spn fic: sequel to "between supposed lovers," (adult, sam/dean)
fic: "heroes in the morning"
author: fannishliss
words ~ 3500
rating: adult
spoilers: through 5.10
notes: this takes place after " between supposed lovers" which took place after 5.9. It will make much more sense if you have read the prequel. Thanks so much to all those who commented and those who asked for a sequel. I hope you like it!
Summary:
In the morning, as promised, Sam and Dean got out of bed and proceeded to go be heroes. In their experience, being heroes royally sucked. This time was no exception.
In the morning, as promised, Sam and Dean got out of bed and proceeded to go be heroes. In their experience, being heroes royally sucked. This time was no exception.
They met up with the Harvelles at Bobby's house. Sam wasn’t completely sure how he felt at seeing Dean make a play for Jo, so soon after Dean had confessed to Sam that his feelings were not entirely brotherly. It felt good to sit clinking beers like comrades at war, snarking at each other over past mistakes, but if Dean had a shot at being happy, Sam would turn a nonchalant eye as Dean shoved back from the table and sidled up to Jo. He held his breath and felt something strange curl around in his gut as Jo leaned nearer, up on her toes, opening her lips seductively near Dean’s. Just as it looked like Dean would seal the deal, Jo triumphantly pulled back and sauntered away. Sam smirked to himself as Dean tried to cover his strikeout, but then he felt bad about it. A little.
Sam had felt weird around Jo ever since the possession. He remembered Meg's unholy laughter in his head; the demon had reveled in his size and physical strength, easily overpowering the petite woman despite her training as a Hunter. Jo had picked herself up that day, pulled Dean out of the water, pulled a bullet out of his shoulder and stitched him up. She had saved Dean again, shooting up the Hellhounds invisibly closing in all around them - and a third time, when she and Ellen had blown all the Hellhounds to kingdom come with rocksalt and spikes of cold iron.
Sam hung back as Dean knelt down and paid Jo his last respects, kissing her on the forehead with the best blessing he knew how to give. Tears sprang to Sam’s eyes as he watched Dean lose someone he held close to his heart. Sam had to look away when Dean tenderly kissed Jo’s mouth, soothing her tears and paying homage to something that would never come to pass between them now. To Sam, Dean’s kisses spoke volumes about his love and respect for Jo, how she meant so much more to him than a lame attempt at a one-night stand.
Sam and Dean had no time to mourn the two women - they had to fight first and mourn later. So it was, later, back at Bobby’s, that Sam watched Bobby burn the group photo, a Hunter’s pyre for the Harvelles. Sam would have preferred to keep the picture.
Now, Lucifer, War, and Death were all on the loose, but Sam and Dean were no closer to figuring out a plan of attack. Castiel had single-mindedly returned to his hunt for God, while Bobby had grimly gone back to his books and set the brothers packing for a haunting he had a lead on in Arkansas-- a long drive from South Dakota. Dean had plenty of time to put his most morose cassette tapes on repeat-he refused to throw them away just because Sam had upgraded to digital. So Sam had to hear Kansas repeatedly advise them to play the game tonight, and AC/DC taking no prisoners and telling them no lies, and Led Zeppelin carrying news that must get through, despite asking no quarter.
Finally Sam asked if he could put on the iPod, and Dean relented, but then when they switched drivers after lunch, Dean hunted up an Alice in Chains playlist that Sam didn’t even realize was on there, and Layne Staley started singing about Vietnam, Sam had had it with letting Dean process in silence.
“Dude, can you just put on some Foreigner, or Best of the Allmans, or something?”
“Whaddaya mean, Sammy? You’re always riding me to get some new tunes, so I did.”
“Dean, that song is from fifteen years ago.”
“Yeah, but the new stuff all sucks. These guys at least rock.”
Sam bit his tongue, but when “Down in a Hole” came on, Sam clicked it off.
Dean started to protest, but Sam said “shotgun better shut his freaking cakehole, all right?” and his brother subsided.
They drove on, the Impala purring at 78 mph.
“So,” Sam said.
“So?” Dean answered.
“Think we can find this demon Crowley again?”
“Fat chance. If he’s buried so deep Lucifer won’t find him, what chance do we have,” Dean responded wearily.
“Gabriel then.”
“Fuck that shit. Freakin bastard. Too goddamned powerful and psycho to top it off.”
“Psycho?” Sam prompted.
“Yeah? Not to mention sadistic, torturing people for the pure enjoyment of it? Makes that dick Zack look like a peevish assistant principal.”
“I guess so... Castiel say anything to you about his heart to heart with Lucifer?”
“A little. Said Lucifer tried to get Cas to join him... same old song.”
“But at least Cas got away, and saved our asses.”
