Fic: Bitter Harvest 4/5
Back to Part 3
Sam sat in the diner, shocked at Dean's appearance and his rapid departure. Dean's anger ― what the hell was that all about? He really couldn't think of anything he'd done to provoke that. Although, maybe it wasn't even him? Sam tossed money onto the table and hastened from the diner, wanting to find Michael and see what he knew about Dean's state of mind.
He went back to the motel room he was sharing with Dean first. Sam was surprised to find Michael inside, sitting on the chair and looking blank. He registered Sam's arrival with a half-hearted wave. "Did you see Hurricane Dean?" he asked casually.
"Yeah, he came into the diner for a minute. He looked pissed when he walked in and then he just turned around and left. What the hell was that all about? If looks could kill, I think the place would be full of corpses." Sam sat on the foot of his bed, still neatly made as he hadn't slept there. He looked around, finding the room surprisingly tidy after a night of shenanigans between Dean and his chick du jour. Dean's bed was mostly made, the dirty clothes were all in the closet, and the air smelled suspiciously fresh. Sam sighed.
"Let me guess. The room was a disaster and you made him clean it up."
Michael laughed. "That's amazing! How did you ― ? I didn't want you to see . . . well, it was gross."
Sam snorted. "Dude, I have walked into that room so many times. Thanks for sparing me this one. Dean ― he doesn't like facing the next morning, you know?" He gave Michael a resigned look.
"It was gross," Michael repeated, more vehemently this time. "No one should have to deal with that who didn't create it. And it was disrespectful. You're his . . . brother. This is your space too."
Sam silently admired how delicately Michael sidestepped the Winchester relationship issue. Michael showed an understanding deeper than his years might indicate. Probably it was losing Asher so suddenly and violently ― death had a way of hastening maturity.
"Well, he's off for a drive for now, so hopefully he'll come back in a better mood. We were taking a couple of days off, but maybe it's time to start looking for a new hunt. What's your plan?"
He watched Michael stare out the window for a few minutes, the sun streaming in and painting his dark blond hair with gold and honey highlights. It was long enough to just brush his collar, but not as long as Sam's. As if he felt Sam's eyes on him, Michael turned to face Sam and smiled with that wide, flexible mouth. "Can I ride along with you guys for a bit? I never hunted with anyone else before."
Sam was startled by his request. He would have thought Michael had had enough of the Winchesters and their baggage. "Sure, it's okay with me. Gotta talk about it with Dean, we're a team. But I'm good with it." He felt unduly pleased at the thought of Michael's company for a while; the undemanding, pleasant company of a thoughtful person. A very attractive person. He decided not to examine that feeling too closely.
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When Dean returned a few hours later, he felt quieter and a little more relaxed. The drive and the time with his baby had bled off the worst of his temper. He still felt kind of sick about last night, but he didn't feel the anger that had led him to lash out at Michael and scorn Sam. He entered the Winchesters' room and found Sam and Michael playing cards as they laughed at The Princess Bride playing on the TV. "Hey," said Sam, looking at him levelly. "Good day for a drive?" He flipped a couple of battered Bicycle cards toward Michael.
"Yeah, real good day," answered Dean, plopping onto a bed. "How you guys doing?"
"Quiet day here," said Michael, picking up the cards and arranging them in his hand. "Just hanging out, watching some TV, playing some cards, makin' sure we picked all the shrapnel out of ourselves from earlier." He looked up at Dean with heavy-lidded eyes. "Ya know?"
Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, yeah ― I know. Guys, I ― "
"Gin!" called out Sam, slapping his cards onto the table triumphantly. "Eat that, ya dirty punk!" He laughed as he slapped Michael's shoulder.
"Dammit! That's the sixth time! How the hell do you do it?" Michael threw his hand onto the table, cards skittering carelessly. "Dude, you're a sick, card-cheatin' bastard. You suck."
"Not on the first date," Sam said primly. Dean's head swung toward his younger brother in surprise. Sam didn't often use suggestive humor like that, preferring to leave it to Dean. Michael simply laughed ― of course he had no idea. Dean wondered what prompted Sam's remark. Did he . . . was he attracted to Michael?
"Hey, so let's go hit the bar and grab some dinner and beers," he said with a hearty joviality he hoped would distract them. He stood up, ready to get out of this room that suddenly felt too small for the three of them.
The other two men didn't say a word, simply surveying him from their seats.
"What?"
Sam and Michael exchanged a look that made Dean uncomfortable. Were they bonding? "What's up, guys? Not hungry?"
"Oh, I think we're hungry, and beers sound great. I think we just ― Dean, we just don't want to go through last night again. At least, not tonight. Dig?" Sam's face was impassive as he spoke.
Dean felt heat flare throughout his body as the embarrassment of being called out for his bad behavior surged through him. "Yeah, yeah, of course. Absolutely. Not a problem." He cleared his throat. "Uh, sorry for putting everyone out and all. Tonight's my treat as, uh, as an apology, okay? And no ― no chicks, hand to God. So ― you ready to go?"
"Sure thing!" You bet!" came from the other two, standing up to find their boots and get them on. Dean felt his insides relax a little more. Apparently he was getting a mulligan for last night, and he appreciated it.
Dinner was surprisingly relaxed, everyone apparently ready to leave the tensions behind. They talked and drank as they laughed and traded stories. The only people who could appreciate a hunter's life were other hunters.
Dean found, however, that he was watching Sam and Michael interact. Only a couple of days had gone by, and here they were constantly catching each other's eye, trading quips and little jokes. Sam's eyes were lingering on Michael's mouth, and Michael was stealing glances at Sam every chance he got. Dean suddenly realized that Sam was flirting. Flirting.
He pushed his chair out abruptly, startling the other two with the loud screech. "Sorry! Gotta go ― uh, gotta go to the men's room," and he hurried away.
Inside the men's room, he ran cold water over his hands and splashed it on his face. Son of a bitch. Sammy was flirting with Michael. Dean was well aware that he flirted as easily as he breathed, but Sam was the opposite. If he was flirting, then he was attracted. Big time attracted. Dean dried his face off and studied himself in the mirror. He knew he had no leg to stand on here. He'd fucked and whored his way across the country, chasing his own brief escapes while turning a blind eye to how hurtful it was to his brother. Sam had every fucking right to be with someone. In fact, it was astounding that it hadn't happened sooner, considering what a handsome devil Sam was. He'd had plenty of opportunities and offers, but had always refused them.
Apparently, he wasn't refusing anymore. And Dean was going to have to suck it up and give his brother the space he needed to explore this, let him see if it was going to work out for him. It was the least Dean could do, after all the pain he'd caused Sam. If it hurt like a motherfucking bitch, well ― that was Dean's penance.
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The next day, Dean announced that he'd found a garage willing to let him work on the Impala, and would be gone most of the day. He'd been somewhat uncharacteristically quiet the night before and at breakfast, but he seemed pleased about spending some quality time with his baby. He whistled as he changed into oil-stained jeans and made sure he had all his tools. "Have fun, you two crazy kids. See you for dinner," he said with a smirk, winking as he strode out the door.
Sam and Michael looked at each other in puzzlement. "What was that all about?" asked Sam.
