother. I love you, and that's all I have left. So don't pretend you're too manly or some shit like that. We've lost too many people we loved."
Dean winces. It's true, he can't deny that, but he thought he'd shown Sammy how much he loves him a billion times. Don't actions speak louder than words? "I went to Hell for you," he points out weakly.
Sam pulls away from him, sitting up so he can glare at Dean, green eyes glaring coldly into his own. "And, what? You're saying being torn apart by hellhounds is easier for you than just saying it?"
"God, no!" Dean blurts, horrified at the gross misinterpretation. "That's not what I meant! Jesus, Sammy." He grabs his brother by the shoulders, a little roughly to get his attention, not that he doubts he has it anyway. "Fuck. I love you, okay? And I'm never gonna leave you. Not for anything."
He isn't thinking when he pulls Sam in to kiss him, hard, one hand fisting in his stupidly long hair, but it's what he has to do. Actions speak louder than words, and if this is what it takes to convince Sam he loves him...well, it's not exactly a hardship. When Sam relaxes against him, hands coming up to bracket his brother's face as he kisses back, Dean knows Sam believes him.
Author: Sara Ellison
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 7x10. Spoilers by implication.
Disclaimer: I don't own, please don't sue
Warnings: Allusions to canon character death, angst, incest, language
Summary: The boys cling to the only ones they have left.
Author's notes: I refuse to believe they're dead, but the boys don't know that, so it's angst galore for them.
He finds Sam in the back alley, some distance from the dumpsters, crouched on the dirty pavement, the cloth of his jacket catching against the rough brick at his back. He's folded in on himself, knees drawn up and his face pressed into them, arms wrapped over his head as though he can hide from the world.
Dean sinks down next to him, silently. Sam's muscles are all tensed up and he doesn't move willingly, but Dean wrestles with him, tugging until his brother uncurls enough for Dean to pull him into his arms. Sam's face is wet, his lower lip bloody where he's bitten it to keep his sobs inside. Dean holds him, pulling Sam's head in against his own chest, his fingers carding absently through Sam's hair. You need a haircut, Sammy, he thinks, same thing he's said a billion times but he doesn't say it now. He doesn't think he can speak past the thickness in his throat, so he just rests his face on the top of his brother's head while Sam's fists slowly uncurl and re-form around the material of Dean's shirt.
"Don't you leave me," Sam growls, quietly, muffled against Dean's chest. "Not ever. You hear me?"
He tries to answer, he does, but the words get caught somewhere in the mass of grief in his chest and he only nods, knowing Sam can feel the motion, so tightly are they clinging to each other.
"You're all I have left," Sam mumbles, and Dean wraps himself around his brother and squeezes because he thinks he might implode if he doesn't.
That's not true, he almost says, but he is sick of lying to Sam.
"We've lost too much," his brother continues. "Too many of our friends and family. All we have now is each other so don't you fucking dare ever leave me, Dean. I never want to have to bury you again."
"Sammy," Dean manages, muffled in his brother's hair. His eyes feel like sandpaper, painfully dry, and his chest aches except where Sam is pressed against it.
Sam exhales heavily, his breath hot even through the layers of cotton over Dean's skin. "Say it, Dean."
He shifts uncomfortably, but he doesn't slacken his hold on Sam. For over three decades he'd seen no need to state the obvious. "Doesn't need to be said," he mutters.
"Yes, it does," Sam insists. His nails dig into Dean's skin, blunt pressure through his shirt. "Don't you get it? It's just us now. You're my brother. I love you, and that's all I have left. So don't pretend you're too manly or some shit like that. We've lost too many people we loved."
Dean winces. It's true, he can't deny that, but he thought he'd shown Sammy how much he loves him a billion times. Don't actions speak louder than words? "I went to Hell for you," he points out weakly.
Sam pulls away from him, sitting up so he can glare at Dean, green eyes glaring coldly into his own. "And, what? You're saying being torn apart by hellhounds is easier for you than just saying it?"
"God, no!" Dean blurts, horrified at the gross misinterpretation. "That's not what I meant! Jesus, Sammy." He grabs his brother by the shoulders, a little roughly to get his attention, not that he doubts he has it anyway. "Fuck. I love you, okay? And I'm never gonna leave you. Not for anything."
He isn't thinking when he pulls Sam in to kiss him, hard, one hand fisting in his stupidly long hair, but it's what he has to do. Actions speak louder than words, and if this is what it takes to convince Sam he loves him...well, it's not exactly a hardship. When Sam relaxes against him, hands coming up to bracket his brother's face as he kisses back, Dean knows Sam believes him.