“Once again. Good old Cas.”
“At least he’s on our side now... right?”
“Yeah, but, you know, he was the one who let you out of the panic room. He told me while you were off in rehab.”
“I figured.”
“I just about ripped him a new one - but then he gave me that sad, guilty look... so I kind of forgave him.”
Sam knew that Dean was particularly susceptible to that sort of look.
“Who knows, Dean. If it hadn’t been him, Zack probably would’ve done it himself.”
“Yeah.”
Sam let it ride for a while, but then he went on. “I was so out of my mind by that point, I don’t even know what was real and what was just dementia.”
“Like what,” Dean said, voice flat.
“Like, all kinds of visions.... Mom, me as a kid, and was that you or the Dean in my head.”
“When.”
“In the panic room, telling me I was a monster. Just like on the phone.”
Dean seemed to bristle, but tried to keep it calm. “First of all, I never went into the panic room while you were awake--too god damned dangerous. Second of all, I never called you a monster on the phone.”
“Yeah you did. On the voicemail. I listened to it right before, uh, it all, before Lucifer.”
“The voicemail? I wasn’t sure you ever got it.”
Even now, Sam couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Yeah, I got it all right. How I was a monster and a vampire and you were gonna hunt me down and kill me. So, I figured, I would probably die trying to take out Lilith, but at least that was better than with my blood on your hands.”
Dean squinted over at him. “I said what now?”
“Uh, on the voicemail? You said I was a bloodsucking freak and you were gonna kill me?” This certainly wasn’t Sam’s favorite topic, but at least they could get it out in the open, now that they were mending fences.
“What? No way, man. I never said any of that.”
“But, but. It’s still on my voicemail. I never even deleted it.”
They got out the phone and put it on speaker. Dean pulled up the message, as Sam continued to drive, dreading to hear the hatred and disgust in Dean’s voice again. What he actually heard was Dean’s halting voice, sad and resigned, apologizing before the beep cut him off.
Dean was silent for a second. “Now how’d you get bloodsucking freak out of that message, freak?”
Sam was speechless. “It was a totally different message Dean. I ... I don’t even know. I must still have been hallucinating, but that doesn’t....”
Dean thought for a second, then slapped his hand down on his thigh.
“Angels! Those bastards... they let me get a call out and then they scrambled it on you--must've gone back to the real thing when we lost 'em. I don’t even think Cas knew about this.”
“Are, are you gonna ask him?”
”Maybe. Yes.”
“Dean, it’s over and done with. I don’t want to come between you, and your, uh, buddy.”
Dean got kind of a lop-sided smile on his face. “Cas has got a lot to learn, and it was a pretty long shot that he'd go up against Heaven, but he finally figured out right from wrong.” Dean looked over at Sam. “Too bad before he got wise, he did so much to screw you over.”
“But, maybe I still would’ve.... I mean, Ruby, the blood...”
“Dude. There was just so much I could take in Hell before I broke, and I guess while you were up here trying to figure out what to do, Ruby took advantage. I mean, I’ve been thinking about how she moved in on you while I was dead, and I can’t see what I would’ve done differently in your shoes.”
Sam swallowed, a lump in his throat. “That means a lot, Dean. You don’t even.”
Dean punched him in the shoulder. “Bitch,” he said softly.
“Jerk,” Sam replied. He turned the Alice in Chains back on and they drove for a few more hours. Dean finally relented and put on the Stevie Ray Vaughan, easy to agree on.
They stopped for supper at a Sizzler, which was now a running joke, and the steaks were pretty good.
They found a little motel off the beaten path around nine. Credit card scams were pretty low on Sam’s shitlist after the Apocalypse, so he didn’t think much about the modest expenses he and Dean racked up, saving the world on the credit card companies’ dime.
Sam abruptly came out of his reverie when the clerk asked the standard question of “king or two queens” and Dean cleared his throat, looked down at the counter and said, “King.”
Sam felt himself blush, and Dean’s ears were burning. The clerk scowled but just handed over the slip for Dean to sign, “D. Hasselhoff,” as usual, even though the card read “Mitchell Hostetler.”
Sam followed his brother into the room, with the heavy duffel on his shoulder and his stomach churning. What was Dean thinking. What did he expect from Sam. How fast should he move? Would they just watch TV and surf the net, maybe do a little research on the impending case, or would Dean want...
Sam shut himself down. His heart was racing. He would just follow Dean’s lead. Nothing more, nothing less.
Dean threw down his stuff. The routine was weird when there was just one bed, but it wasn’t like they’d never had to double up before. Plenty of times, when motels were booked up, they’d bicker and Dean would tell Sam to stop kicking off all the god damn covers, and Sam would warn Dean to keep his freaking icy feet to himself.