Michael shrugged and replied, "Dude, he's your brother! You tell me!"
They decided to go for a drive in Michael's truck, and then watch some movies in the afternoon. Burwell was near a reservoir, so they drove around it, stopping occasionally to walk along the water. They enjoyed just driving around with no agenda; endless hours spent on the road with urgent deadlines left the constant feeling of racing the clock. This was leisurely rambling, enjoying the scenery and the company. Sam felt like he laughed more than he had in months. It was . . . freeing to be with someone he didn't have to watch every word with, didn't have to guard his tongue and his actions. Michael had a great sense of humor, but also had a deep appreciation for life and the simple things. He wasn't the complete intellectual that Sam was, but he enjoyed reading, so they talked about books among other wide-spread topics. They stopped at a taco stand for lunch, sitting outside and enjoying the sunny weather.
On the way back to the motel, they stopped at a Red Box outside a drugstore and picked out some movies. Sam picked No Country for Old Men and Iron Man, while Michael chose The Fast and the Furious and The Hangover. They went into the drugstore for some snacks, because, as they agreed, how can movies be watched without snacks? As they were going down an aisle heading for the cooler for cold drinks, Michael poked Sam and snickered. "Hey, man, you got plans for me later? You know you gotta do better than a movie and some candy before I put out, right?" He winked.
Sam tilted his head in confusion, "What? What are you ― ?" His eyes tracked down the shelves, and he realized that he was standing in front of a large condom section, with an assortment of various types of lube next to it. His eyes widened in shock. "Oh! Oh my God, no ― Michael, that's not what I meant at all! Oh, man ― " He could feel the pink burning in his cheeks at Michael's insinuation.
Michael laughed and clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Hey, I kid, I kid! I just couldn't resist when I saw what was displayed here." He shook the hair out of his eyes, still chuckling. "Oh God, your face was priceless!" He threw his arms around Sam and gave him a brief hug, stepping back as soon as he released him.
Sam had to regain his composure both from Michael's teasing and the unexpected hug. That lean body against his, strong arms encircling him ― holy shit, it felt so good. And Michel smelled good too ― clean, a hint of leather, something like grass out in the sun. Sam had understood on an intellectual level what he'd been missing for years, but apparently not on a physical one, judging by the ache that hug stirred up. He took a deep breath to calm down and started to walk past Michael. The younger man caught his arm, suddenly serious. "Although, Sam? I wouldn't say no." He released Sam's arm and walked to the back of the store, leaving Sam standing there in bemusement.
Sam exited the drugstore with a new awareness of Michael's proximity. Their arms brushed as the walked, and the contact made Sam's head buzzy. It was a quiet ride back to the motel, with only the radio to break the silence.
Unlocking his room, Sam and Michael entered and began unloading their bags. Snacks were piled on the table, drinks stashed in the dinged-up mini fridge, and the movies were tossed onto Sam's bed. "You pick first," Sam said to Michael, hoping that he was hiding his nervousness sufficiently. The whole afternoon was feeling very date-like now, and he didn't quite know how he felt about that. Or what to do about it.
"Are you sure?" Michael asked, sitting on the bed and looking up at Sam. "You can pick first if you want."
"Nah, you go ahead." Sam unlaced his boots and sat against the headboard with his legs crossed. Michael looked them over, picked up The Fast and the Furious and went over to the TV, popping it into the DVD player bolted to the TV stand. He turned to sit on the chair, but then bypassed it and returned to Sam's bed.
"Can I stretch out here with you?" Dark brown eyes, as rich as liquid chocolate, looked at him questioningly as Michael's fingers idly stroked the thin chenille bedcover.
Sam nodded hesitantly. He couldn't tell Michael to go sit on Dean's bed ― that would be even more awkward. Besides, he didn't mind having Michael closer; it was confusing, but not bad. Michael sat on the bed and scooted up against the headboard, shoulder to shoulder with Sam, stretching his legs out and wiggling his toes. Only a couple of inches separated the two men, near enough that Sam could smell Michael's scent again. It was such a good smell; it seeped all the way down Sam, throughout his entire body and limbs. He could feel the hint of warmth from the other man's body running lengthwise down his own, easing and relaxing his muscles and his mind alike.
The movie passed in front of Sam's eyes without his brain really registering it. Much more vivid to him was Michael's body next to his, and Sam's growing urge to touch him. He could simply stretch out his fingers, the other man's body was so close. Fortunately, he'd seen this movie a number of times and could mumble appropriate responses to Michael's comments, resolutely refraining from looking into his eyes again in order to keep himself under control.
"Sam? Sam?" Sam suddenly realized that Michael was calling his name. "Hey, dude, you napping? It's your turn to pick." Michael was still sitting on the bed, but his head was turned toward Sam, his eyes looking intently at Sam's. "You okay there?"
Sam shook his head. He wasn't okay. Or maybe he was. He couldn't really tell right now. There was a humming sound inside his skull, and little electrical tingles in his fingers. He raised his hands to look at them, wondering if the tingles were visible, and found them moving toward Michael, who sat very, very still. He cupped his hands around Michael's face, stroking the soft, smooth skin under his fingertips, before gently pulling Michael's face close to his. He saw Michael's eyes opening very wide before Sam's lips closed on his, pressing gently and then more firmly. He heard a soft, pleading noise, almost a whimper, and only as his mouth opened on Michael's did he realize it came from him.
So sweet, good God, Michael's mouth was so very sweet and wet and hot, his tongue sliding against and twisting with Sam's as their mouths moved together. Michael was as invested in the kiss as Sam, one hand clutching Sam's shoulder, the other slid deep into Sam's hair, holding him close. Jesus, Sam hadn't kissed anyone, held anyone, made love with anyone in eons ― Michael's touch, his kisses were euphoric as a drug. Sam grabbed him, a sudden rush of heat under his skin making him want more, need more. Now, right now, oh please please now. Now.
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Michael whimpered as Sam's big hands cradled his face, fingertips tracing his cheekbones. He was so gentle for such a big man; mouth and body asking before they took, never overpowering him as he could do so easily. Michael gave himself up to the kiss. He hadn't thought anything would happen; it was pretty clear that Sam was still very hung up on Dean, and God knows they had baggage. Michael didn't need or want to manipulate Sam ― he'd be happy just to be friends with the man. But Sam had gone for it, and Michael was going to go as far as Sam wanted. He knew he might get hurt. He'd also learned in his life as a hunter that pain was not always the factor to be most feared. Sam was worth the risk.
They broke apart, panting as they looked into each other's eyes. Sam didn't move at all so Michael took the initiative this time, sliding down on the bed to lie flat on his back, tugging on Sam's arm. Sam followed, sliding onto one side, propped up on an elbow next to Michael, looking down at him. "Are you ― Michael, is this what you really want?" Sam asked huskily, his other hand resting lightly on Michael's stomach, fingers spread across his abs. "I don't wanna push you, and I'm not even sure where I'm at myself. I can't promise anything right now, you know? So if you wanna stop here, it's fine. Not gonna hold it against you, Just tell me what you want, because I'm barely holding back here."
