MASTERPOST: All The Time In The World - (Sam/Dean, R)

[amypond45]

Artist: dwimpala21
Art: Heaven
Author: amypond45
Title: All the Time In the World
Tags/Warnings: Nonr
Summary: Sam has trouble adjusting to Heaven. Dean fits right in.

Art Link: A03

Fic Links: A03 | Below the cut
//**//**//


The day after Sam died, he woke up with tears on his cheeks.

He blinks up at the rough-hewn wood of the ceiling as his mind chases the dream he just had. Something about his son when he was about four-years-old, reaching up to wipe a tear off his cheek.

“Daddy’s sad,” the little boy notes. “Why sad, Daddy?”

In the dream, Sam shakes his head and wipes his nose with the back of his hand.

“Just missing your Uncle Dean again,” he tells the little boy. “He would’ve loved you so much.”

“And you love me so much you named me after him!”

Sam nods. “That’s right, Dean. That’s right.”

Sam thinks back to yesterday, the day he died. His memories are hazy until he found himself on the bridge with his brother, but he knows his son was with him. He can remember squeezing his hand. He remembers his son’s voice, telling him, “It’s okay.”

Now he’s in Heaven. He knows that, always knew that he’d end up here, thanks to Jack. Yesterday, when Sam arrived, Dean explained how Jack had fixed things up here, how they can go anywhere now, share anyone else’s Heaven. They can make new memories now, not just relive the old ones. Dean’s excited to get started, now that Sam’s joined him. Dean wants them to socialize, to go visit their folks and Rufus, maybe Ellen and Jo, everybody they lost.

Sam misses his son.

“Can we wait till tomorrow?” he had asked. “I just got here, and I need a little time.”

“Sure, Sammy,” Dean clasped his neck and squeezed. “Sure.”

They got in the car, drove for a while, then pulled up at this perfect, cozy little cabin. Sam was dead tired, and although it made no sense for his Heaven body to need sleep, he craved it.

“Big day,” he said by way of excuse. “Dying and all.”

There was only one bed. Kingsize, with big fluffy pillows, but still.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Dean assured him. “Huh. Sleep. Who knew?”

Sam was out almost before he collapsed on the bed.

Now, he’s lying in the bed after an incredible night of sleep - the first real rest he’s had in he can’t remember how long, on account of his illness and the pain - and he’s missing his son.

Figures, Sam thinks. It wouldn’t be Heaven if he wasn’t feeling at least a little bit sad about something, would it? There’s never been a moment in Sam’s long existence when there wasn’t something wrong. He wouldn’t even know who he was if he didn’t have some nagging feeling of being off, deep down inside. It’s who he is, the guy who suffers. The guy with something bad inside.

Sam’s interrupted in his morose morning meditation by the door opening.

“Morning, Sunshine!”

The feeling of pure pleasure that slams into Sam at the sight of his brother almost makes the sadness go away.

Sam’s forgotten how that feels. He’s forgotten how just the sight of Dean could dispel his bad mood.

He’s missed it.

“Coffee?” Dean offers, grinning as he holds out a cup of steaming java. “Made it just the way you like it. Lots of cream and sugar.”

“That’s not -” Sam starts to protest, but then remembers that he hasn’t even had a cup of coffee in several years, on account of the cancer, and the high blood pressure before that. Never mind that he stopped taking it with cream and sugar when he was still in his twenties.

Dean knows that.

Sam sits up in bed, reaching for the mug.

“Got toast in the toaster, eggs and bacon in the pan,” Dean says. He’s already dressed, looking just the way he always does in jeans and a Henley. Sam takes a sip of the coffee, makes a face at the sweet taste.

“Too sweet?” Dean asks. Dean’s watching him like a hawk, or maybe like somebody he hasn’t seen in forty years. Like somebody he’s missed.

It wasn’t forty years for him, Sam reminds himself. It was only about ten minutes. They’ve already discussed that.

Sam puts the coffee on the bedside table and pushes the covers back. He’s wearing his old sweatpants and a t-shirt, just like he used to wear to bed back in the bunker. His feet are bare.

“How’d you sleep?”

Dean’s still hovering, protective as ever. Watchful. He can tell Sam’s not feeling well. He probably sees the tear tracks on Sam’s cheeks.

“Fine,” Sam assures him. “Really well, actually. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in a while.”

Sam swings his legs over the side of the bed. The lack of pain or discomfort of any kind still disorients him. When he gets up, the polished hardwood floor feels solid, but he’s not used to being able to balance himself and he stumbles.

