Fic "There’s something in the silence" Part III
2010/2011 - The Winter of Revelations
Dean’s just gotten Sam back, soul and all.
They are both drained, emotionally, physically. Just about to reach the end of their ropes and ready to let it all go to hell. Only, they never do. They fight on, hunt, resist temptation in its many forms.
Jess, as an interlude, doesn’t stand between them anymore, hasn’t for years. Simply because Sam, in a drunken attempt of making things right again a few years ago, told Dean how it was. How Jess was there, listened and made him feel good. Told him that Jess was never meant to be anything more and ended up being Sam’s anchor to ‘normal’.
Then Sam, sloppy and uncoordinated, kissed him deeply and fell asleep on Dean.
They never speak about it and Dean sometimes wonders if Sam even remembers. Now they are ‘them’ again. Back to the usual ways.
It’s a cold night, dark, no moon and barely any stars visible through the clouds. Snow’s on the ground, not much but enough to let the cold seep through jeans and hoodies. Dean’s never liked stake-outs in winter.
It’s not perfect for a hunt but it should do. If they don’t get it done tonight they’ll have to wait another month and Dean isn’t sure he can do that. He’s cold and tired and on the edge, always watching Sam for signs that the wall is crumpling… a noise next to him makes him snap his head so hard that he hisses at the pain.
Lying cramped in one position for hours in the cold isn’t that much fun anymore. He’s getting too old for it, longs for a hot shower, a warm bed and a good cup of coffee. Sam’s not any better, moving restlessly, trying to warm up his cramped muscles.
Dean can barely see him in the dark but just Sam’s head poking out from behind the bushes is enough to settle him somewhat. He never wants to let Sam out of his sight again. Never. Not for angels or demons or the apocalypse.
They’ve been researching for a month now, pretty sure that it’s a were and more than half sure it’s a wolf. There are some details not connecting but they can’t wait any longer. People are dying, are maybe even turned, and neither of them wants that to go on for another cycle.
Dean’s been worrying about Sam, can’t not after everything. He curses the day they started to deal with angels and their shit. There’s nothing they can do about it now but it brought them here, and Dean has a feeling that it’s not all over and done yet. It probably never will be.
He tries to concentrate on the hunt, on making sure they are good to go and can handle it.
Turns out they are very, very wrong about the whole thing.
The thing, the Were, isn’t alone. Something Dean should have known, should have anticipated. Sometimes there are packs. Why he hadn’t thought that before, makes him frown. He just didn’t and it’s going to kick them in the ass now.
Sam shouts a warning, just in time and then he’s gone. Dean yells but can’t do much else, concentrating on the creatures rushing in on him, through the trees and just about visible in the darkness of the night.
There are about four of them, maybe even five, Dean’s not sure. They’re the ones being hunted now and Dean really doesn’t like it. But he’s outnumbered, can’t get to Sam, so he does the only thing he knows is right.
He runs.
Barely aware of where he’s going, he hears Sam do the same.
He’s crashing through the under wood, trying not to get tangled in roots and branches, doesn’t care about the noise he’s making. It’s too late for that anyway. It’s also too dark to properly see and Dean curses the clouds and himself for thinking they could do it all on their own. Should have called Bobby.
Then Sam shouts something that sounds like ‘get down’ and Dean does, crashes through branches slapping back, catching him in the face and on the arms. He’s flat on the ground, groans when he nicks at the skin of his neck and knows Sam’s torching them.
“Silver, Dean. Works. Use the gun.”
That’s, at least, some good news. Dean gets up, turns in one move and just barely gets the gun up before the thing is on him. He shoots it once, twice and then just hopes it’s enough. The second one is easier to bring down but it gets too close as well. Dean feels skin tearing and breaking, feels blood already running down his face.
Then he stumbles, flies out of the woods and down the street, knows the Impala is parked somewhere close to the diner, its blinking neon sign is something Dean can just barely see in the distance. He doesn’t pause, just continues sprinting, feeling the hot breath of something on his neck and then feels the searing hot pain on his side.
Sam’s right next to him, grabbing on, dragging Dean and cursing under his breath.