Michael studied Sam's face ― those blue, green, and brown eyes, those high, sculpted cheekbones, the soft, pink mouth. "I know. I get it ― you and Dean. I know you guys have some . . . issues. But you're amazing and funny and special, and if I have a chance to be with you, I'm gonna take it. We'll work it out as it goes." He wound one arm around Sam's neck and slid the other onto Sam's ass and pulled him close. "In the meantime, Winchester, get down here and kiss me."
Sam did more than that ― he rolled on top of Michael, spreading Michael's legs with his thighs, using his elbows to help support his weight. They kissed with rising fervor, kisses that got sloppy as they constantly sucked and licked against each other. Michael's head reeled with his intense arousal, Sam's body spreading heat across his with every movement. Sam was all muscle, deep curves and long swathes of it under tan skin that Michael was dying to taste. He gripped Sam's ass with both hands, kneading the firm cheeks as his hips rocked up into Sam's. Little moans and grunts from both men filled the air as they pushed their denim-covered dicks harder and harder against each other. Michael thought his jeans were going to explode from the pressure of his own erection as well as Sam's hard-on grinding against him. They rutted together, completely wrapped up in each other and the blissful sensations they were experiencing.
"Wait," Sam gasped, pulling off Michael, who whined with the sudden loss. "Wait, I gotta ― 'm gonna ― and he unsnapped Michael's jeans, wrestling with the zipper until he got it down. He stuck his hand inside Michael's jeans, pushing down his boxers, and pulled his cock out, hard and red in his fist. Michael's hips jerked in reaction to Sam's manhandling, and he clawed at Sam's jeans, greedy to feel Sam's cock as well. After a few minutes of fumbling, he got Sam's jeans open and his dick out. Jesus, thought Michael, he's huge. His thoughts about Sam's size dissipated with the amazing feeling of Sam's callused hands slowly jerking his cock, and he squeezed back in kind. He circled his palm over the head of Sam's dick, thrilling to his keen of pleasure as Michael used his pre-come to slick his strokes. Sam was so hard and hot in his hand, and Sam's hand felt delicious wrapped around Michael's own cock. Michael groaned as he sought Sam's mouth anew while they both pushed their hips together again, this time to rub their naked dicks against each other.
Michael never heard the door opening, but Sam must have because suddenly he froze, still clutching Michael's desperate cock. Michael opened his eyes in confusion and saw Sam's head turned to the side, eyes fixed and mouth open. He followed Sam's stare and saw Dean standing there, his face blank, eyes round. His T-shirt and jeans had oil smudges on them. He had a plastic bag in one hand that smelled like Chinese and a six-pack in the other.
"Dean . . ." Sam said in a strangled whisper. "Dean, I ― it's not ―"
"Not you and Michael jerkin' your gherkins? I dunno, Sam, pretty sure that's all it could be. 'Scuse me, I'll leave you two to it. And, hey, next time? Put a sock on the door, dudes." He put down the take-out and beer on the floor next to the door before exiting, shutting it firmly behind him.
Michael exhaled shakily ― he hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath during the exchange between Sam and Dean. "Sam? you, uh, you okay?" He feel clueless about how to proceed. Were they going to keep going? Call it off? What? What should he do?
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Dean walked briskly away from the motel room. He would like to have kept walking forever, or even better, to drive off into the proverbial sunset, but his stuff, including his favorite gun, was back in that motel room. Besides, he knew he had to deal with this. This wasn't one he could simply ignore, despite his heartfelt desire to do just that.
He got to the picnic tables and sat down heavily. Everything was so fucked up. Him and Sammy were fucked up in more ways than one, the current situation was fucked up, and he needed to get his head straight about it all. He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to breathe slowly and get his chest ― currently bound with iron bands ― to relax.
So. Sammy and Michael, sittin' in a tree. Sammy getting lucky. Well, damn, had to happen sometime, right? Sam was drop-dead handsome, with that stupid long hair and those ridiculous dimples and the annoying way his eyes changed color. Then there was the fact he was seven feet tall with enough muscles for fuckin' Hercules. That's without anyone even knowing that he was majorly hung. The only reason Sam had been alone these past few years was he'd chosen to be.
And now, apparently, he'd chosen not to be. Dean sighed. He liked Michael, liked him a lot. Smart, kind, good hunter, and he was pretty easy on the eyes too. Judging from Dean had just seen from the doorway, the boy wasn't lacking in the dick department either. Very nicely proportioned. If Sam was gonna pick someone, he'd picked a winner. Nothing to complain about there.
Except . . . except . . . shit! Except Dean was a possessive sonofabitch, even when it was something he couldn't rightly call his anymore. Someone. He'd closed that door his own damn self, thrown away the key. He'd danced on the grave of their relationship more times than he could count, fucked women right and left as he sought to satisfy his needs and fill the aching hole inside him. And he'd done it all in plain view of Sam too; never hesitated to hit on or pick up whomever struck his fancy, even with his former lover right there. He knew it hurt Sam, seeing Dean with those women, seeing them stroll off together, seeing them wrecked the next morning. It hadn't stopped him.
And now Dean knew firsthand how exquisite that pain was, how piercing the hurt, like a thousand hot skewers in his heart. It was intensified by knowing that this was just one time, only one time, and he'd done it to Sam a million, over and over and over again. He bent over, gagging as bile surged up his throat, bitterness overwhelming him at his thoughtless cruelty. Dean Winchester, you are an asshole beyond words, he thought. You selfish piece of shit.
The searing comprehension of the pain kept sinking in, deeper and deeper like acid eating through him. I didn't mean to. Didn't mean to hurt you, Sammy, not like that. It just hurt so bad not being with you, I didn't think about what I was doing. So, so stupid. Tears overflowed his eyes, running down alongside his nose and into the corners of his twisted mouth. They tasted of guilt and remorse. I'm so sorry, Sammy, so sorry you had to deal with this pain, too. How could I do that to you?
He sat there for several minutes, letting the tears flow as he tried to breathe without too much pain. Plan, I need a plan. Can't fucking sit here all night like some lovesick girl. Get moving, you jerkwad. He wiped his eyes with the hem of his T-shirt, then remembered he still had a rag from the garage in his pocket. Avoiding the worst of the grease on it, he managed to blow his nose. He stood up and drew a couple of breaths before they hitched again. See, progress. Now you go back there, Winchester, and you have a drink at the bar to dredge up some courage, and then you fucking smile at your brother and tell him how goddamn happy you are for him. This was what you wanted for him ― to find someone and be happy. So now you better deal with it.
Dean walked back to the bar, using his strides to help smooth out his breathing. It was mostly back to normal by the time he got there. He went in, sat at the bar, and ordered a glass and a bottle of Jack.
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Sam lay on the bed, stunned by Dean's surprise entrance and speedy departure. So many emotions whirled inside him that he didn't know what to do or say, he simply lay there unmoving. He didn't notice that his erection had gone soft, or Michael's either, until Michael spoke to him.
"Sam . . . Sam, can you let me up? Sam?" Michael's voice was soft. "Sam, let's get up, get ourselves together, okay? Sam? It's gonna be okay, man." He removed his hand from Sam's cock and gently pushed on his chest to start separating them.
