Fic: Bitter Harvest 5/5
Back to Part 4
Michael paced in his room, waiting for Sam to return. He wondered how the discussion with Dean was going. Sam had looked so upset. God, why did that have to happen? Why couldn't Dean have arrived half an hour later? Now it was like the passionate, loving moment had been made cheap by Dean's snide comments. It wasn't fair that Dean fucked anything that moved and Sam barely got to have a kiss.
He threw himself onto a bed and covered his face, sighing in frustration. He wanted to know what was happening in the other room. His body was still humming in semi-arousal; it was difficult to switch gears so fast, shut down all those responses. An image of Sam arose; cheeks pink, eyes dilated, a hint of moisture on his lips. He was so beautiful as he looked down at Michael, his hair falling around his face in waves. Michael's cock twitched anew, making him think about how incredible their naked dicks had felt pressed together. He felt a small, wet drop trickling down his half-hard cock inside his boxers. Jesus, he needed to think about something else or he was going to have to jerk off to settle down, and that just seemed really inappropriate right now.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, and then it opened and Sam came in. Michael jumped off the bed, holding himself back from actually jumping on the man. Sam smiled briefly at the younger man's eager response, but the smile dropped a moment later. Michael felt a chill pass over his skin. No smiles couldn't be a good thing . . .
"Sit down with me, Michael," Sam said, moving over to the bed.
"No. Just . . . just say it, Sam. I can guess what it is already, but just say it." Michael held himself very still.
Sam sat down on the foot of the bed. "I can't do this, Michael. I'm sorry. I want to . . . god, you're so gorgeous, and you're smart and funny and sweet, you're a good hunter, and I think we'd be great together. I do."
"Damn, Sam, for someone giving me the brush-off, you sound like you're arguing for my side." Michael huffed a small laugh.
Sam looked at his hands for a moment before meeting Michael's eyes again. "I can't do it. My heart ― it already belongs to someone. And even though," he raised his hand to forestall the words poised on Michael's lips, "even though that isn't going well, it's still how it is. I don't want to shortchange you just because I'm fucked up. It's not fair to you. You think you can look past this, but when the day comes that you realize you can never have all of me, then you're going to resent it. Resent me. I don't want that bitterness to happen to either of us."
"Not going well? Shit, Sam, he's oblivious! He's too busy screwing the female population of the country to see how much you love him! Not fair to me? Where does being fair to you come in?" Michael couldn't help the passion in his voice. Sam didn't deserve this.
Sam gave him a wry smile. "Yeah, I know. I don't deserve it. But it's how the cards are. I can't leave him. And I'm not going to."
"So, is he going to change anything, now that he knows you're staying?" Michael could barely speak past the lump in his throat.
Sam shrugged as he replied, "Dunno . . . he doesn't know yet. I didn't tell him. He's locked in the bathroom right now; as far as he knows, I'm packing right now to leave with you."
The tears burning in Michael's eyes finally began to fall. He dashed a hand to brush them off and struggled to take a deep breath. "Wow. I ― wow. Um, I don't really know what to say. I guess ― maybe it's just best we say good-bye now, because frankly I've had about all the emotional turmoil I can take for the day. Or the year." He blew out a breath and turned to grab a duffel, plopping it on the other bed.
Sam stood up, his face sad. "I'm so sorry, Michael. I didn't see this ― you ― coming. And once things started moving, I really thought ― this is it. I'm going to be happy. We'll be happy. I never thought it was going to turn out this way, and I'm so, so sorry. Hurting you is the last thing I ever want to do."
Michael nodded, swallowing hard as he collected his belongings. "I can appreciate that, Sam. Just, right now? Little hard to keep the appreciation uppermost if you know what I mean." He tossed T-shirts, boxers, and socks from the drawer onto the bed, scooping them up to stuff inside the bag.
Sam moved to the door. "I know. I ― I'll go, let you finish." His hand on the doorknob, he turned around and looked at Michael. "We're all still hunters, so don't hesitate to call us if you need back-up, okay? And is there any chance that ― that we can be friends?" His mouth quivered at the last few words.
Michael stopped packing and looked back at Sam. "Yeah, we're friends now, dude. Dean too. Just ― just give me a little time, yeah?" His eyes roved over Sam's face, noting the moisture building in his multi-colored eyes.