Dean catches him, of course.

“Whoa! Whoa there, grandpa.”

“Shut up.”

Sam shakes his brother off and reaches for his coffee. The thought of carrying a full cup of coffee while he follows Dean into the kitchen worries him for a moment, then he shakes it off. Anything he could do in his thirties, he can do here, he reminds himself. He’s not old and frail anymore.

He takes a couple of steps, then shakes Dean off when he can sense him still hovering, ready to catch Sam if he stumbles again.

“You don’t have to keep doing that, Dean,” he assures him. “I just got up, that’s all. It always takes me a minute when I first get up.”

“Didn’t take you a minute when you were younger,” Dean reminds him. “You used to spring up every morning, crack o’ dawn, get out for your run before I even had my first cup of coffee.”

“Yeah, well, that was forty years ago,” Sam mutters. They’re in the kitchen now, smell of coffee and bacon in the air, big plate glass window with a view of the lake to Sam’s left. He stops to gaze out, takes another sip of the too-sweet coffee, and sighs.

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Dean comments. His arm brushes Sam’s as he moves up beside him, his own coffee cup in his hand. “Didn’t see it when we got in last night. Too dark.”

Sam takes a deep breath, amazed to be able to do it without pain.

“I think I’m still adjusting,” he says. “I mean, I knew I’d end up here. I knew Jack would make sure we’d be together again. But I can’t quite believe it yet, you know? It doesn’t seem real.”

He turns toward Dean, the sudden urge to touch him almost overwhelming.

“You don’t seem real. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up any moment and I’ll be in my bed back home, dreams of you fading away as I open my eyes.”

“Nightmares, huh?” Dean teases, but Sam knows him. He’s putting himself down.

Sam huffs out a bitter laugh. “Hardly.” He takes a deep breath. “I guess I’m just missing my son.”

“Not your wife?”

“No, Dean. I already told you. It was a marriage of convenience. We both wanted a kid, we’d both lost the love of our lives, we only stayed together to raise our son. It was over by the time he was sixteen.”

“But you kept the ring,” Dean notes, and Sam looks down at his hand, surprised to see his wedding ring there. He hadn’t noticed it yesterday. Did he have it on when he met Dean on the bridge?

“Force o’ habit,” he notes. “It was a daily reminder of my promise to you, really.”

“To me?” Dean asks skeptically. “Seriously?”

“Well, yeah,” Sam concedes. “You told me to keep living, remember? Always keep fighting, you said.” Sam shrugs. “So I did.”

He looks down at his hand again, and this time, the ring is gone. Sam doesn’t need it anymore. His vow to Dean all those years ago, to live a normal life, is fulfilled. His life, with all of its commitments, has finally finished. He kept all his promises.

All but one.

Dean must be able to see the hesitation on his face, the fear that he’s somehow let Dean down, and in a way he has. Sam had promised himself, over and over during those long years without Dean, that when he was finally face to face with his brother again, he would tell him the truth. All of it. No more secrets, or pretending, or hiding his feelings. Finally, he would be honest with Dean, as well as with himself.

But old habits die hard, and now, facing Dean in this idyllic setting after more than forty years of separation, he can’t do it. The mere thought of telling Dean how he feels about him is terrifying.

Not to mention the way Dean’s looking at him, as if he can see how terrified Sam is and he’s completely stumped.

“That’s good, Sammy, that’s good,” Dean says, as if he’s talking to a much younger Sam. As if they’re still kids and Sam’s just had some traumatic incident and needs to be treated with kid gloves.

Dean’s got his hand on Sam’s shoulder and is guiding him to the table.

“Let’s eat, what do you say? Put some meat on those bones. Food always makes you feel better.”

Which isn’t true, but Dean likes to think he’s taking care of Sam, so Sam lets him. He’s missed this, after all. Dean taking care of him isn’t always welcome, but today it is. Today, Sam wants all the big brother caretaking he can get.

Especially if it distracts Dean from whatever it is he thinks he read in Sam’s face.

Sam eats his eggs and dry toast, not touching the bacon, of course. Dean brings him a glass of cold water, refills his coffee cup, and chatters to him about all the things they can do here, now that they don’t have anything dark and scary hanging over their heads.

Except Sam’s secret, of course.

“We’ll drive to the ocean,” Dean says. “Finally get some ‘we’ time on a beach. Sand between our toes! Spend a week in Vegas. Hell, we can drive to Egypt to see the Pyramids if we want! No airplanes in Heaven!”