Sam came out of his fog, realizing that Michael couldn't move until he did, that Sam had him pinned underneath his body. They were both still lying with their pants open, cocks pressed together. "Oh, Jesus, Michael . . . I'm so sorry." He rolled back to give Michael his freedom. Both men hastily tucked themselves away, pulling up and adjusting their boxers and zipping up their jeans. Every speck of arousal was gone, replaced by tension and uneasiness.
They sat on either side of the bed, an awkward silence binding them to silence. Sam felt hollowed out, with all the excitement and arousal now drained right out of him. Dean came in and saw us, he thought dully. Saw me about to make love with another man. Did it upset him? Is that why he left?
"He left so we could continue, if we wanted to," said Michael quietly. "He was giving us our privacy."
Sam started at his words, realizing his last couple of sentences had been spoken aloud. "Oh . . . I'm sorry, Michael. I couldn't ―"
"No, man, no problem. That kind of interruption will throw off anyone's game." Michael smiled, picking up Sam's hand and holding it. "I couldn't after that either. I'm just worried about you."
"I should go find him. We should talk about this," Sam said. "Do you understand? I have to clear the air, find out what's ― how we are. I have to do that." His head felt empty, like the words were echoing around his skull.
"Yeah, yeah ― of course, I understand. Go ahead. Probably way past time for y'all to clear the air in the first place, I think." Michael stood up from the bed, adjusting himself as he did so. "Just, Sam? I'm still here, okay? I'm going to my room, but I'm staying here and I'm going to wait for you. We can talk after you see Dean." He walked to the door, closing it quietly behind him.
Sam sat on the bed for several minutes after Michael left. As the adrenaline from Dean's unexpected appearance waned, his thoughts began to take on substance. What he was conscious at the moment was the fact that he'd done nothing wrong. Whatever was going to happen between him and Dean, he hadn't done anything he regretted. He was a single man who was responsible for his own actions and decisions, including having sex. Just because he'd been celibate for a long ― a very long ― time didn't mean he had to stay that way. And God knows the shoe had been on the other foot too many times to count, with Dean's long parade of easy lays. If Dean had a problem with Sam and Michael becoming lovers, then that was all Dean's problem, not Sam's.
His sense of identity thus solidified, Sam thought about where Dean was most likely to be. That took all of ten seconds.
Dean was working on a bottle of Jack, it appeared to Sam when he walked into the bar. There was no discernible effect yet, but it took getting to the bottom third of the bottle for that to happen, usually. Sam pulled out the next stool and sat down, shaking his head at the bartender's silent offer.
"Hey, Dean." He looked at his brother, his partner, sitting there in an oil-smudged gray T-shirt and jeans, hunched over a glass that sat in a puddle on the scarred bar-top.
Dean slowly swiveled his head to study Sam. "Just peachy as fuck, bro." He downed a shot, poured another. "Where's your cuddly boy-toy?" He smirked.
Sam took a deep breath. Of course, Dean's usual reaction to conflict or distress was to get snarky as hell and push him away. "Michael went back to his room. He knew we needed some space to talk." He slid the bottle a couple of inches away. "Can we do that, Dean? Would you come back to our room and talk with me?"
Dean snorted and moved the bottle closer again. "I got nothin' to talk about, so I can keep sitting right here. You got somethin' on your chest, Sammy boy? Ya need to write to Dear Abby?" He poured and drank another shot.
"Dean, please ― can you stop drinking for a few minutes? I'd really rather have a discussion with you while you're still at least half-sober. And yes, I'd rather talk in our room instead of airing our private life to the entire bar!" Already the bartender was drifting back over, pretending not to listen as he wiped down glassware. Sam scowled at him.
"Fuck, Sammy, what private life? Only thing private going on is you and the Beieb-clone there knocking uglies. Hey, who's gonna top? 'Cause as far as I remember, you're a bottom kinda guy. Unless that's changed over the years."
Sam stood up so abruptly his bar stool fell over. "Dean! What the hell? Is this what happens the first time the shoe is on the other foot? At least we didn't kick you out of your own damn room just to have sex! What the fuck is your problem? Are you jealous or really just an asshole?" His brother was so infuriating. No one could dig their head into the sand like Dean.
"Damn, Sammy, chill out! All right, all right, I'll come to the damn room with you. Jesus, what a bitch. I'm taking the rest of my bottle, though." Dean scooped up his bottle as he lazily got off his bar stool and meandered toward the door. Sam took a deep breath, unclenched his fists, and followed.
They got to the motel room and walked in. It was empty, Michael having left when Sam did. Sam had smoothed out the bed and put the food Dean had brought on top of the mini-fridge before he'd gone looking for Dean. Sam's stomach was in a knot, so eating was out of the question right now.
"Okay, Sam, here we are, in our oh-so-private room. What's the big shizz that you're all hot to talk about?" Dean got a beer out of the mini-fridge before sprawling in a chair.
"About you walking in on me and Michael earlier. You looked really upset, and I thought you might be wondering what happened while you were gone."
"What happened is you two lovebirds got all moony-eyed at each other and started doing the ol' one-eye tango. Then I walked in, just about got struck blind, and left. Don't tell me you boys finished already, or I'm gonna have to talk to you about your stamina."
"What are you ― ? There's nothing wrong with my stamina!" Sam ran his hand over his face. Only Dean could get under his skin like this. "Of course we stopped! Jesus, Dean, could you please be a fucking adult for two fucking seconds here?" Sam could feel his blood pressure rising higher and higher. "Do you even give a rat's ass about this? Am I wrong in thinking you even care about me anymore?"
Dean sighed. "Of course I care about you, Sam, you're my brother. I want you to be happy. If you're happy with Michael, then fuck him, throw some goddamn confetti and let's get back to work." He took a sip from the whiskey bottle. "Are you happy, Sammy? Is this what you want?"
Sam rubbed his hands over his face. "I don't know. Michael is a great guy. And he's a hunter, so he gets our life, he shares our life. I just ― I don't even know what I want." He got up and walked to the window. "I don't want to be in pain anymore, Dean. I'm exhausted from it. I ― " His voice broke, and he cleared it, turning around to face Dean again. "We're together all the time, Dean. All the time, except when you ― pick up someone new. And yet, I'm alone. I can't talk about anything with you, can't meet anyone that I can be honest with, and until a hour ago, I couldn't remember the last time someone touched me with any kind of affection. I'm so incredibly alone, and it's killing me. Watching you fuck around so carelessly hurts me more than I can say. So basically I'm alone and in pain all the time, and for what? Why? Don't I get to have a life, at some point? I want a life again. I want to not be in pain all the time. And I can't . . ." Tears rolled down his face as he continued, "I can't have the life I want, apparently, so maybe I just need to finally make a new one." He stopped to take a deep breath. "What do you want, Dean? What do you want?"
Watching Sam as he talked, Dean finally looked away as he bit a nail. "Don't matter, Sammy. I can't have what I want."
Fresh tears streaked Sam's face. "If it's me, Dean, I'm right here. I've been here all along."
The room was silent for several minutes. Finally Dean put the bottle down on the table, got up, and entered the bathroom. In the quiet, Sam heard the click of the lock.