“Got them?”
“Yeah. All.” Sam’s panting hard. Letting go so that he can grab the bag Dean has dropped.
Dean stumbles now more than he runs, reaches the car just before his knees give out. Hot blood is seeping through his clothes, hands scratched open when he tries to heave himself up from the gravelled ground. Stones dig into bruised skin and Dean feels the blackness crawling in on him.
It’s hard to breathe, hard to think. All he knows is that they need to get away from here.
Then Sam’s there, at his side, arms under him again and helping.
“Come on, let’s get out of here. I know a place.”
Dean’s not in the right mind to ask, to question what Sam means, and lets himself be dragged up, shoved almost gently into the passenger seat and hands the keys over without protest.
Dean knows he shouldn’t be driving and for once in his life he lets Sam be the get away driver. Okay, so not the first time but he feels like it has been ages. The Impala roaring to life beneath him is a relief, so is the sight of the crossroads that leads them away from the parking lot.
Dean’s barely coherent through the drive, doesn’t know where they are going and doesn’t feel like asking. He trusts Sam to keep them safe, has for a while again.
Sam wakes him up after a while, gets him out of the car and to a front door that looks rather normal.
“Where?”
“A friend’s place. He’s a doctor. And you need one.”
It’s all Dean needs to know for now. Sam sounds sure and not scared, worried but not panicky, so things are okay. The pain is just a side effect, Dean’s more numb than anything.
Lights are turned on, a door is opened and Dean is still awake enough to hear the gasps of surprise. A guy, maybe Sam’s age, sleepy looking and of average height, stands there, staring, gaping even.
“Sam? Sam Winchester?”
It sounds like the guy at the door is seeing a ghost. Maybe he thinks he is, Dean muses.
“Hi, Marcus. I’m really sorry… but we were attacked on a hunt. He needs help. I’m sorry, I could bring him to a clinic.” Sam’s rambling now and Dean isn’t sure if it’s because of him or because of guy.
“God, Sam. No, come on in then. We’ll get him patched up.”
Sam moves and Dean stumbles, forward again and groans out in pain. The blood has stopped tickling down his face but he can still feel it sticky on his skin. He’s not sure about the wound at his side, it feels hot and sticky but he can’t tell if it stopped bleeding or not.
He tries to walk on his own, keep his dignity intact but it’s not really working out so well. He stumbles again, almost takes out a table in the hallway and smears blood all over the place.
“Dammit, Dean.” There is fear, worry, some fondness and a lot of exasperation. It sounds like Sam and like home. Dean grins a little, sheepish and glad he made it this far. Then he promptly passes out when he feels strong arms come around him again.
---
The room he wakes up in feels less like a hospital room than he anticipated. Then he realises it’s not a hospital room he’s in but rather one that looks like a guest room.
There are voices but he can’t see anyone. The room’s dark, curtains closed and only some light from the street filters through. The door’s cracked open a little though and a small stripe of light falls on the floor.
The bed smells like lemon shampoo, cheap soap, and Sam. Dean burrows further into it and feels Sam’s hoodie underneath his cheek. He wonders what that’s about and then groans when vague images of him sort of clinging to the hoodie spring back into his mind.
He wriggles around a little more but can’t get back to sleep. Everything hurts. Everything that isn’t numb. He feels for the crusted blood he knows must be there and is surprised when it isn’t.
Sam must’ve cleaned him up, had his side and ribs bandaged, judging from the feel of it. Dean doesn’t know why he’s surprised about it. The urge to get up and see Sam is strong, makes him move without realizing it. He needs to check if Sam’s okay, the guy has the tendency to say he’s fine and then walks around with broken bones for days.
Only when he tries to move his legs does Dean feel his body protesting. He swings his legs carefully over the edge of the mattress and has to sit there for several minutes, taking deep breaths and letting the pain wash over him. He prays for no one to come in and see him like this. He’s in luck and feels less embarrassed as he curses up a blue streak when his toe meets the bedpost.