Sam shakes his head as he finishes his meal, which tasted so good it couldn’t possibly be real.

“I can’t figure out why we even need to eat, let alone sleep,” he mutters speculatively.

“Because it feels good!” Dean chortles. “Everything in Heaven is good for you, right? So I can eat all the bacon cheeseburgers with extra onions I want and never have a heart attack. We can drive anywhere we want, see anything we want to see, and it only takes a couple of hours, or however long we want it to take. Aw, Sammy, we’re gonna love it here.”

Sam’s not so sure, but he doesn’t say so. He really loves to see Dean so happy, even if he won’t admit it. Not to mention, the longer he lets his secret gnaw away at his insides, the more not-happy-here Sam’s going to be.

But that’s nothing compared with the look Dean will give him when Sam finally gets up the nerve to confess his secret in the first place.

Maybe it’s just as well if Sam doesn’t spill his cooped-up feelings right away. After all, they’ve got forever now, right?

He’d spent years rehearsing how it would go, of course. He’s got the entire speech memorized, including the setting. He won’t tell Dean in the car because that’s not fair. Dean needs to be able to leave, which is what Sam fully expects him to do, at least until he’s had time to process Sam’s meaning. They’re soulmates, after all. Dean won’t abandon him forever.

But Sam’s confession will change things. Dean will be wary of him. He won’t trust Sam for a while. He’ll expect Sam to try to jump his bones or do something weird like writing Dean a love poem or giving him flowers.

They won’t ever be just brothers again.

Sam knows all that. He’s had plenty of time to think about it. Hell, he’s rehearsed every possible outcome so many times he’s sure that nothing Dean does will shock him. No reaction will surprise him.

But things will change between them, of that Sam is absolutely certain.

“Or we could just stay here,” Dean says, reading Sam’s silence as a lack of enthusiasm about everything he’s suggesting. “Wait for your son to show up.”

“What?” Sam stares at him.

“Well, you’re missing him, right?” Dean shrugs. “So maybe we wait till he gets here and bring him along.”

“You want to bring my son on a road trip?” Sam stares, still not understanding.

“If it makes you happy, I’m happy,” Dean insists, although Sam can see that it just makes Dean jealous. Sam knows him.

Dean gets up to clear the table, turning away so Sam can’t see his face.

“Time moves differently here,” Dean reminds him as he runs water over their dishes. “It won’t be very long, I’m guessing.”

The idea that they might shortly have company, that someone else could join them before Sam’s had a chance to say what he needs to say, finally pushes Sam into action.

“Dean, we need to talk.”

There, he’s said it. The opening he rehearsed for forty years has now been made. Finally.

Dean turns away from the sink, reaching for a towel to dry his hands, and leans against the counter provocatively.

Okay, not provocatively as in sexy, although everything Dean does is sexy, damn it. That’s the whole problem. That’s always been the problem.

“Okay.”

Dean’s wary. He’s afraid Sam’s going to leave him. He’s afraid Sam’s about to confess that he’s in love with the mother of his child, that he lied to Dean before, that he wants to be with somebody else forever, now that they’re in Heaven.

Sam can read his brother like a book.

“Dean, I love you. You’re my brother.” Sam’s throat closes up. He can’t say it.

“Uh-huh. But?” Dean squints at him, tensing up for the blow to come.

Sam takes a deep breath and focuses on the floor as he forces himself to spew before he has another moment to think.

“But I’m in love with you. Have been all my life, really, although I didn’t have a name for it when we were kids, and then I didn’t want to believe it so I pretended I didn’t feel that way for the rest of your fucking life and then, after you died, I felt like a fucking asshole because I never told you so you never knew how really fucked up I was so that maybe you could have had a better life, if you’d known all along, and I was damned if I was going to keep up that pretense when we were finally together in Heaven because you deserve a chance to live out eternity with somebody else if that’s what you want to do.”

Sam stops to take a breath, wondering why he even needs to breathe, and glances up at Dean for the first time since he started his rambling outburst, which is basically the speech he rehearsed but with fewer pauses.

Dean’s frowning, clearly confused.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Sam huffs out a breath. “Look, I can tell you’re pissed. I would be, too, if you kept something like this from me for my whole life and only sprung it on me now, when it’s too late to do anything about it.”

Sam shakes his head as he considers exactly how pissed he would be, if Dean suddenly sprang this on him.

As if.

“Too late?” Dean repeats, obviously still confused.

“Well, yeah,” Sam says. “We’re dead, in case you hadn’t noticed. Not like we can have sex. We don’t even have bodies.”