On to Part 5
Sam sat in the diner, shocked at Dean's appearance and his rapid departure. Dean's anger ― what the hell was that all about? He really couldn't think of anything he'd done to provoke that. Although, maybe it wasn't even him? Sam tossed money onto the table and hastened from the diner, wanting to find Michael and see what he knew about Dean's state of mind.
He went back to the motel room he was sharing with Dean first. Sam was surprised to find Michael inside, sitting on the chair and looking blank. He registered Sam's arrival with a half-hearted wave. "Did you see Hurricane Dean?" he asked casually.
"Yeah, he came into the diner for a minute. He looked pissed when he walked in and then he just turned around and left. What the hell was that all about? If looks could kill, I think the place would be full of corpses." Sam sat on the foot of his bed, still neatly made as he hadn't slept there. He looked around, finding the room surprisingly tidy after a night of shenanigans between Dean and his chick du jour. Dean's bed was mostly made, the dirty clothes were all in the closet, and the air smelled suspiciously fresh. Sam sighed.
"Let me guess. The room was a disaster and you made him clean it up."
Michael laughed. "That's amazing! How did you ― ? I didn't want you to see . . . well, it was gross."
Sam snorted. "Dude, I have walked into that room so many times. Thanks for sparing me this one. Dean ― he doesn't like facing the next morning, you know?" He gave Michael a resigned look.
"It was gross," Michael repeated, more vehemently this time. "No one should have to deal with that who didn't create it. And it was disrespectful. You're his . . . brother. This is your space too."
Sam silently admired how delicately Michael sidestepped the Winchester relationship issue. Michael showed an understanding deeper than his years might indicate. Probably it was losing Asher so suddenly and violently ― death had a way of hastening maturity.
"Well, he's off for a drive for now, so hopefully he'll come back in a better mood. We were taking a couple of days off, but maybe it's time to start looking for a new hunt. What's your plan?"
He watched Michael stare out the window for a few minutes, the sun streaming in and painting his dark blond hair with gold and honey highlights. It was long enough to just brush his collar, but not as long as Sam's. As if he felt Sam's eyes on him, Michael turned to face Sam and smiled with that wide, flexible mouth. "Can I ride along with you guys for a bit? I never hunted with anyone else before."
Sam was startled by his request. He would have thought Michael had had enough of the Winchesters and their baggage. "Sure, it's okay with me. Gotta talk about it with Dean, we're a team. But I'm good with it." He felt unduly pleased at the thought of Michael's company for a while; the undemanding, pleasant company of a thoughtful person. A very attractive person. He decided not to examine that feeling too closely.
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When Dean returned a few hours later, he felt quieter and a little more relaxed. The drive and the time with his baby had bled off the worst of his temper. He still felt kind of sick about last night, but he didn't feel the anger that had led him to lash out at Michael and scorn Sam. He entered the Winchesters' room and found Sam and Michael playing cards as they laughed at The Princess Bride playing on the TV. "Hey," said Sam, looking at him levelly. "Good day for a drive?" He flipped a couple of battered Bicycle cards toward Michael.
"Yeah, real good day," answered Dean, plopping onto a bed. "How you guys doing?"
"Quiet day here," said Michael, picking up the cards and arranging them in his hand. "Just hanging out, watching some TV, playing some cards, makin' sure we picked all the shrapnel out of ourselves from earlier." He looked up at Dean with heavy-lidded eyes. "Ya know?"
Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, yeah ― I know. Guys, I ― "
"Gin!" called out Sam, slapping his cards onto the table triumphantly. "Eat that, ya dirty punk!" He laughed as he slapped Michael's shoulder.
"Dammit! That's the sixth time! How the hell do you do it?" Michael threw his hand onto the table, cards skittering carelessly. "Dude, you're a sick, card-cheatin' bastard. You suck."
"Not on the first date," Sam said primly. Dean's head swung toward his younger brother in surprise. Sam didn't often use suggestive humor like that, preferring to leave it to Dean. Michael simply laughed ― of course he had no idea. Dean wondered what prompted Sam's remark. Did he . . . was he attracted to Michael?
"Hey, so let's go hit the bar and grab some dinner and beers," he said with a hearty joviality he hoped would distract them. He stood up, ready to get out of this room that suddenly felt too small for the three of them.
The other two men didn't say a word, simply surveying him from their seats.
"What?"
Sam and Michael exchanged a look that made Dean uncomfortable. Were they bonding? "What's up, guys? Not hungry?"
"Oh, I think we're hungry, and beers sound great. I think we just ― Dean, we just don't want to go through last night again. At least, not tonight. Dig?" Sam's face was impassive as he spoke.
Dean felt heat flare throughout his body as the embarrassment of being called out for his bad behavior surged through him. "Yeah, yeah, of course. Absolutely. Not a problem." He cleared his throat. "Uh, sorry for putting everyone out and all. Tonight's my treat as, uh, as an apology, okay? And no ― no chicks, hand to God. So ― you ready to go?"
"Sure thing!" You bet!" came from the other two, standing up to find their boots and get them on. Dean felt his insides relax a little more. Apparently he was getting a mulligan for last night, and he appreciated it.
Dinner was surprisingly relaxed, everyone apparently ready to leave the tensions behind. They talked and drank as they laughed and traded stories. The only people who could appreciate a hunter's life were other hunters.
Dean found, however, that he was watching Sam and Michael interact. Only a couple of days had gone by, and here they were constantly catching each other's eye, trading quips and little jokes. Sam's eyes were lingering on Michael's mouth, and Michael was stealing glances at Sam every chance he got. Dean suddenly realized that Sam was flirting. Flirting.
He pushed his chair out abruptly, startling the other two with the loud screech. "Sorry! Gotta go ― uh, gotta go to the men's room," and he hurried away.
Inside the men's room, he ran cold water over his hands and splashed it on his face. Son of a bitch. Sammy was flirting with Michael. Dean was well aware that he flirted as easily as he breathed, but Sam was the opposite. If he was flirting, then he was attracted. Big time attracted. Dean dried his face off and studied himself in the mirror. He knew he had no leg to stand on here. He'd fucked and whored his way across the country, chasing his own brief escapes while turning a blind eye to how hurtful it was to his brother. Sam had every fucking right to be with someone. In fact, it was astounding that it hadn't happened sooner, considering what a handsome devil Sam was. He'd had plenty of opportunities and offers, but had always refused them.
Apparently, he wasn't refusing anymore. And Dean was going to have to suck it up and give his brother the space he needed to explore this, let him see if it was going to work out for him. It was the least Dean could do, after all the pain he'd caused Sam. If it hurt like a motherfucking bitch, well ― that was Dean's penance.
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The next day, Dean announced that he'd found a garage willing to let him work on the Impala, and would be gone most of the day. He'd been somewhat uncharacteristically quiet the night before and at breakfast, but he seemed pleased about spending some quality time with his baby. He whistled as he changed into oil-stained jeans and made sure he had all his tools. "Have fun, you two crazy kids. See you for dinner," he said with a smirk, winking as he strode out the door.
Sam and Michael looked at each other in puzzlement. "What was that all about?" asked Sam.
