Coming Home ; Ficlet.
Title : Coming Home.
Rating : R
Pairing : Sam/Dean
Summary : When running away from it all doesn't work, sometimes you just need to come home.
Notes : Thank you to pbfate for being wonderful and betaing this!
Hell had burned in ways and places Dean didn't know even existed. Scars burned into his bones and he groaned in pain as he lifted himself from the old bed in the bland motel room. Despite lying in bed for hours there were dark lines painted beneath his green eyes. His eyelids drooped and he fought to keep them open, begging internally. Please, no more.
Dean wasn't in hell anymore, wasn't being burned and ripped and bruised. It was too, late, though. Too late to ever get away from hell completely. It'd grown into him like a sick and twisted home and he could still remember torturing and being tortured. Every time he blinked or thought it would come back and it was suddenly like he was there, in his own personal hell.
Sam was still sleeping and for that Dean was grateful. The sun had barely come up when Dean left the motel. He went for a drive and lost track of where he was driving or how long he'd been on the road. By the time he stopped the sun was in the middle of the bright blue sky and the lines under his eyes had thickened with vengeance.
No matter where he drove or how hard he tried the memories never left him. To the edge of the world and back they were still there. Slow and quietly Dean drove home, to Sam in the motel they'd leave soon. A new job would come and hell would follow him to the new town in the new fucking state.
Sam was waiting for him, half asleep and head tilted as he dozed. A smile rose across Dean's lips and he couldn't help but admire how completely innocent Sam looked. "Sammy," Dean didn't want to wake him but he knew if he didn't Sam would be upset in the morning.
"Are you okay?" It was less of a question and not at all an answer, it wasn't right or wrong, it simply was.
"No," His voice cracked with his strong demeanor and Sam stood and wrapped his strong arms around Dean.
"Shh, it's okay. Shh." They moved to sit on the bed and Sam rocked him as he sobbed, just holding and loving and piecing back together the pieces that had fallen apart.
Dean's head was buried so deep in Sam's shoulder. He didn't want Sam to see him or know what he looked like broken and scattered, but Sam's hands pulled his face back. His brother looked at him, warm eyes reaching into his soul. Their lips met and they kissed, slow and sure. There was no shame or anger, just love.
They stripped each other and hands met and crawled and explored. Dean was still crying, tears falling delicately across his cheek and onto the pillow. Every time he fell apart Sam would put him back together and then something would happen to make it all fucked up yet again. Dean had grown tired of being weak and more than anything Sam made him strong.
Sam pressed in, slow and the silence in the room was broken with an array of moans and cries. It was words like "Dean" and "Sam" and "Please" and "fuck more". And then it was done and he was okay, he would always be okay. Sam held him that night, tight and warm, and for just that night there was no Hell.
Rating : R
Pairing : Sam/Dean
Summary : When running away from it all doesn't work, sometimes you just need to come home.
Notes : Thank you to pbfate for being wonderful and betaing this!
Hell had burned in ways and places Dean didn't know even existed. Scars burned into his bones and he groaned in pain as he lifted himself from the old bed in the bland motel room. Despite lying in bed for hours there were dark lines painted beneath his green eyes. His eyelids drooped and he fought to keep them open, begging internally. Please, no more.
Dean wasn't in hell anymore, wasn't being burned and ripped and bruised. It was too, late, though. Too late to ever get away from hell completely. It'd grown into him like a sick and twisted home and he could still remember torturing and being tortured. Every time he blinked or thought it would come back and it was suddenly like he was there, in his own personal hell.
Sam was still sleeping and for that Dean was grateful. The sun had barely come up when Dean left the motel. He went for a drive and lost track of where he was driving or how long he'd been on the road. By the time he stopped the sun was in the middle of the bright blue sky and the lines under his eyes had thickened with vengeance.
No matter where he drove or how hard he tried the memories never left him. To the edge of the world and back they were still there. Slow and quietly Dean drove home, to Sam in the motel they'd leave soon. A new job would come and hell would follow him to the new town in the new fucking state.
Sam was waiting for him, half asleep and head tilted as he dozed. A smile rose across Dean's lips and he couldn't help but admire how completely innocent Sam looked. "Sammy," Dean didn't want to wake him but he knew if he didn't Sam would be upset in the morning.
"Are you okay?" It was less of a question and not at all an answer, it wasn't right or wrong, it simply was.
"No," His voice cracked with his strong demeanor and Sam stood and wrapped his strong arms around Dean.
"Shh, it's okay. Shh." They moved to sit on the bed and Sam rocked him as he sobbed, just holding and loving and piecing back together the pieces that had fallen apart.
Dean's head was buried so deep in Sam's shoulder. He didn't want Sam to see him or know what he looked like broken and scattered, but Sam's hands pulled his face back. His brother looked at him, warm eyes reaching into his soul. Their lips met and they kissed, slow and sure. There was no shame or anger, just love.
They stripped each other and hands met and crawled and explored. Dean was still crying, tears falling delicately across his cheek and onto the pillow. Every time he fell apart Sam would put him back together and then something would happen to make it all fucked up yet again. Dean had grown tired of being weak and more than anything Sam made him strong.
Sam pressed in, slow and the silence in the room was broken with an array of moans and cries. It was words like "Dean" and "Sam" and "Please" and "fuck more". And then it was done and he was okay, he would always be okay. Sam held him that night, tight and warm, and for just that night there was no Hell.