Sam started to step forward, but Michael hurried to the bathroom; he didn't want to take the chance of a good-bye hug, it would do him in. He started grabbing his toiletries, filling his kit bag and then his hands. He heard the outside door shut and latch, so he came out slowly, dumping his things into the duffel.
The room was empty.
His knees gave out and he sank onto the floor, kneeling on the coarse, drab carpet. Leaning his head against the side of the mattress, Michael gave way to his tears.
# ~ @ ~ # ~ @ ~ # ~ @ ~ # ~ @
Dean heard the room door open and shut, so he knew Sam was gone. He had probably gone down to Michael's room; they would be busy planning their departure. Dean wondered if he could get his shit together and hightail it out of there first, hit the road ahead of them. He felt too drained to move for the moment, though, so he just sat on the floor and closed his eyes, letting his mind wander among happier days. Days when he and Sam were still lovers, so close he never thought anything would come between them . . .
Finally he opened his eyes, squinting at the fluorescent light, and got up off the floor. His ass felt flat and numb. Dean unlocked the bathroom door and went out into the room; it was empty, as he'd expected. He dragged his duffel out of the closet and began rounding up his clothes. The Wonder Twins were probably shagging their brains out by now, so he probably didn't need to rush. They'd want to take their time, this being their big first and all. He resolutely turned his mind away from any thoughts about Sam's ripped body hiding under those shapeless clothes, his well-shaped cock, and his versatility and generosity as a lover. None of that bore thinking about now. Down, Dean, down.
He had most of his stuff packed and was just debating about taking the laptop when Sam walked in. His surprisingly tidy appearance startled Dean, who felt as if all the air had suddenly be sucked out of the room.
"What ― what are you doing here?" Dean forced the words out. Damn, where was all the oxygen?
Sam tilted his head and looked at him quizzically. "My room too, dude. All my stuff is here, see?" and he gestured around the room. His gaze fell upon the almost-full duffel, and his expression darkened as he asked, "What are you doing? What's with the bag?"
"Packing, Brainiac, what's it look like? I thought you'd be busy boffing Boy Wonder, figured I had time to make a clean getaway."
"What? What the hell, Dean, what are you talking about? Nobody's boffing anybody, and why are you leaving? Did a hunt come up?" Sam moved closer, bitch-face in full force.
Dean checked under both the bed and the dresser for stray items, snagging a T-shirt and a sock. He threw them into the bag. "You! You're porking Jimmy Olsen there! So I was gonna clear out, give you guys some space! Okay?" Sam reached for the duffel and Dean smacked his hand away. "Get offa that!"
Sam's face plainly showed his shock. "You're leaving? Just like that? You're dumping me here in Bumfuck, Nebraska, and hitting the road? What's the matter, Dean, am I cramping your style? You busy running for the title of Biggest Man-whore in the Continental U.S?"
Dean's heartbreak was momentarily eclipsed by his fury. "Fuck you, Sam! How about I fuck who I wanna fuck, and you fuck who you wanna fuck, and you leave me the fuck alone!" He angrily yanked the zipper of the duffel closed. "I'm leaving so that you and your new squeeze can practice happy ever after without having me underfoot! So get your goddamn gigantor ass out of my way, and I'll hit the road!" He picked up the duffel and grabbed his jacket off the chair, heading for the door.
Suddenly he ran into a wall. A Sam-wall, standing between Dean and the door. Dean recoiled, rubbing his bruised nose. Never let it be said, he thought grimly, that Sam's size rules out speed.
"Dean." Sam didn't say his name so much as growl it. Maelstrom of emotions aside, it made Dean shiver a little and his cock twitch. Sam didn't get real toppy too often back in the day, Dean mused, but it sure was pretty fuckin' hot when he did.
"Stop, Dean. Just stop. There is no Michael and me. We're not together. We're not going to be together. In fact, he's all packed up and leaving in a few minutes, so stop one goddamned minute and let us ― for once ― sort this out, before we both go batshit crazy." Sam's voice continued to be several pitches lower than usual, and Dean was definitely responding to it. Not now! he silently yelled at his wayward dick. Focus! This is important!
Sam was still glaring at him, and Dean realized he was probably waiting for a response. "Fine. Whatever. Sorry things didn't work out with your little twink there. Still doesn't mean I'm staying, so move your ginormous ass aside." He trained his own glare back onto Sam, duffel still clutched in his hand.