Michael shrugged and replied, "Dude, he's your brother! You tell me!"
They decided to go for a drive in Michael's truck, and then watch some movies in the afternoon. Burwell was near a reservoir, so they drove around it, stopping occasionally to walk along the water. They enjoyed just driving around with no agenda; endless hours spent on the road with urgent deadlines left the constant feeling of racing the clock. This was leisurely rambling, enjoying the scenery and the company. Sam felt like he laughed more than he had in months. It was . . . freeing to be with someone he didn't have to watch every word with, didn't have to guard his tongue and his actions. Michael had a great sense of humor, but also had a deep appreciation for life and the simple things. He wasn't the complete intellectual that Sam was, but he enjoyed reading, so they talked about books among other wide-spread topics. They stopped at a taco stand for lunch, sitting outside and enjoying the sunny weather.
On the way back to the motel, they stopped at a Red Box outside a drugstore and picked out some movies. Sam picked No Country for Old Men and Iron Man, while Michael chose The Fast and the Furious and The Hangover. They went into the drugstore for some snacks, because, as they agreed, how can movies be watched without snacks? As they were going down an aisle heading for the cooler for cold drinks, Michael poked Sam and snickered. "Hey, man, you got plans for me later? You know you gotta do better than a movie and some candy before I put out, right?" He winked.
Sam tilted his head in confusion, "What? What are you ― ?" His eyes tracked down the shelves, and he realized that he was standing in front of a large condom section, with an assortment of various types of lube next to it. His eyes widened in shock. "Oh! Oh my God, no ― Michael, that's not what I meant at all! Oh, man ― " He could feel the pink burning in his cheeks at Michael's insinuation.
Michael laughed and clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Hey, I kid, I kid! I just couldn't resist when I saw what was displayed here." He shook the hair out of his eyes, still chuckling. "Oh God, your face was priceless!" He threw his arms around Sam and gave him a brief hug, stepping back as soon as he released him.
Sam had to regain his composure both from Michael's teasing and the unexpected hug. That lean body against his, strong arms encircling him ― holy shit, it felt so good. And Michel smelled good too ― clean, a hint of leather, something like grass out in the sun. Sam had understood on an intellectual level what he'd been missing for years, but apparently not on a physical one, judging by the ache that hug stirred up. He took a deep breath to calm down and started to walk past Michael. The younger man caught his arm, suddenly serious. "Although, Sam? I wouldn't say no." He released Sam's arm and walked to the back of the store, leaving Sam standing there in bemusement.
Sam exited the drugstore with a new awareness of Michael's proximity. Their arms brushed as the walked, and the contact made Sam's head buzzy. It was a quiet ride back to the motel, with only the radio to break the silence.
Unlocking his room, Sam and Michael entered and began unloading their bags. Snacks were piled on the table, drinks stashed in the dinged-up mini fridge, and the movies were tossed onto Sam's bed. "You pick first," Sam said to Michael, hoping that he was hiding his nervousness sufficiently. The whole afternoon was feeling very date-like now, and he didn't quite know how he felt about that. Or what to do about it.
"Are you sure?" Michael asked, sitting on the bed and looking up at Sam. "You can pick first if you want."
"Nah, you go ahead." Sam unlaced his boots and sat against the headboard with his legs crossed. Michael looked them over, picked up The Fast and the Furious and went over to the TV, popping it into the DVD player bolted to the TV stand. He turned to sit on the chair, but then bypassed it and returned to Sam's bed.
"Can I stretch out here with you?" Dark brown eyes, as rich as liquid chocolate, looked at him questioningly as Michael's fingers idly stroked the thin chenille bedcover.
Sam nodded hesitantly. He couldn't tell Michael to go sit on Dean's bed ― that would be even more awkward. Besides, he didn't mind having Michael closer; it was confusing, but not bad. Michael sat on the bed and scooted up against the headboard, shoulder to shoulder with Sam, stretching his legs out and wiggling his toes. Only a couple of inches separated the two men, near enough that Sam could smell Michael's scent again. It was such a good smell; it seeped all the way down Sam, throughout his entire body and limbs. He could feel the hint of warmth from the other man's body running lengthwise down his own, easing and relaxing his muscles and his mind alike.
The movie passed in front of Sam's eyes without his brain really registering it. Much more vivid to him was Michael's body next to his, and Sam's growing urge to touch him. He could simply stretch out his fingers, the other man's body was so close. Fortunately, he'd seen this movie a number of times and could mumble appropriate responses to Michael's comments, resolutely refraining from looking into his eyes again in order to keep himself under control.
"Sam? Sam?" Sam suddenly realized that Michael was calling his name. "Hey, dude, you napping? It's your turn to pick." Michael was still sitting on the bed, but his head was turned toward Sam, his eyes looking intently at Sam's. "You okay there?"
Sam shook his head. He wasn't okay. Or maybe he was. He couldn't really tell right now. There was a humming sound inside his skull, and little electrical tingles in his fingers. He raised his hands to look at them, wondering if the tingles were visible, and found them moving toward Michael, who sat very, very still. He cupped his hands around Michael's face, stroking the soft, smooth skin under his fingertips, before gently pulling Michael's face close to his. He saw Michael's eyes opening very wide before Sam's lips closed on his, pressing gently and then more firmly. He heard a soft, pleading noise, almost a whimper, and only as his mouth opened on Michael's did he realize it came from him.
So sweet, good God, Michael's mouth was so very sweet and wet and hot, his tongue sliding against and twisting with Sam's as their mouths moved together. Michael was as invested in the kiss as Sam, one hand clutching Sam's shoulder, the other slid deep into Sam's hair, holding him close. Jesus, Sam hadn't kissed anyone, held anyone, made love with anyone in eons ― Michael's touch, his kisses were euphoric as a drug. Sam grabbed him, a sudden rush of heat under his skin making him want more, need more. Now, right now, oh please please now. Now.
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Michael whimpered as Sam's big hands cradled his face, fingertips tracing his cheekbones. He was so gentle for such a big man; mouth and body asking before they took, never overpowering him as he could do so easily. Michael gave himself up to the kiss. He hadn't thought anything would happen; it was pretty clear that Sam was still very hung up on Dean, and God knows they had baggage. Michael didn't need or want to manipulate Sam ― he'd be happy just to be friends with the man. But Sam had gone for it, and Michael was going to go as far as Sam wanted. He knew he might get hurt. He'd also learned in his life as a hunter that pain was not always the factor to be most feared. Sam was worth the risk.
They broke apart, panting as they looked into each other's eyes. Sam didn't move at all so Michael took the initiative this time, sliding down on the bed to lie flat on his back, tugging on Sam's arm. Sam followed, sliding onto one side, propped up on an elbow next to Michael, looking down at him. "Are you ― Michael, is this what you really want?" Sam asked huskily, his other hand resting lightly on Michael's stomach, fingers spread across his abs. "I don't wanna push you, and I'm not even sure where I'm at myself. I can't promise anything right now, you know? So if you wanna stop here, it's fine. Not gonna hold it against you, Just tell me what you want, because I'm barely holding back here."