He instinctively follows the voices, stops in the hallway when he needs to take a breather. He stays there for some reason and just listens. It’s not like him to actively eavesdrop but Dean will claim feverish hallucinations as an excuse. He needs to hear Sam right now.
It sounds like the conversation just started, comments about years gone by and how life has been. It’s all very generic and kinda boring, nothing to stay around for. Until it gets interesting.
“So, that’s Dean, huh?”
Dean grins at the tone, knows whoever it is, is very curious.
“Yeah.” Sam sounds tired, worried. And Dean doesn’t even think about the fact that he can hear it all in just one word. It’s always been like that, no matter how long and how far they’ve been apart.
“The Dean?”
“Dammit, Marcus. Yes, the Dean. Could we not?” It sounds resigned, as if Sam knows that this Marcus guy won’t stop asking. Dean’s curious now as well, inches his way closer to the kitchen where Sam and Marcus are, carefully stepping around boots and his duffle on the floor.
Sam must have gone out to the car, gotten their things and salt, since there’s enough to keep an army of demons out on the window sill right by the door. Dean feels the sutures now, feels dizzy with the knowledge that he didn’t even wake for the stitches. Those things must have really done a number on him. It explains the worry that’s still so clear in Sam’s voice.
“Oh, I don’t know Sammy…” Dean scowls at the use of the nickname and then realises that it was said mockingly, like maybe Sam has not allowed anyone to use it and Dean just did in front of whoever that Marcus is.
“Marcus,” Sam sighs.
“Sam. That’s the guy you only ever talked about when you were drunk or having interesting dreams. You never mentioned how you knew him and what happened between you. And now you show up here with him, bloody and beaten. Of course, I want to know more. Who is he?”
Dean almost holds his breath, wants to know the answer.
“He’s… just… he’s. My past.”
It hurts. More than the stitches and bruises on his body.
Just one wrong twist and Dean’s ready to go down on his knees. Pain, hot and pierce, races through his body and he groans. Loud and maybe a little desperate.
“Dean. God. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” Sam’s there, strong hands on Dean’s feverish skin, holding him up and guiding.
“Sammy?” There is a question Dean doesn’t know how to ask but Sam seems to see it, to hear it. Who’s Dean. It’s loud and clear in the silence of the room. Dean can see Marcus hovering in the kitchen door but doesn’t care. Things have been in limbo for too long already. Dean’s kinda tired of it.
“Dean. My Dean. Family. Past, present, future.” It’s said in the same voice Sam always used as a kid to emphasize what was true for him and what would always be just that, truth. Dean lets himself be pushed back onto the bed. It’s not settled yet but okay. Dean’s in too much pain anyway.
Dean’s out like a light in under a second.
----
The morning after is less fun than Dean thought it would be. He hurts even more, feels dizzy and slightly out of it. He feels like he’s eighty and ran a marathon with a pound of lead attached to his feet. It’s really not a nice feeling.
The sun’s already up, higher than he thought it would be. It tells him a lot about how out of it he really was. Dean never sleeps past nine in the morning, never. It’s almost noon when he manages to grab his watch from the bedside table.
There’s also a glass of water on the table and some pills he really hopes are pain meds. He swallows all three of them and downs the water in one go. He coughs slightly when it goes down too fast and sighs when he lets himself flop back onto the bed. Eyes closed, Dean contemplates going back to sleep.
Someone’s standing in the door way, watching him. He’s not sure he wants to talk right now. But then a move, a shuffle and he knows it isn’t Sam. Marcus then.
Dean makes sure to tilt his head slightly so that he can see him better. He stands there, arms crossed and watches Dean with alert eyes, curious. Dean wonders what that’s about but knows now’s not the time to ask.
“Hi,” he says instead.
“Sorry. I tend to look after my patients every so often. It’s a habit. I know Sam said you’re fine but I rather check for myself. I’m Marcus, used to be Sam’s roommate the first two years, and his best friend, at Stanford.”
His voice is steady and professional, and yet, Dean can still detect the underlying curiosity like it’s a blinking light. It’s jovial and friendly but cautious and Dean can understand why. It’s not every day that your best friend from college, whom you haven’t seen in years, drops by with a heavily injured man hanging from his arm.