“It’s Heaven, Sam. We can do whatever we want. That’s the whole point.”

Dean pushes himself off the counter and opens the fridge, pulling out two beers. He opens one and hands it to Sam, who makes a face.

“Seriously? It’s ten o’clock in the morning,” Sam protests.

“Naw,” Dean nods his head at the window. “Sun’s setting.”

And damned if it isn’t. The sky outside is the most beautiful blend of pinks, oranges, and bluish-purple Sam’s ever seen, and although it doesn’t make sense, the day has clearly already passed.

Sam takes a tentative sip of his beer. Same half-warm crap they usually drink. Or drank, all those years ago on the road at the end of practically every hunt. It makes Sam’s heart hurt.

“So you wanna have sex with me?”

Dean’s words yank Sam back to the present like a car crash. Or a train wreck. Sam’s neck is sore, so he must have whiplash.

“Well, yeah,” Sam sputters. “I used to fantasize about it all the time. But it’s so much more than that.”

“More than sex?”

“Well, yeah.” Sam takes a deep breath. “I’m in love with you, Dean.” Sam’s in for a pound now. No sense in holding back now. “You’re my whole world. You mean more to me than I can begin to explain to you. There’s never been anyone who matters more to me, and there never will be.”

“Little excessive, wouldn’t you say?” Dean’s expression is dubious, like he can’t quite believe what Sam’s telling him. “What about your son?”

Sam frowns. He hadn’t expected that question.

“What about him?” Sam feels defensive. “I mean, I love him, but I’m not in love with him. Not like I feel about you.”

“What the hell does ‘in love’ even mean, Sam? You’re obsessed with me? You have a crush on me? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Sam definitely hadn’t expected Dean to argue with him. Not accept what Sam was telling him, maybe. But argue?

“It’s not just a crush, Dean,” Sam says, trying not to appear as exasperated as he feels. “Maybe a little obsessed, sure. That’s probably true on some level. But it’s more than that.”

“How can it be more than obsession?” Dean demands. “Pretty sure that’s as intense as it gets.”

“No, it’s not,” Sam insists. “Realizing you’re in love with your brother and keeping it secret for almost seventy years is more than mere obsession, Dean.”

“So you want to take me out to dinner?” Dean keeps pushing. He just doesn’t get it. “Flowers and candles and chocolates on Valentine’s Day? Is that what you’re talking about? ‘Cuz I hate to tell you, Sammy, but that’s just not my thing.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Not romantic love, Dean. I’m not in love with you romantically, exactly. All those trappings don’t really measure up to how I feel.”

“Uh-huh.”

Dean finishes his beer and opens a cupboard. He pulls out a glass and a bottle of whiskey, pours himself a double, and takes a healthy sip before turning back to Sam again.

“And how do you feel, exactly?” he asks. “And what the hell does all this mean for us?”

“Well, I don’t know, Dean,” Sam says, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He wishes Dean would offer him some of the whisky, although he’s also pretty sure it won’t help. “I suppose that depends on you.”

“Me?” Dean takes another sip of his whisky. “How do you mean?”

Sam licks his lips. “Well, I mean, does it change things? Between us, I mean?”

“Do you want it to?” Dean snaps.

Sam frowns. He hadn’t expected that question, either. And the truth is, the answer to that question isn’t exactly simple. On the one hand, Sam doesn’t really want it to change things that much. He sure as hell doesn’t want it to scare Dean away, or make Dean stop trusting him or start being freaky and weird around him.

On the other hand, he wants Dean to acknowledge his feelings, to recognize that the love between them isn’t just brotherly, even if Dean doesn’t see it that way. Sam wants to be seen by the person he cares most about in the world.

“Maybe,” he hedges.

“Oh, so you do want sex,” Dean clarifies. He throws back the last of his whisky and pours another double.

Sam watches helplessly. He opens his mouth, closes it again.

“Because all of that other stuff,” Dean goes on as if he hadn’t stopped talking, “we already do all that. We already love each other as much as any two people can love each other. You know that. I’ve told you that. None of this is news to me, Sammy.”

Now Sam’s flabbergasted. “Doesn’t it bother you that I fantasize about you?” he demands. “Aren’t you a little weirded out that I think about you that way?”

“Nope,” Dean insists. “Would be weird if you didn’t. I’m as hot as they come.”