Suddenly Dean found himself horizontal, his back slammed against the bed with one large hand and a furious Sam looking down at him. "Damn it, Sam, what the hell are you doing? Get the fuck offa me! I've had enough of your crap today!"
"My crap, Dean? MY crap?" Sam barked, ending on a slightly hysterical note. He laughed harshly. "Oh man, you take the fuckin' cake, big brother. You spend months ― years ― parading your bimbos and hook-ups in front of me. I have to walk into rooms reeking of their perfume, the goddamn smell of sex still hanging in the air. You broke my heart years ago, and you've been trampling on it ever since. And you have the nerve to say my crap? Think again, Dean, and decide who's dealing out the crap here!"
Dean looked into Sam's eyes and saw the reservoir of anger, hurt, and grief his brother had never expressed, instead keeping it bottled up and festering. His heart crumbled under the weight of his guilt; it had been one thing to break Sammy's heart for the greater good, but another to treat him so cruelly, and for such a long time. He'd been so intent on trying to bear his own heartbreak that he'd lost sight of how deeply his brother was suffering as well. Pain and sorrow for Sam flooded him as he lay there, rendering his body heavy and his mind broken. He raised one hand slowly and laid it gently on Sam's wet cheek.
He said huskily, "I'm sorry, little brother. Didn't mean to hurt you so bad; didn't mean to be a such an asshole. I'm so, so sorry."
Tears ran from Sam's blue-green eyes, dripping onto Dean's face. "I can't do this anymore, Dean. Whatever happens, it's changing now, because I can't watch you anymore. Can't keep hurting like this, over and over and over. So you gotta decide. You want me? Then it's all of me. It's us. Otherwise it's you off on your own, because I'm gonna leave . . . and it'll be for good. So think about it, Dean, think about it real hard and decide. Either way, I'm done with things the way they are now. Leaving you won't hurt as bad as staying like this."
The little wet drops falling onto Dean stopped as Sam got up and moved away, his tall frame hunched as he wiped his face. He went into the bathroom and locked the door behind him, leaving Dean alone and still sprawled on the bed.
Dean didn't move for several moments. The weight of acknowledging Sammy's emotions kept him pinned as surely as any physical force. He wondered at the wetness on his face, since Sam wasn't crying on him anymore, and it took his own hand on his eyes to make him realize they were his tears now. He slowly sat up; it took a lot of effort to move, like he was on Jupiter and the gravity was times a billion. There was silence from the bathroom for several beats, then the sound of water running began, and Dean envisioned Sam splashing his face. Dean's sleeve sufficed for him as a face cloth for now, the soft flannel drying and whisking the tears away.
He sat very, very still, as if he was on a stake-out and the slightest sound or movement could bring his immediate death. And wasn't that true here? The wrong gesture and his world would finish blowing up, after which he might as well be dead. Oh, he could physically survive Sammy's leaving; could go on hunting, drinking, driving Baby from place to place, fucking strangers. But his soul would shrivel up, finally desiccating from the lack of Sammy. He might as well be a robot. He could live for years like that . . . or until the utter emptiness inside him drove him to sacrifice himself in a hunt. If he didn't eat his gun before then.
Stupid, he thought despairingly. So stupid to think you could live without Sam. Such an utter idiot not to realize that Sam was the kernel of his humanity. That it was Sam's love that truly fueled him. God, Dean, these last few years, everything you've done ― you'll never make it up to him. Can't ever make it up to him. Maybe you should just leave and get it over with, let him build a life like you thought he would. A life with someone good like Michael. He knuckled his eyes, clenching his jaw in grim determination that he wasn't going to break down again. Can't even keep it together for five minutes ― what good am I to him anymore? Is this it? Do you really want me anymore, Sammy, or do you want to be free?
The bathroom door opened and Sam emerged, all red-rimmed eyes, clenched hands, and stiff walk. He stopped as soon as he was out of the bathroom, eyes leveled at Dean.
"Okay, Dean. This is it. For once in your life, face the mess between us and talk to me."
Dean felt his chest tighten, his breath shorten. Say something, asshole! He uttered a dry little croak.
Sam's jaw muscle jumped. "You don't get to cop out here. You have to say something. You have to choose. Stand up for what you want and say something! What is it you want, Dean? Us? Or to keep going the same old way, alone?"
I want you to be happy, Sammy. Want you to be smiling and joking again, want you to have amazing sex with someone you love. Want you to know how wonderful you are, how special. Don't want your life to end because of me.