So Sam sat himself down at the little table and booted up his laptop, as usual, and tried to breathe deep.
Dean had bought a sixpack when they gassed up earlier in the day, and he brought it in from the cooler in the trunk and passed one to Sam, taking one for himself, and stowing the rest in the mini-fridge.
Dean sat and flipped through the channels, but Sam, fruitlessly trying to surf with intent, could tell his heart wasn’t in it.
“So,” Dean finally said, as some sitcom laughed obnoxiously in the background.
“Yeah,” Sam sighed.
“D’you ever make it with a guy?”
Sam had wisely put down his beer, but he choked a bit anyway. Coughing, he nodded.
“Was that a yes, or are you choking to death. Can you breathe?” Dean muttered, standing to give Sam two sharp whacks between the shoulder blades.
“Yes. Uh,” Sam hacked a couple more times, “it was a yes.”
“Huh,” Dean replied. “Stanford pretty wild then?”
“Yeah, but no. I mean, yeah, but... “
“Spill, Sammy,” Dean grinned, but his eyes were flat.
"What? Why me spill?"
"Well, Sammy, cause you're the one with all the experience in these matters." Dean behind his bottle as he took a swig.
"Way to put me on the spot, Dean! How bout you -- and guys -- did you ever?" Sammy found himself blushing fiercely, much to his chagrin.
Dean looked away and wrinkled his nose, then turned back to Sam, lowering his eyelids and opening them again cooly. "I been around, Sammy. I don't make it a habit, but, hey..." Dean's smarmy grin was pasted on, and when he drank again, Sam knew he wasn't as calm as he wanted to appear.
Sam finished his beer and got another to nurse. He went to settle back at the table, but Dean lifted an eyebrow at him, so Sam let out a breath and took his place leaning against the headboard to the left of Dean.
"Not Stanford, then?"
"Well, uh... I guess I kind of flew under your radar."
"Gaydar, you mean," Dean chuckled. "Let me guess. Indiana, Chris Thompson?"
"No." Sam felt himself making a face. Chris had been on the debate team with him, fairly flamboyant for a midwestern high school kid, but Sam and he had been more rivals than friends.
"Mmm... that dude, uh, Tom Hardecke, where was that, Pittsburgh?"
"Dean, holy crap. How are you remembering these names? I haven't thought of him in years!" Tom had looked a bit like Dean, which had drawn Sam, but he was a little too volatile even for Sam's taste.
Dean rolled his beer bottle between his hands. "I paid more attention than you realized, Sammy. I bet I can name every girl you ever took out in the Impala--"
"--but what about their brothers?" Sam teased.
Dean's eyes flew open. "No way!"
Sam waggled his eyebrows. "You get one more guess."
"Or what, I turn into Rumpelstiltskin? Danny Martinelli, Sioux City."
"Holy shit!"
"Oh, yeah! I always knew there was something up with that kid. Study partners my ass!" Dean crowed and made his little fistpump of victory, but then when he looked over at Sam, there was something softer in his face that it took Sam a second to recognize. It was something like pride, something like longing. It calmed Sam down to see Dean look at him like that -- like their shared history almost made this freaky new thing more natural.
"Yup. Danny Martinelli. He was awesome. Maybe a little pushy...."
"oh, really?--" Dean, ever the big brother, growled.
"--but it was always in fun. We messed around. Truth or dare. Course, he didn't know that I was practically a professional liar -- but I could take a dare. And well, you know, it's never easy to be in high school, but for gay kids... it's even worse. He ... saw something in me, and called me out on it."
"Gaydar, huh?"
"You wanna put it that way. I've always been kind of all over the map. I guess, you know, I've mostly gone for girls, but every so often, if the guy is right...."
"Uh, huh." Dean found his beer bottle intensely interesting for a minute. "D'you go all the way?"
"With Danny? Nah. Handjobs -- then he, uh, like I say, he liked to dare -- so he dared me that he could give me a blowjob so good I'd want to give him one in return." Sam paused to remember, looking back at high school, remembering those days, when Danny had been barely seventeen, and Sam had been a little older because of his crazy transcript issues. Those stolen moments with Danny were etched as deep in his memory as the runes on his ribs.
Dean cleared his throat. "I'm, uh, I'm glad for you, Sammy. I'm glad it was cool for you."
Something in his tone gave Sam pause for concern. "It was, Dean, it was cool. But, what about you?"
Dean finished his beer, got up and got another, loosening his shoulders a little as he walked. He popped the cap with his ring and took a swallow, gathering his courage.
"You know me, Sammy. I'll do anything once, twice if I like it... " Dean frowned.
Sam hesitated, then said, "Guess you didn't like it."