Michael studied Sam's face ― those blue, green, and brown eyes, those high, sculpted cheekbones, the soft, pink mouth. "I know. I get it ― you and Dean. I know you guys have some . . . issues. But you're amazing and funny and special, and if I have a chance to be with you, I'm gonna take it. We'll work it out as it goes." He wound one arm around Sam's neck and slid the other onto Sam's ass and pulled him close. "In the meantime, Winchester, get down here and kiss me."
Sam did more than that ― he rolled on top of Michael, spreading Michael's legs with his thighs, using his elbows to help support his weight. They kissed with rising fervor, kisses that got sloppy as they constantly sucked and licked against each other. Michael's head reeled with his intense arousal, Sam's body spreading heat across his with every movement. Sam was all muscle, deep curves and long swathes of it under tan skin that Michael was dying to taste. He gripped Sam's ass with both hands, kneading the firm cheeks as his hips rocked up into Sam's. Little moans and grunts from both men filled the air as they pushed their denim-covered dicks harder and harder against each other. Michael thought his jeans were going to explode from the pressure of his own erection as well as Sam's hard-on grinding against him. They rutted together, completely wrapped up in each other and the blissful sensations they were experiencing.
"Wait," Sam gasped, pulling off Michael, who whined with the sudden loss. "Wait, I gotta ― 'm gonna ― and he unsnapped Michael's jeans, wrestling with the zipper until he got it down. He stuck his hand inside Michael's jeans, pushing down his boxers, and pulled his cock out, hard and red in his fist. Michael's hips jerked in reaction to Sam's manhandling, and he clawed at Sam's jeans, greedy to feel Sam's cock as well. After a few minutes of fumbling, he got Sam's jeans open and his dick out. Jesus, thought Michael, he's huge. His thoughts about Sam's size dissipated with the amazing feeling of Sam's callused hands slowly jerking his cock, and he squeezed back in kind. He circled his palm over the head of Sam's dick, thrilling to his keen of pleasure as Michael used his pre-come to slick his strokes. Sam was so hard and hot in his hand, and Sam's hand felt delicious wrapped around Michael's own cock. Michael groaned as he sought Sam's mouth anew while they both pushed their hips together again, this time to rub their naked dicks against each other.
Michael never heard the door opening, but Sam must have because suddenly he froze, still clutching Michael's desperate cock. Michael opened his eyes in confusion and saw Sam's head turned to the side, eyes fixed and mouth open. He followed Sam's stare and saw Dean standing there, his face blank, eyes round. His T-shirt and jeans had oil smudges on them. He had a plastic bag in one hand that smelled like Chinese and a six-pack in the other.
"Dean . . ." Sam said in a strangled whisper. "Dean, I ― it's not ―"
"Not you and Michael jerkin' your gherkins? I dunno, Sam, pretty sure that's all it could be. 'Scuse me, I'll leave you two to it. And, hey, next time? Put a sock on the door, dudes." He put down the take-out and beer on the floor next to the door before exiting, shutting it firmly behind him.
Michael exhaled shakily ― he hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath during the exchange between Sam and Dean. "Sam? you, uh, you okay?" He feel clueless about how to proceed. Were they going to keep going? Call it off? What? What should he do?
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Dean walked briskly away from the motel room. He would like to have kept walking forever, or even better, to drive off into the proverbial sunset, but his stuff, including his favorite gun, was back in that motel room. Besides, he knew he had to deal with this. This wasn't one he could simply ignore, despite his heartfelt desire to do just that.
He got to the picnic tables and sat down heavily. Everything was so fucked up. Him and Sammy were fucked up in more ways than one, the current situation was fucked up, and he needed to get his head straight about it all. He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to breathe slowly and get his chest ― currently bound with iron bands ― to relax.
So. Sammy and Michael, sittin' in a tree. Sammy getting lucky. Well, damn, had to happen sometime, right? Sam was drop-dead handsome, with that stupid long hair and those ridiculous dimples and the annoying way his eyes changed color. Then there was the fact he was seven feet tall with enough muscles for fuckin' Hercules. That's without anyone even knowing that he was majorly hung. The only reason Sam had been alone these past few years was he'd chosen to be.
And now, apparently, he'd chosen not to be. Dean sighed. He liked Michael, liked him a lot. Smart, kind, good hunter, and he was pretty easy on the eyes too. Judging from Dean had just seen from the doorway, the boy wasn't lacking in the dick department either. Very nicely proportioned. If Sam was gonna pick someone, he'd picked a winner. Nothing to complain about there.
Except . . . except . . . shit! Except Dean was a possessive sonofabitch, even when it was something he couldn't rightly call his anymore. Someone. He'd closed that door his own damn self, thrown away the key. He'd danced on the grave of their relationship more times than he could count, fucked women right and left as he sought to satisfy his needs and fill the aching hole inside him. And he'd done it all in plain view of Sam too; never hesitated to hit on or pick up whomever struck his fancy, even with his former lover right there. He knew it hurt Sam, seeing Dean with those women, seeing them stroll off together, seeing them wrecked the next morning. It hadn't stopped him.
And now Dean knew firsthand how exquisite that pain was, how piercing the hurt, like a thousand hot skewers in his heart. It was intensified by knowing that this was just one time, only one time, and he'd done it to Sam a million, over and over and over again. He bent over, gagging as bile surged up his throat, bitterness overwhelming him at his thoughtless cruelty. Dean Winchester, you are an asshole beyond words, he thought. You selfish piece of shit.
The searing comprehension of the pain kept sinking in, deeper and deeper like acid eating through him. I didn't mean to. Didn't mean to hurt you, Sammy, not like that. It just hurt so bad not being with you, I didn't think about what I was doing. So, so stupid. Tears overflowed his eyes, running down alongside his nose and into the corners of his twisted mouth. They tasted of guilt and remorse. I'm so sorry, Sammy, so sorry you had to deal with this pain, too. How could I do that to you?
He sat there for several minutes, letting the tears flow as he tried to breathe without too much pain. Plan, I need a plan. Can't fucking sit here all night like some lovesick girl. Get moving, you jerkwad. He wiped his eyes with the hem of his T-shirt, then remembered he still had a rag from the garage in his pocket. Avoiding the worst of the grease on it, he managed to blow his nose. He stood up and drew a couple of breaths before they hitched again. See, progress. Now you go back there, Winchester, and you have a drink at the bar to dredge up some courage, and then you fucking smile at your brother and tell him how goddamn happy you are for him. This was what you wanted for him ― to find someone and be happy. So now you better deal with it.
Dean walked back to the bar, using his strides to help smooth out his breathing. It was mostly back to normal by the time he got there. He went in, sat at the bar, and ordered a glass and a bottle of Jack.
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Sam lay on the bed, stunned by Dean's surprise entrance and speedy departure. So many emotions whirled inside him that he didn't know what to do or say, he simply lay there unmoving. He didn't notice that his erection had gone soft, or Michael's either, until Michael spoke to him.
"Sam . . . Sam, can you let me up? Sam?" Michael's voice was soft. "Sam, let's get up, get ourselves together, okay? Sam? It's gonna be okay, man." He removed his hand from Sam's cock and gently pushed on his chest to start separating them.