Sam walked up to him and stared directly into Dean's eyes. Dean tried to not get distracted by the gold flecks in those tip-tilted eyes. "Dean. What. Do. You. Want?"
I can't, Sammy. I can't. Dean opens his mouth to speak, to gasp for air. "Sammy . . ."
"I'm right here, Dean. But you have to say it, because otherwise in one minute I'm walking out that door. I'm done, Dean, I can't do this anymore. So choose!"
Dean opened and closed his mouth. Can't lose Sammy. Can't risk loving him. Oh God, how do I . . .?
"Jesus, Dean! I can't believe this! Or I can, unfortunately. You're so walled up, Dean. You used to be open to me, with me, but you've been closed off for years now. Fine. I get it. I'll be on my way in five minutes, and you can have all the space you need, all the pussy you want, and just have a grand old fucking time!" The anger in Sam's voice rose to semi-hysterical in pitch as he grabbed his clothing and threw it on his bed. He slammed the laptop shut and stuffed it into his backpack, sliding it over a shoulder as the last items were similarly stuffed into his duffel.
"Sammy . . . "
"There! You find anything of mine, you can keep it or pitch it, I'm not leaving an address. I'm done and I'm gone. Good-bye, Dean." Sam strode to the door and threw it open.
"Wait! Wait, Sammy! Please . . . don't go."
Sam turned around to face Dean. "Why not? What's even left to say, Dean?"
"Please ― please don't go. Don't leave." It took all of Dean's effort to get the words out. "Sammy, I ― I need you. Always needed you." As he kept talking, it was starting to come easier, his lungs and mouth becoming more synchronized. "I've always needed you, little brother."
Sam stayed on the doorsill, but he was still listening at least. "Okay. You need whiskey and women too. Where do I rank in there? Is that it?" His voice got quieter as he continued, "Dean, I have to know. I have to take a stand for myself. I have to count for once, be valued, before I'm just a ― a ghost in my own life." He looked ready to take off, only the slight turn of his body and tilt of his head showing his attention toward Dean.
"No. That's not it. I mean, it's true, but it's not all." Dean walked over and stood only a few inches from Sam. He almost resisted the impulse to grab Sam's arm, then gave in to it instead, wrapping his hand around Sam's forearm. Sam's arm was solid and firm, warm underneath the flannel sleeve covering it, contoured with muscle and sinew. Dean tightened his grip, wondering how long had it been since he'd even touched Sam, taking a second to revel in the feel of his brother. It was as if Sam's own strength and heat flooded into Dean through that grip, and he felt his own self, the self that had been in decay for so long, reviving. He looked back up at Sam's questioning face and found he could smile.
"I've been so stupid, Sammy. I'm sorry. I'll probably be saying that for a long time. But what's more important than that is ― I love you. I've loved you all this time, and I've wasted a lot of time and energy hiding that, but no more. I'm the one who's done now ― done denying how I feel, done hiding it. Done treating you like crap. I love you, you're the most important person in the world to me, and if you can start to forgive me at all, I promise to never forget that again." He pulled Sam into his arms and hugged him tightly, wrapping his arms around Sam's big frame, feeling the utter strength of the man beneath his hands. Sam felt stiff inside his arms for a moment and then he relaxed, embracing Dean.
"Dean ― do you mean it? Not yanking my chain here?" Sam whispered, lips brushing the shell of Dean's ear. "Because I don't think I can ― "
Dean squeezed him. "Not yanking your chain. God's honest truth. Always belonged to you, Sammy, even when I tried to run from it." He pulled back a little so he could look up into Sam's face. "I know there's gonna be a lot of trust to rebuild, but I'll do whatever you need. Anything. Just tell me, and I promise to listen. Not gonna lie, you may need to whack me over the head now and then ― I've developed a lot of bad habits." He kissed Sam's cheek, reveling in his brother's smooth skin and spicy smell. He moved his mouth and pressed it against Sam's lips, firm and pink, felt them open beneath the pressure of his kiss, thrilled as Sam's tongue slid against his. His heart beat faster as they kissed, and he broke it only because the intensity of his emotions rose so high, he felt overwhelmed. Overwhelmed and grateful.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."
Sam sniffed and gave a little half-laugh. "You're stuck with me now, jerk."
Dean gave him a big smile and kissed him again. "Works for me, bitch."