Sam huffs out a disgusted breath. “Yeah? And if I told you my fantasies about you are mostly about sleeping with you? Just sleeping. Being held in your arms, nuzzling your neck, cuddling. Intimacy and comfort. Being as close as physically possible. Kissing. Sometimes I fantasize about patching you up after a hunt. Just touching you like that. Getting patched up by you.”

Sam sits back in his chair, legs splayed to accommodate his swelling cock. He lifts his eyes to Dean, observes his brother’s flushed cheeks and bright eyes, and tries not to cry.

“I missed you so much, man,” Sam says, voice breaking.

“Sammy.”

Dean puts his glass down and moves swiftly. He kneels between Sam’s knees, sliding his hands up Sam’s thighs to his hips, and gazes encouragingly into Sam’s eyes.

“It’s been a long time for you,” he says softly. “I’m sorry about that.”

Darkness has fallen outside. Lights are on inside, but dim. Firelight flickering on Dean’s freckled skin tells Sam that there’s a fire in the fireplace behind him.

Dean leans up, plants a chaste kiss on Sam’s lips.

“You can have anything you need, Sam,” he tells him softly. “We can cuddle till the cows come home.”

Sam blushes. He grins despite himself, and Dean smiles back.

“There he is,” Dean says. “There’s the baby brother I love so much.”

Sam tips his chin down, only to feel Dean’s hands on his cheeks, cradling his face like he’s holding something fragile. Precious.

When Dean’s lips touch his this time, they’re soft and warm, and when Dean moves them against Sam’s, Sam’s lips part of their own accord. They exchange soft kisses for a moment, then Sam shivers as Dean’s tongue touches his, ever so lightly.

“Wanna move this to that big bed in the other room?” Dean pulls away just enough to murmur.

“Yeah,” Sam breathes. It occurs to him that he probably has morning breath. He didn’t brush his teeth this morning, nor last night before he collapsed on the bed.

Then he remembers where he is.

“You don’t have to do this,” Sam whispers as Dean stands up. “Just for me, I mean.”

“Not doing it just for you,” Dean answers as he puts his hand out. “I want you in every way, Sam. I always have. It was downright miserable when I was a kid and you were so young and innocent. I hated myself for it. Figured you left because you could sense what a pervert I was.”

Sam shakes his head vigorously as he takes Dean’s hand and gets to his feet.

“No, Dean. Never. I swear, I never had an inkling.”

Dean shrugs. “Then later? When we were together again? Well, by that time I’d learned how to bury it so deep even I forgot about it sometimes. Couldn’t take a chance of you finding out.”

They enter the bedroom hand in hand and stare at the kingsize bed, which has somehow managed to make itself while they were in the other room. Its clean, inviting pillows and comforter seem to welcome them with the promise of more than just sleep.

“You think Jack - ?” They ask in unison, then cast embarrassed glances at each other.

“Let’s not worry about that right now,” Dean says wisely, and Sam nods.

Dean strips down to his boxers, but Sam keeps his clothes on. They’re soft and comfortable. They brush their teeth side by side in the adjoining bathroom, just because they can, and Sam looks forward to trying out the shower, which looks as clean and inviting as the bed. He wonders if they’ll still be doing this in 100 years, or if they’ll eventually drop all the habits from their time among the living.

Sam’s never felt more alive. When they climb into the big bed and Dean reaches for him, Sam snuggles into his big brother’s arms and places a solid kiss in the middle of his broad, warm chest.

“Remember when we used to do this as kids?” Sam asks as they tangle their legs together under the comforter.

Sam lays his head on Dean’s chest, on the spot he just kissed, and he feels Dean’s lips in his hair as he kisses the top of his head.

“Well, not the kissing part,” Sam adds. “But sleeping together, like this, yeah.”

Dean’s chest rumbles as he chuckles. “You remember the way you used to wrap yourself around me in your sleep? I’d wake up so hot and sweaty with you a dead weight on my chest, just like this.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “I don’t know why we ever stopped sleeping like that.”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Well, I do. Dad wouldn’t let us. He could see what we didn’t even notice. We were too close. Of course, we didn’t know about the soulmate thing then, or all the angel manipulation stuff. Being all over each other, all the time, just felt normal.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees with a sigh. “All those wasted years.”

“We were a little busy,” Dean reminds him. His hand rests on the back of Sam’s neck and his fingers run idly through his hair, stroking gently.

“Got all the time in the world, now,” Sam murmurs, turning his face so he can plant another kiss on Dean’s bare skin.

All the time in the world. It has a nice ring to it.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “Yeah, Sammy. Yeah.”

fin