"No. Not so much. I thought it'd be easier if I was good and drunk, but I just, kind of lost track of myself... I didn't want to, you know, lead someone on, but shit. It hurt like a ... I didn't like it."
"But Dean, why, why'd you..."
"Tall, skinny, floppy hair, big smile..."
"Shit, Dean."
"Yeah. Like I really needed demons to open my eyes. After that I had 'em shut pretty tight."
"Man, I thought you were gonna tell me about some crazy threesomes or some shit."
"No such luck." Dean shook his head.
Sam coughed. "Threesomes aren't that great anyway. All the performance anxiety, times two."
"Sam! You dog! I thought you said Stanford wasn't wild!"
"It wasn't! More, like, tolerant. Where you could just -- try shit. Find out who you were."
Sam wasn't sure Dean would understand, but he was pleasantly surprised.
"Dude. You think I didn't want you to go. And I didn't. But at least, I knew you were going someplace awesome."
"It was hard. I missed you," Sam confessed.
"That really showed," Dean scoffed.
Sam rolled his eyes. Too much sharing at one time was hazardous for Dean's health. Sam led the charge for toothbrushes, and he and Dean got
ready for bed with a minimum of weirdness.
Dean put his knife under the pillow; they left the bathroom light on, turned off the overhead and lay down.
Sam could hear Dean breathing. No one was falling asleep in this bed.
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry."
"Dude, you're gonna have to be more specific," Dean ribbed.
"Thanks, Dean, really. No, I just mean, I'm sorry I was gone, and you let someone hurt you. If it was me, I'd never... I'd make it good, Dean. I swear."
The silence got heavier, hotter. Sam sweated a little on his side of the bed.
Then Dean said, very softly, "Touch me, okay? I want it to be real this time."
Sam didn't want to remind Dean of his visions of Sam in Hell. "Dean, if you need me to stop..."
"God damn it, Sam! I need you to start!"
Sam scooted over and found the hem of Dean's t shirt, slipped his hand under. Dean's skin was warm, and so smooth. The scars of his life before Hell had all been erased. Even the left shoulder was smooth and perfect, though Dean had been shot twice there and stabbed with a red-hot poker. Castiel had taken all that history away. Sam knew Dean had mixed feelings about his scars, seeing each one as a battle mark, but also as signs of failure -- so Sam was just as glad to see them gone. Now Dean had just the tattoo and Castiel's handprint, still raised slightly, but not so angry red.
Sam soothed Dean's skin with heavy, even strokes. He felt Dean's tension fade, even though it wasn't a real massage, one handed, from an angle. But then Sam sat up and pushed Dean lightly back. Dean's eyes shot open, his muscles tensing up again.
"No, man. No pressure. Sh," Sam said quietly.
Straddling Dean, Sam put his hands around Dean's head, lifted, and pushed away. The gentle traction eased Dean's neck as Sam rotated gently from left to right.
Sam kneaded Dean's neck some more, and Dean groaned in pleasure. As his eyes fell closed, Sam soothed Dean's face, gently massaging every muscle, and then moved down to the shoulders and arms. Sam took pleasure in easing relaxation into every finger of Dean's hardworking hands.
Finally Sam lay back down, and Dean said, "Dude, I'm really not a chick. I'm not putting out for a measly backrub."
Sam laughed, pressing a kiss down on Dean's mouth, all of a sudden, before he could chicken out.
Dean looked wary, like at any moment this would all explode in their faces.
But it didn't. Sam kept kissing, till Dean closed his eyes and relaxed underneath him.
"I love you, Dean. I wasn't expecting this, but ... without you I don't even make sense."
"Oh, god, Sammy," Dean said, breathless. He was a little farther gone from the kissing than Sam thought. Well, okay then.
Sam reached down and stroked Dean's sides as they kissed. Dean arched into him, so he went for the waistline. At Dean's groan, Sam decided Dean was on board and he slipped his hand slowly into Dean's boxers. Dean was hard and ready for him. He jumped and moaned as Sam touched him. Sam pulled out his hand and licked it and put it back, the slickness a million times better. He whispered in Dean's ear as he stroked: "I'm here, Dean. Come on. You can let go, it's really me."
"Sammy," Dean moaned. "Is it, is it okay?"
"It's okay, Dean -- it's perfect. Me and you, Dean," Sam said, and with that Dean felt apart. Sam held him while he shook, and then he rolled over on top of Sam and kissed him, hard. It was so surreal, Sam thought, having his brother's come in his hand, his brother's tongue in his mouth. Then Dean slithered down and put his mouth on Sam, and Sam immediately lost it, giving about three thrusts before he came.
Dean coughed and spat.
"God, Dean, I'm sorry! Warn a guy, okay?"
Dean grinned, and Sam grinned back, brothers, lovers, together in the night.
go to next part!