Michael paced in his room, waiting for Sam to return. He wondered how the discussion with Dean was going. Sam had looked so upset. God, why did that have to happen? Why couldn't Dean have arrived half an hour later? Now it was like the passionate, loving moment had been made cheap by Dean's snide comments. It wasn't fair that Dean fucked anything that moved and Sam barely got to have a kiss.
He threw himself onto a bed and covered his face, sighing in frustration. He wanted to know what was happening in the other room. His body was still humming in semi-arousal; it was difficult to switch gears so fast, shut down all those responses. An image of Sam arose; cheeks pink, eyes dilated, a hint of moisture on his lips. He was so beautiful as he looked down at Michael, his hair falling around his face in waves. Michael's cock twitched anew, making him think about how incredible their naked dicks had felt pressed together. He felt a small, wet drop trickling down his half-hard cock inside his boxers. Jesus, he needed to think about something else or he was going to have to jerk off to settle down, and that just seemed really inappropriate right now.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, and then it opened and Sam came in. Michael jumped off the bed, holding himself back from actually jumping on the man. Sam smiled briefly at the younger man's eager response, but the smile dropped a moment later. Michael felt a chill pass over his skin. No smiles couldn't be a good thing . . .
"Sit down with me, Michael," Sam said, moving over to the bed.
"No. Just . . . just say it, Sam. I can guess what it is already, but just say it." Michael held himself very still.
Sam sat down on the foot of the bed. "I can't do this, Michael. I'm sorry. I want to . . . god, you're so gorgeous, and you're smart and funny and sweet, you're a good hunter, and I think we'd be great together. I do."
"Damn, Sam, for someone giving me the brush-off, you sound like you're arguing for my side." Michael huffed a small laugh.
Sam looked at his hands for a moment before meeting Michael's eyes again. "I can't do it. My heart ― it already belongs to someone. And even though," he raised his hand to forestall the words poised on Michael's lips, "even though that isn't going well, it's still how it is. I don't want to shortchange you just because I'm fucked up. It's not fair to you. You think you can look past this, but when the day comes that you realize you can never have all of me, then you're going to resent it. Resent me. I don't want that bitterness to happen to either of us."
"Not going well? Shit, Sam, he's oblivious! He's too busy screwing the female population of the country to see how much you love him! Not fair to me? Where does being fair to you come in?" Michael couldn't help the passion in his voice. Sam didn't deserve this.
Sam gave him a wry smile. "Yeah, I know. I don't deserve it. But it's how the cards are. I can't leave him. And I'm not going to."
"So, is he going to change anything, now that he knows you're staying?" Michael could barely speak past the lump in his throat.
Sam shrugged as he replied, "Dunno . . . he doesn't know yet. I didn't tell him. He's locked in the bathroom right now; as far as he knows, I'm packing right now to leave with you."
The tears burning in Michael's eyes finally began to fall. He dashed a hand to brush them off and struggled to take a deep breath. "Wow. I ― wow. Um, I don't really know what to say. I guess ― maybe it's just best we say good-bye now, because frankly I've had about all the emotional turmoil I can take for the day. Or the year." He blew out a breath and turned to grab a duffel, plopping it on the other bed.
Sam stood up, his face sad. "I'm so sorry, Michael. I didn't see this ― you ― coming. And once things started moving, I really thought ― this is it. I'm going to be happy. We'll be happy. I never thought it was going to turn out this way, and I'm so, so sorry. Hurting you is the last thing I ever want to do."
Michael nodded, swallowing hard as he collected his belongings. "I can appreciate that, Sam. Just, right now? Little hard to keep the appreciation uppermost if you know what I mean." He tossed T-shirts, boxers, and socks from the drawer onto the bed, scooping them up to stuff inside the bag.
Sam moved to the door. "I know. I ― I'll go, let you finish." His hand on the doorknob, he turned around and looked at Michael. "We're all still hunters, so don't hesitate to call us if you need back-up, okay? And is there any chance that ― that we can be friends?" His mouth quivered at the last few words.
Michael stopped packing and looked back at Sam. "Yeah, we're friends now, dude. Dean too. Just ― just give me a little time, yeah?" His eyes roved over Sam's face, noting the moisture building in his multi-colored eyes.