Sam came out of his fog, realizing that Michael couldn't move until he did, that Sam had him pinned underneath his body. They were both still lying with their pants open, cocks pressed together. "Oh, Jesus, Michael . . . I'm so sorry." He rolled back to give Michael his freedom. Both men hastily tucked themselves away, pulling up and adjusting their boxers and zipping up their jeans. Every speck of arousal was gone, replaced by tension and uneasiness.
They sat on either side of the bed, an awkward silence binding them to silence. Sam felt hollowed out, with all the excitement and arousal now drained right out of him. Dean came in and saw us, he thought dully. Saw me about to make love with another man. Did it upset him? Is that why he left?
"He left so we could continue, if we wanted to," said Michael quietly. "He was giving us our privacy."
Sam started at his words, realizing his last couple of sentences had been spoken aloud. "Oh . . . I'm sorry, Michael. I couldn't ―"
"No, man, no problem. That kind of interruption will throw off anyone's game." Michael smiled, picking up Sam's hand and holding it. "I couldn't after that either. I'm just worried about you."
"I should go find him. We should talk about this," Sam said. "Do you understand? I have to clear the air, find out what's ― how we are. I have to do that." His head felt empty, like the words were echoing around his skull.
"Yeah, yeah ― of course, I understand. Go ahead. Probably way past time for y'all to clear the air in the first place, I think." Michael stood up from the bed, adjusting himself as he did so. "Just, Sam? I'm still here, okay? I'm going to my room, but I'm staying here and I'm going to wait for you. We can talk after you see Dean." He walked to the door, closing it quietly behind him.
Sam sat on the bed for several minutes after Michael left. As the adrenaline from Dean's unexpected appearance waned, his thoughts began to take on substance. What he was conscious at the moment was the fact that he'd done nothing wrong. Whatever was going to happen between him and Dean, he hadn't done anything he regretted. He was a single man who was responsible for his own actions and decisions, including having sex. Just because he'd been celibate for a long ― a very long ― time didn't mean he had to stay that way. And God knows the shoe had been on the other foot too many times to count, with Dean's long parade of easy lays. If Dean had a problem with Sam and Michael becoming lovers, then that was all Dean's problem, not Sam's.
His sense of identity thus solidified, Sam thought about where Dean was most likely to be. That took all of ten seconds.
Dean was working on a bottle of Jack, it appeared to Sam when he walked into the bar. There was no discernible effect yet, but it took getting to the bottom third of the bottle for that to happen, usually. Sam pulled out the next stool and sat down, shaking his head at the bartender's silent offer.
"Hey, Dean." He looked at his brother, his partner, sitting there in an oil-smudged gray T-shirt and jeans, hunched over a glass that sat in a puddle on the scarred bar-top.
Dean slowly swiveled his head to study Sam. "Just peachy as fuck, bro." He downed a shot, poured another. "Where's your cuddly boy-toy?" He smirked.
Sam took a deep breath. Of course, Dean's usual reaction to conflict or distress was to get snarky as hell and push him away. "Michael went back to his room. He knew we needed some space to talk." He slid the bottle a couple of inches away. "Can we do that, Dean? Would you come back to our room and talk with me?"
Dean snorted and moved the bottle closer again. "I got nothin' to talk about, so I can keep sitting right here. You got somethin' on your chest, Sammy boy? Ya need to write to Dear Abby?" He poured and drank another shot.
"Dean, please ― can you stop drinking for a few minutes? I'd really rather have a discussion with you while you're still at least half-sober. And yes, I'd rather talk in our room instead of airing our private life to the entire bar!" Already the bartender was drifting back over, pretending not to listen as he wiped down glassware. Sam scowled at him.
"Fuck, Sammy, what private life? Only thing private going on is you and the Beieb-clone there knocking uglies. Hey, who's gonna top? 'Cause as far as I remember, you're a bottom kinda guy. Unless that's changed over the years."
Sam stood up so abruptly his bar stool fell over. "Dean! What the hell? Is this what happens the first time the shoe is on the other foot? At least we didn't kick you out of your own damn room just to have sex! What the fuck is your problem? Are you jealous or really just an asshole?" His brother was so infuriating. No one could dig their head into the sand like Dean.
"Damn, Sammy, chill out! All right, all right, I'll come to the damn room with you. Jesus, what a bitch. I'm taking the rest of my bottle, though." Dean scooped up his bottle as he lazily got off his bar stool and meandered toward the door. Sam took a deep breath, unclenched his fists, and followed.
They got to the motel room and walked in. It was empty, Michael having left when Sam did. Sam had smoothed out the bed and put the food Dean had brought on top of the mini-fridge before he'd gone looking for Dean. Sam's stomach was in a knot, so eating was out of the question right now.
"Okay, Sam, here we are, in our oh-so-private room. What's the big shizz that you're all hot to talk about?" Dean got a beer out of the mini-fridge before sprawling in a chair.
"About you walking in on me and Michael earlier. You looked really upset, and I thought you might be wondering what happened while you were gone."
"What happened is you two lovebirds got all moony-eyed at each other and started doing the ol' one-eye tango. Then I walked in, just about got struck blind, and left. Don't tell me you boys finished already, or I'm gonna have to talk to you about your stamina."
"What are you ― ? There's nothing wrong with my stamina!" Sam ran his hand over his face. Only Dean could get under his skin like this. "Of course we stopped! Jesus, Dean, could you please be a fucking adult for two fucking seconds here?" Sam could feel his blood pressure rising higher and higher. "Do you even give a rat's ass about this? Am I wrong in thinking you even care about me anymore?"
Dean sighed. "Of course I care about you, Sam, you're my brother. I want you to be happy. If you're happy with Michael, then fuck him, throw some goddamn confetti and let's get back to work." He took a sip from the whiskey bottle. "Are you happy, Sammy? Is this what you want?"
Sam rubbed his hands over his face. "I don't know. Michael is a great guy. And he's a hunter, so he gets our life, he shares our life. I just ― I don't even know what I want." He got up and walked to the window. "I don't want to be in pain anymore, Dean. I'm exhausted from it. I ― " His voice broke, and he cleared it, turning around to face Dean again. "We're together all the time, Dean. All the time, except when you ― pick up someone new. And yet, I'm alone. I can't talk about anything with you, can't meet anyone that I can be honest with, and until a hour ago, I couldn't remember the last time someone touched me with any kind of affection. I'm so incredibly alone, and it's killing me. Watching you fuck around so carelessly hurts me more than I can say. So basically I'm alone and in pain all the time, and for what? Why? Don't I get to have a life, at some point? I want a life again. I want to not be in pain all the time. And I can't . . ." Tears rolled down his face as he continued, "I can't have the life I want, apparently, so maybe I just need to finally make a new one." He stopped to take a deep breath. "What do you want, Dean? What do you want?"
Watching Sam as he talked, Dean finally looked away as he bit a nail. "Don't matter, Sammy. I can't have what I want."
Fresh tears streaked Sam's face. "If it's me, Dean, I'm right here. I've been here all along."
The room was silent for several minutes. Finally Dean put the bottle down on the table, got up, and entered the bathroom. In the quiet, Sam heard the click of the lock.
On to Part 5