~*o*~
author: fannishliss
words ~ 3500
rating: adult
spoilers: through 5.10
notes: this takes place after " between supposed lovers" which took place after 5.9. It will make much more sense if you have read the prequel. Thanks so much to all those who commented and those who asked for a sequel. I hope you like it!
Summary:
In the morning, as promised, Sam and Dean got out of bed and proceeded to go be heroes. In their experience, being heroes royally sucked. This time was no exception.
In the morning, as promised, Sam and Dean got out of bed and proceeded to go be heroes. In their experience, being heroes royally sucked. This time was no exception.
They met up with the Harvelles at Bobby's house. Sam wasn’t completely sure how he felt at seeing Dean make a play for Jo, so soon after Dean had confessed to Sam that his feelings were not entirely brotherly. It felt good to sit clinking beers like comrades at war, snarking at each other over past mistakes, but if Dean had a shot at being happy, Sam would turn a nonchalant eye as Dean shoved back from the table and sidled up to Jo. He held his breath and felt something strange curl around in his gut as Jo leaned nearer, up on her toes, opening her lips seductively near Dean’s. Just as it looked like Dean would seal the deal, Jo triumphantly pulled back and sauntered away. Sam smirked to himself as Dean tried to cover his strikeout, but then he felt bad about it. A little.
Sam had felt weird around Jo ever since the possession. He remembered Meg's unholy laughter in his head; the demon had reveled in his size and physical strength, easily overpowering the petite woman despite her training as a Hunter. Jo had picked herself up that day, pulled Dean out of the water, pulled a bullet out of his shoulder and stitched him up. She had saved Dean again, shooting up the Hellhounds invisibly closing in all around them - and a third time, when she and Ellen had blown all the Hellhounds to kingdom come with rocksalt and spikes of cold iron.
Sam hung back as Dean knelt down and paid Jo his last respects, kissing her on the forehead with the best blessing he knew how to give. Tears sprang to Sam’s eyes as he watched Dean lose someone he held close to his heart. Sam had to look away when Dean tenderly kissed Jo’s mouth, soothing her tears and paying homage to something that would never come to pass between them now. To Sam, Dean’s kisses spoke volumes about his love and respect for Jo, how she meant so much more to him than a lame attempt at a one-night stand.
Sam and Dean had no time to mourn the two women - they had to fight first and mourn later. So it was, later, back at Bobby’s, that Sam watched Bobby burn the group photo, a Hunter’s pyre for the Harvelles. Sam would have preferred to keep the picture.
Now, Lucifer, War, and Death were all on the loose, but Sam and Dean were no closer to figuring out a plan of attack. Castiel had single-mindedly returned to his hunt for God, while Bobby had grimly gone back to his books and set the brothers packing for a haunting he had a lead on in Arkansas-- a long drive from South Dakota. Dean had plenty of time to put his most morose cassette tapes on repeat-he refused to throw them away just because Sam had upgraded to digital. So Sam had to hear Kansas repeatedly advise them to play the game tonight, and AC/DC taking no prisoners and telling them no lies, and Led Zeppelin carrying news that must get through, despite asking no quarter.
Finally Sam asked if he could put on the iPod, and Dean relented, but then when they switched drivers after lunch, Dean hunted up an Alice in Chains playlist that Sam didn’t even realize was on there, and Layne Staley started singing about Vietnam, Sam had had it with letting Dean process in silence.
“Dude, can you just put on some Foreigner, or Best of the Allmans, or something?”
“Whaddaya mean, Sammy? You’re always riding me to get some new tunes, so I did.”
“Dean, that song is from fifteen years ago.”
“Yeah, but the new stuff all sucks. These guys at least rock.”
Sam bit his tongue, but when “Down in a Hole” came on, Sam clicked it off.
Dean started to protest, but Sam said “shotgun better shut his freaking cakehole, all right?” and his brother subsided.
They drove on, the Impala purring at 78 mph.
“So,” Sam said.
“So?” Dean answered.
“Think we can find this demon Crowley again?”
“Fat chance. If he’s buried so deep Lucifer won’t find him, what chance do we have,” Dean responded wearily.
“Gabriel then.”
“Fuck that shit. Freakin bastard. Too goddamned powerful and psycho to top it off.”
“Psycho?” Sam prompted.
“Yeah? Not to mention sadistic, torturing people for the pure enjoyment of it? Makes that dick Zack look like a peevish assistant principal.”
“I guess so... Castiel say anything to you about his heart to heart with Lucifer?”
“A little. Said Lucifer tried to get Cas to join him... same old song.”
“But at least Cas got away, and saved our asses.”
“Once again. Good old Cas.”
“At least he’s on our side now... right?”