Sam started to step forward, but Michael hurried to the bathroom; he didn't want to take the chance of a good-bye hug, it would do him in. He started grabbing his toiletries, filling his kit bag and then his hands. He heard the outside door shut and latch, so he came out slowly, dumping his things into the duffel.
The room was empty.
His knees gave out and he sank onto the floor, kneeling on the coarse, drab carpet. Leaning his head against the side of the mattress, Michael gave way to his tears.
# ~ @ ~ # ~ @ ~ # ~ @ ~ # ~ @
Dean heard the room door open and shut, so he knew Sam was gone. He had probably gone down to Michael's room; they would be busy planning their departure. Dean wondered if he could get his shit together and hightail it out of there first, hit the road ahead of them. He felt too drained to move for the moment, though, so he just sat on the floor and closed his eyes, letting his mind wander among happier days. Days when he and Sam were still lovers, so close he never thought anything would come between them . . .
Finally he opened his eyes, squinting at the fluorescent light, and got up off the floor. His ass felt flat and numb. Dean unlocked the bathroom door and went out into the room; it was empty, as he'd expected. He dragged his duffel out of the closet and began rounding up his clothes. The Wonder Twins were probably shagging their brains out by now, so he probably didn't need to rush. They'd want to take their time, this being their big first and all. He resolutely turned his mind away from any thoughts about Sam's ripped body hiding under those shapeless clothes, his well-shaped cock, and his versatility and generosity as a lover. None of that bore thinking about now. Down, Dean, down.
He had most of his stuff packed and was just debating about taking the laptop when Sam walked in. His surprisingly tidy appearance startled Dean, who felt as if all the air had suddenly be sucked out of the room.
"What ― what are you doing here?" Dean forced the words out. Damn, where was all the oxygen?
Sam tilted his head and looked at him quizzically. "My room too, dude. All my stuff is here, see?" and he gestured around the room. His gaze fell upon the almost-full duffel, and his expression darkened as he asked, "What are you doing? What's with the bag?"
"Packing, Brainiac, what's it look like? I thought you'd be busy boffing Boy Wonder, figured I had time to make a clean getaway."
"What? What the hell, Dean, what are you talking about? Nobody's boffing anybody, and why are you leaving? Did a hunt come up?" Sam moved closer, bitch-face in full force.
Dean checked under both the bed and the dresser for stray items, snagging a T-shirt and a sock. He threw them into the bag. "You! You're porking Jimmy Olsen there! So I was gonna clear out, give you guys some space! Okay?" Sam reached for the duffel and Dean smacked his hand away. "Get offa that!"
Sam's face plainly showed his shock. "You're leaving? Just like that? You're dumping me here in Bumfuck, Nebraska, and hitting the road? What's the matter, Dean, am I cramping your style? You busy running for the title of Biggest Man-whore in the Continental U.S?"
Dean's heartbreak was momentarily eclipsed by his fury. "Fuck you, Sam! How about I fuck who I wanna fuck, and you fuck who you wanna fuck, and you leave me the fuck alone!" He angrily yanked the zipper of the duffel closed. "I'm leaving so that you and your new squeeze can practice happy ever after without having me underfoot! So get your goddamn gigantor ass out of my way, and I'll hit the road!" He picked up the duffel and grabbed his jacket off the chair, heading for the door.
Suddenly he ran into a wall. A Sam-wall, standing between Dean and the door. Dean recoiled, rubbing his bruised nose. Never let it be said, he thought grimly, that Sam's size rules out speed.
"Dean." Sam didn't say his name so much as growl it. Maelstrom of emotions aside, it made Dean shiver a little and his cock twitch. Sam didn't get real toppy too often back in the day, Dean mused, but it sure was pretty fuckin' hot when he did.
"Stop, Dean. Just stop. There is no Michael and me. We're not together. We're not going to be together. In fact, he's all packed up and leaving in a few minutes, so stop one goddamned minute and let us ― for once ― sort this out, before we both go batshit crazy." Sam's voice continued to be several pitches lower than usual, and Dean was definitely responding to it. Not now! he silently yelled at his wayward dick. Focus! This is important!
Sam was still glaring at him, and Dean realized he was probably waiting for a response. "Fine. Whatever. Sorry things didn't work out with your little twink there. Still doesn't mean I'm staying, so move your ginormous ass aside." He trained his own glare back onto Sam, duffel still clutched in his hand.
Suddenly Dean found himself horizontal, his back slammed against the bed with one large hand and a furious Sam looking down at him. "Damn it, Sam, what the hell are you doing? Get the fuck offa me! I've had enough of your crap today!"
"My crap, Dean? MY crap?" Sam barked, ending on a slightly hysterical note. He laughed harshly. "Oh man, you take the fuckin' cake, big brother. You spend months ― years ― parading your bimbos and hook-ups in front of me. I have to walk into rooms reeking of their perfume, the goddamn smell of sex still hanging in the air. You broke my heart years ago, and you've been trampling on it ever since. And you have the nerve to say my crap? Think again, Dean, and decide who's dealing out the crap here!"
Dean looked into Sam's eyes and saw the reservoir of anger, hurt, and grief his brother had never expressed, instead keeping it bottled up and festering. His heart crumbled under the weight of his guilt; it had been one thing to break Sammy's heart for the greater good, but another to treat him so cruelly, and for such a long time. He'd been so intent on trying to bear his own heartbreak that he'd lost sight of how deeply his brother was suffering as well. Pain and sorrow for Sam flooded him as he lay there, rendering his body heavy and his mind broken. He raised one hand slowly and laid it gently on Sam's wet cheek.
He said huskily, "I'm sorry, little brother. Didn't mean to hurt you so bad; didn't mean to be a such an asshole. I'm so, so sorry."
Tears ran from Sam's blue-green eyes, dripping onto Dean's face. "I can't do this anymore, Dean. Whatever happens, it's changing now, because I can't watch you anymore. Can't keep hurting like this, over and over and over. So you gotta decide. You want me? Then it's all of me. It's us. Otherwise it's you off on your own, because I'm gonna leave . . . and it'll be for good. So think about it, Dean, think about it real hard and decide. Either way, I'm done with things the way they are now. Leaving you won't hurt as bad as staying like this."
The little wet drops falling onto Dean stopped as Sam got up and moved away, his tall frame hunched as he wiped his face. He went into the bathroom and locked the door behind him, leaving Dean alone and still sprawled on the bed.
Dean didn't move for several moments. The weight of acknowledging Sammy's emotions kept him pinned as surely as any physical force. He wondered at the wetness on his face, since Sam wasn't crying on him anymore, and it took his own hand on his eyes to make him realize they were his tears now. He slowly sat up; it took a lot of effort to move, like he was on Jupiter and the gravity was times a billion. There was silence from the bathroom for several beats, then the sound of water running began, and Dean envisioned Sam splashing his face. Dean's sleeve sufficed for him as a face cloth for now, the soft flannel drying and whisking the tears away.
He sat very, very still, as if he was on a stake-out and the slightest sound or movement could bring his immediate death. And wasn't that true here? The wrong gesture and his world would finish blowing up, after which he might as well be dead. Oh, he could physically survive Sammy's leaving; could go on hunting, drinking, driving Baby from place to place, fucking strangers. But his soul would shrivel up, finally desiccating from the lack of Sammy. He might as well be a robot. He could live for years like that . . . or until the utter emptiness inside him drove him to sacrifice himself in a hunt. If he didn't eat his gun before then.
Stupid, he thought despairingly. So stupid to think you could live without Sam. Such an utter idiot not to realize that Sam was the kernel of his humanity. That it was Sam's love that truly fueled him. God, Dean, these last few years, everything you've done ― you'll never make it up to him. Can't ever make it up to him. Maybe you should just leave and get it over with, let him build a life like you thought he would. A life with someone good like Michael. He knuckled his eyes, clenching his jaw in grim determination that he wasn't going to break down again. Can't even keep it together for five minutes ― what good am I to him anymore? Is this it? Do you really want me anymore, Sammy, or do you want to be free?
The bathroom door opened and Sam emerged, all red-rimmed eyes, clenched hands, and stiff walk. He stopped as soon as he was out of the bathroom, eyes leveled at Dean.
"Okay, Dean. This is it. For once in your life, face the mess between us and talk to me."
Dean felt his chest tighten, his breath shorten. Say something, asshole! He uttered a dry little croak.
Sam's jaw muscle jumped. "You don't get to cop out here. You have to say something. You have to choose. Stand up for what you want and say something! What is it you want, Dean? Us? Or to keep going the same old way, alone?"
I want you to be happy, Sammy. Want you to be smiling and joking again, want you to have amazing sex with someone you love. Want you to know how wonderful you are, how special. Don't want your life to end because of me.