“Yeah, but, you know, he was the one who let you out of the panic room. He told me while you were off in rehab.”
“I figured.”
“I just about ripped him a new one - but then he gave me that sad, guilty look... so I kind of forgave him.”
Sam knew that Dean was particularly susceptible to that sort of look.
“Who knows, Dean. If it hadn’t been him, Zack probably would’ve done it himself.”
“Yeah.”
Sam let it ride for a while, but then he went on. “I was so out of my mind by that point, I don’t even know what was real and what was just dementia.”
“Like what,” Dean said, voice flat.
“Like, all kinds of visions.... Mom, me as a kid, and was that you or the Dean in my head.”
“When.”
“In the panic room, telling me I was a monster. Just like on the phone.”
Dean seemed to bristle, but tried to keep it calm. “First of all, I never went into the panic room while you were awake--too god damned dangerous. Second of all, I never called you a monster on the phone.”
“Yeah you did. On the voicemail. I listened to it right before, uh, it all, before Lucifer.”
“The voicemail? I wasn’t sure you ever got it.”
Even now, Sam couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Yeah, I got it all right. How I was a monster and a vampire and you were gonna hunt me down and kill me. So, I figured, I would probably die trying to take out Lilith, but at least that was better than with my blood on your hands.”
Dean squinted over at him. “I said what now?”
“Uh, on the voicemail? You said I was a bloodsucking freak and you were gonna kill me?” This certainly wasn’t Sam’s favorite topic, but at least they could get it out in the open, now that they were mending fences.
“What? No way, man. I never said any of that.”
“But, but. It’s still on my voicemail. I never even deleted it.”
They got out the phone and put it on speaker. Dean pulled up the message, as Sam continued to drive, dreading to hear the hatred and disgust in Dean’s voice again. What he actually heard was Dean’s halting voice, sad and resigned, apologizing before the beep cut him off.
Dean was silent for a second. “Now how’d you get bloodsucking freak out of that message, freak?”
Sam was speechless. “It was a totally different message Dean. I ... I don’t even know. I must still have been hallucinating, but that doesn’t....”
Dean thought for a second, then slapped his hand down on his thigh.
“Angels! Those bastards... they let me get a call out and then they scrambled it on you--must've gone back to the real thing when we lost 'em. I don’t even think Cas knew about this.”
“Are, are you gonna ask him?”
”Maybe. Yes.”
“Dean, it’s over and done with. I don’t want to come between you, and your, uh, buddy.”
Dean got kind of a lop-sided smile on his face. “Cas has got a lot to learn, and it was a pretty long shot that he'd go up against Heaven, but he finally figured out right from wrong.” Dean looked over at Sam. “Too bad before he got wise, he did so much to screw you over.”
“But, maybe I still would’ve.... I mean, Ruby, the blood...”
“Dude. There was just so much I could take in Hell before I broke, and I guess while you were up here trying to figure out what to do, Ruby took advantage. I mean, I’ve been thinking about how she moved in on you while I was dead, and I can’t see what I would’ve done differently in your shoes.”
Sam swallowed, a lump in his throat. “That means a lot, Dean. You don’t even.”
Dean punched him in the shoulder. “Bitch,” he said softly.
“Jerk,” Sam replied. He turned the Alice in Chains back on and they drove for a few more hours. Dean finally relented and put on the Stevie Ray Vaughan, easy to agree on.
They stopped for supper at a Sizzler, which was now a running joke, and the steaks were pretty good.
They found a little motel off the beaten path around nine. Credit card scams were pretty low on Sam’s shitlist after the Apocalypse, so he didn’t think much about the modest expenses he and Dean racked up, saving the world on the credit card companies’ dime.
Sam abruptly came out of his reverie when the clerk asked the standard question of “king or two queens” and Dean cleared his throat, looked down at the counter and said, “King.”
Sam felt himself blush, and Dean’s ears were burning. The clerk scowled but just handed over the slip for Dean to sign, “D. Hasselhoff,” as usual, even though the card read “Mitchell Hostetler.”
Sam followed his brother into the room, with the heavy duffel on his shoulder and his stomach churning. What was Dean thinking. What did he expect from Sam. How fast should he move? Would they just watch TV and surf the net, maybe do a little research on the impending case, or would Dean want...
Sam shut himself down. His heart was racing. He would just follow Dean’s lead. Nothing more, nothing less.
Dean threw down his stuff. The routine was weird when there was just one bed, but it wasn’t like they’d never had to double up before. Plenty of times, when motels were booked up, they’d bicker and Dean would tell Sam to stop kicking off all the god damn covers, and Sam would warn Dean to keep his freaking icy feet to himself.
So Sam sat himself down at the little table and booted up his laptop, as usual, and tried to breathe deep.