Sam walked up to him and stared directly into Dean's eyes. Dean tried to not get distracted by the gold flecks in those tip-tilted eyes. "Dean. What. Do. You. Want?"
I can't, Sammy. I can't. Dean opens his mouth to speak, to gasp for air. "Sammy . . ."
"I'm right here, Dean. But you have to say it, because otherwise in one minute I'm walking out that door. I'm done, Dean, I can't do this anymore. So choose!"
Dean opened and closed his mouth. Can't lose Sammy. Can't risk loving him. Oh God, how do I . . .?
"Jesus, Dean! I can't believe this! Or I can, unfortunately. You're so walled up, Dean. You used to be open to me, with me, but you've been closed off for years now. Fine. I get it. I'll be on my way in five minutes, and you can have all the space you need, all the pussy you want, and just have a grand old fucking time!" The anger in Sam's voice rose to semi-hysterical in pitch as he grabbed his clothing and threw it on his bed. He slammed the laptop shut and stuffed it into his backpack, sliding it over a shoulder as the last items were similarly stuffed into his duffel.
"Sammy . . . "
"There! You find anything of mine, you can keep it or pitch it, I'm not leaving an address. I'm done and I'm gone. Good-bye, Dean." Sam strode to the door and threw it open.
"Wait! Wait, Sammy! Please . . . don't go."
Sam turned around to face Dean. "Why not? What's even left to say, Dean?"
"Please ― please don't go. Don't leave." It took all of Dean's effort to get the words out. "Sammy, I ― I need you. Always needed you." As he kept talking, it was starting to come easier, his lungs and mouth becoming more synchronized. "I've always needed you, little brother."
Sam stayed on the doorsill, but he was still listening at least. "Okay. You need whiskey and women too. Where do I rank in there? Is that it?" His voice got quieter as he continued, "Dean, I have to know. I have to take a stand for myself. I have to count for once, be valued, before I'm just a ― a ghost in my own life." He looked ready to take off, only the slight turn of his body and tilt of his head showing his attention toward Dean.
"No. That's not it. I mean, it's true, but it's not all." Dean walked over and stood only a few inches from Sam. He almost resisted the impulse to grab Sam's arm, then gave in to it instead, wrapping his hand around Sam's forearm. Sam's arm was solid and firm, warm underneath the flannel sleeve covering it, contoured with muscle and sinew. Dean tightened his grip, wondering how long had it been since he'd even touched Sam, taking a second to revel in the feel of his brother. It was as if Sam's own strength and heat flooded into Dean through that grip, and he felt his own self, the self that had been in decay for so long, reviving. He looked back up at Sam's questioning face and found he could smile.
"I've been so stupid, Sammy. I'm sorry. I'll probably be saying that for a long time. But what's more important than that is ― I love you. I've loved you all this time, and I've wasted a lot of time and energy hiding that, but no more. I'm the one who's done now ― done denying how I feel, done hiding it. Done treating you like crap. I love you, you're the most important person in the world to me, and if you can start to forgive me at all, I promise to never forget that again." He pulled Sam into his arms and hugged him tightly, wrapping his arms around Sam's big frame, feeling the utter strength of the man beneath his hands. Sam felt stiff inside his arms for a moment and then he relaxed, embracing Dean.
"Dean ― do you mean it? Not yanking my chain here?" Sam whispered, lips brushing the shell of Dean's ear. "Because I don't think I can ― "
Dean squeezed him. "Not yanking your chain. God's honest truth. Always belonged to you, Sammy, even when I tried to run from it." He pulled back a little so he could look up into Sam's face. "I know there's gonna be a lot of trust to rebuild, but I'll do whatever you need. Anything. Just tell me, and I promise to listen. Not gonna lie, you may need to whack me over the head now and then ― I've developed a lot of bad habits." He kissed Sam's cheek, reveling in his brother's smooth skin and spicy smell. He moved his mouth and pressed it against Sam's lips, firm and pink, felt them open beneath the pressure of his kiss, thrilled as Sam's tongue slid against his. His heart beat faster as they kissed, and he broke it only because the intensity of his emotions rose so high, he felt overwhelmed. Overwhelmed and grateful.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."
Sam sniffed and gave a little half-laugh. "You're stuck with me now, jerk."
Dean gave him a big smile and kissed him again. "Works for me, bitch."