Dean had bought a sixpack when they gassed up earlier in the day, and he brought it in from the cooler in the trunk and passed one to Sam, taking one for himself, and stowing the rest in the mini-fridge.
Dean sat and flipped through the channels, but Sam, fruitlessly trying to surf with intent, could tell his heart wasn’t in it.
“So,” Dean finally said, as some sitcom laughed obnoxiously in the background.
“Yeah,” Sam sighed.
“D’you ever make it with a guy?”
Sam had wisely put down his beer, but he choked a bit anyway. Coughing, he nodded.
“Was that a yes, or are you choking to death. Can you breathe?” Dean muttered, standing to give Sam two sharp whacks between the shoulder blades.
“Yes. Uh,” Sam hacked a couple more times, “it was a yes.”
“Huh,” Dean replied. “Stanford pretty wild then?”
“Yeah, but no. I mean, yeah, but... “
“Spill, Sammy,” Dean grinned, but his eyes were flat.
"What? Why me spill?"
"Well, Sammy, cause you're the one with all the experience in these matters." Dean behind his bottle as he took a swig.
"Way to put me on the spot, Dean! How bout you -- and guys -- did you ever?" Sammy found himself blushing fiercely, much to his chagrin.
Dean looked away and wrinkled his nose, then turned back to Sam, lowering his eyelids and opening them again cooly. "I been around, Sammy. I don't make it a habit, but, hey..." Dean's smarmy grin was pasted on, and when he drank again, Sam knew he wasn't as calm as he wanted to appear.
Sam finished his beer and got another to nurse. He went to settle back at the table, but Dean lifted an eyebrow at him, so Sam let out a breath and took his place leaning against the headboard to the left of Dean.
"Not Stanford, then?"
"Well, uh... I guess I kind of flew under your radar."
"Gaydar, you mean," Dean chuckled. "Let me guess. Indiana, Chris Thompson?"
"No." Sam felt himself making a face. Chris had been on the debate team with him, fairly flamboyant for a midwestern high school kid, but Sam and he had been more rivals than friends.
"Mmm... that dude, uh, Tom Hardecke, where was that, Pittsburgh?"
"Dean, holy crap. How are you remembering these names? I haven't thought of him in years!" Tom had looked a bit like Dean, which had drawn Sam, but he was a little too volatile even for Sam's taste.
Dean rolled his beer bottle between his hands. "I paid more attention than you realized, Sammy. I bet I can name every girl you ever took out in the Impala--"
"--but what about their brothers?" Sam teased.
Dean's eyes flew open. "No way!"
Sam waggled his eyebrows. "You get one more guess."
"Or what, I turn into Rumpelstiltskin? Danny Martinelli, Sioux City."
"Holy shit!"
"Oh, yeah! I always knew there was something up with that kid. Study partners my ass!" Dean crowed and made his little fistpump of victory, but then when he looked over at Sam, there was something softer in his face that it took Sam a second to recognize. It was something like pride, something like longing. It calmed Sam down to see Dean look at him like that -- like their shared history almost made this freaky new thing more natural.
"Yup. Danny Martinelli. He was awesome. Maybe a little pushy...."
"oh, really?--" Dean, ever the big brother, growled.
"--but it was always in fun. We messed around. Truth or dare. Course, he didn't know that I was practically a professional liar -- but I could take a dare. And well, you know, it's never easy to be in high school, but for gay kids... it's even worse. He ... saw something in me, and called me out on it."
"Gaydar, huh?"
"You wanna put it that way. I've always been kind of all over the map. I guess, you know, I've mostly gone for girls, but every so often, if the guy is right...."
"Uh, huh." Dean found his beer bottle intensely interesting for a minute. "D'you go all the way?"
"With Danny? Nah. Handjobs -- then he, uh, like I say, he liked to dare -- so he dared me that he could give me a blowjob so good I'd want to give him one in return." Sam paused to remember, looking back at high school, remembering those days, when Danny had been barely seventeen, and Sam had been a little older because of his crazy transcript issues. Those stolen moments with Danny were etched as deep in his memory as the runes on his ribs.
Dean cleared his throat. "I'm, uh, I'm glad for you, Sammy. I'm glad it was cool for you."
Something in his tone gave Sam pause for concern. "It was, Dean, it was cool. But, what about you?"
Dean finished his beer, got up and got another, loosening his shoulders a little as he walked. He popped the cap with his ring and took a swallow, gathering his courage.
"You know me, Sammy. I'll do anything once, twice if I like it... " Dean frowned.
Sam hesitated, then said, "Guess you didn't like it."
"No. Not so much. I thought it'd be easier if I was good and drunk, but I just, kind of lost track of myself... I didn't want to, you know, lead someone on, but shit. It hurt like a ... I didn't like it."
"But Dean, why, why'd you..."
"Tall, skinny, floppy hair, big smile..."
"Shit, Dean."
"Yeah. Like I really needed demons to open my eyes. After that I had 'em shut pretty tight."
"Man, I thought you were gonna tell me about some crazy threesomes or some shit."
"No such luck." Dean shook his head.
Sam coughed. "Threesomes aren't that great anyway. All the performance anxiety, times two."
"Sam! You dog! I thought you said Stanford wasn't wild!"
"It wasn't! More, like, tolerant. Where you could just -- try shit. Find out who you were."
Sam wasn't sure Dean would understand, but he was pleasantly surprised.
"Dude. You think I didn't want you to go. And I didn't. But at least, I knew you were going someplace awesome."
"It was hard. I missed you," Sam confessed.
"That really showed," Dean scoffed.
Sam rolled his eyes. Too much sharing at one time was hazardous for Dean's health. Sam led the charge for toothbrushes, and he and Dean got
ready for bed with a minimum of weirdness.
Dean put his knife under the pillow; they left the bathroom light on, turned off the overhead and lay down.
Sam could hear Dean breathing. No one was falling asleep in this bed.
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry."
"Dude, you're gonna have to be more specific," Dean ribbed.
"Thanks, Dean, really. No, I just mean, I'm sorry I was gone, and you let someone hurt you. If it was me, I'd never... I'd make it good, Dean. I swear."
The silence got heavier, hotter. Sam sweated a little on his side of the bed.
Then Dean said, very softly, "Touch me, okay? I want it to be real this time."
Sam didn't want to remind Dean of his visions of Sam in Hell. "Dean, if you need me to stop..."
"God damn it, Sam! I need you to start!"
Sam scooted over and found the hem of Dean's t shirt, slipped his hand under. Dean's skin was warm, and so smooth. The scars of his life before Hell had all been erased. Even the left shoulder was smooth and perfect, though Dean had been shot twice there and stabbed with a red-hot poker. Castiel had taken all that history away. Sam knew Dean had mixed feelings about his scars, seeing each one as a battle mark, but also as signs of failure -- so Sam was just as glad to see them gone. Now Dean had just the tattoo and Castiel's handprint, still raised slightly, but not so angry red.
Sam soothed Dean's skin with heavy, even strokes. He felt Dean's tension fade, even though it wasn't a real massage, one handed, from an angle. But then Sam sat up and pushed Dean lightly back. Dean's eyes shot open, his muscles tensing up again.
"No, man. No pressure. Sh," Sam said quietly.
Straddling Dean, Sam put his hands around Dean's head, lifted, and pushed away. The gentle traction eased Dean's neck as Sam rotated gently from left to right.
Sam kneaded Dean's neck some more, and Dean groaned in pleasure. As his eyes fell closed, Sam soothed Dean's face, gently massaging every muscle, and then moved down to the shoulders and arms. Sam took pleasure in easing relaxation into every finger of Dean's hardworking hands.
Finally Sam lay back down, and Dean said, "Dude, I'm really not a chick. I'm not putting out for a measly backrub."
Sam laughed, pressing a kiss down on Dean's mouth, all of a sudden, before he could chicken out.
Dean looked wary, like at any moment this would all explode in their faces.
But it didn't. Sam kept kissing, till Dean closed his eyes and relaxed underneath him.
"I love you, Dean. I wasn't expecting this, but ... without you I don't even make sense."
"Oh, god, Sammy," Dean said, breathless. He was a little farther gone from the kissing than Sam thought. Well, okay then.
Sam reached down and stroked Dean's sides as they kissed. Dean arched into him, so he went for the waistline. At Dean's groan, Sam decided Dean was on board and he slipped his hand slowly into Dean's boxers. Dean was hard and ready for him. He jumped and moaned as Sam touched him. Sam pulled out his hand and licked it and put it back, the slickness a million times better. He whispered in Dean's ear as he stroked: "I'm here, Dean. Come on. You can let go, it's really me."
"Sammy," Dean moaned. "Is it, is it okay?"
"It's okay, Dean -- it's perfect. Me and you, Dean," Sam said, and with that Dean felt apart. Sam held him while he shook, and then he rolled over on top of Sam and kissed him, hard. It was so surreal, Sam thought, having his brother's come in his hand, his brother's tongue in his mouth. Then Dean slithered down and put his mouth on Sam, and Sam immediately lost it, giving about three thrusts before he came.
Dean coughed and spat.
"God, Dean, I'm sorry! Warn a guy, okay?"
Dean grinned, and Sam grinned back, brothers, lovers, together in the night.
go to next part!
~*o*~