“Dean,” he answers. This is kind of awkward.
“Yeah. Nice to finally meet you. “
Dean nods, unsure what to say next. Then Marcus moves, checks Dean’s pulse and visible cuts. When he seems satisfied, he steps back and looks at Dean again.
“Nice car.”
Dean blinks, because that is a little bit out of nowhere, then shrugs and waits for Marcus to go on.
“Sam used to have a miniature one on his desk. Fiddled with it when he was on the phone, sometimes even slept with it. I always pretended not to notice. Guess the big one out there explains a lot now.”
Dean just looks on, doesn’t say a word. The words slowly process and the smile he can feel on his lips finally slips free. It seems to be some sign for Marcus because he relaxes gradually and looks at Dean a lot less suspiciously now.
“Sam never talked much about you, only when I caught him on the phone or when he was drunk and couldn’t stop blabbing about how much he misses you.” Marcus shrugs, seemingly not really all that sorry that he’s telling on Sam’s secrets. Because Dean’s pretty sure Sam doesn’t want him to know all that.
And Dean’s right about that.
“Marcus.” It’s said in such an exasperated tone that Dean actually snorts and then winces when it pulls on his stitches. When he looks up at Sam, there’s a small smile on his lips though. Dean grins back.
“Missed me, huh?” Dean feels smug, happy even. Deep down he knows that Sam missed him during those four years but hearing it, knowing it’s true, is so much better.
“’Course,” Sam says and sounds all but five and it makes Dean grin even wider. “How are you feeling?”
“Now, that’s a loaded question. Truth or the Winchester-way?” Dean sees Marcus frown, first at Sam and then at him, wonders if he just said the wrong thing. But Sam doesn’t seem to think so. He moves fully into the room, walks around Marcus and sits down on the edge of the bed.
“Truth, or otherwise I’ll look for myself.” Hazel eyes look honestly worried and so much like Sam that Dean just shrugs a little self-consciously.
“It’s okay. Cracked ribs, I guess.” Dean shrugs again, not sure how to go. Looks at Marcus and gets a nod. “Everything else hurts like a bitch, though.”
Sam’s hand follows the lines of the bandages, making sure that everything sits right and hasn’t moved. Dean tries not to shiver when Sam goes over to stroke along the bruises on Dean’s arms. This is way more intimate than anything they’ve ever done in a while.
Something is up or Dean has finally cracked and is imagining things again.
“Oh, I can imagine. You look like a punching bag, all black and blue. Next time, lets research a little more thoroughly, huh. Can’t let shifters slip away.” Sam’s fingers on his skin are so distracting that it takes Dean a second to realize what Sam just asked and that Marcus is still in the room, looking more curious than anything.
“Uhm… what?”
“He knows, Dean,” Sam says, shyly and a little hesitant, as if he thinks Dean will blow up at that.
“Seriously? Dude.”
“Had to tell him after I saved him and his girlfriend from a vengeful spirit. He thinks it’s cool. But then he doesn’t know how we grew up.” This time it’s Sam who shrugs, one hand still on Dean’s arm.
“So, you grew up together? That’s a fact I didn’t know.” Marcus smiles like he means it and Dean has no idea how to take it.
Sam smiles back.
“Yeah, I’ve known Dean for a long time. Practically my whole life.”
Dean looks at his brother and doesn’t say a word.
Marcus excuses himself, apparently senses that Sam and Dean need to talk and closes the door silently.
“Don’t look at me like that, Dean. I didn’t tell him we are brothers. Not in college and not now.”
“And why’s that?” Dean’s curious, wants to know why Sam felt the need to omit that, to pretend that they were something else.
“Would have been hard to explain why I had very explicit dreams about you or why I told him so many inappropriate things while being drunk.” Sam looks sheepish but not really sorry. More worried, like he maybe thinks Dean will freak out now, like maybe they aren’t on the same page here. Dean grins.
After all those years, after all the tension and denial, after the kiss they never talk about, Sam should know him better than this. They’ve been through so much, recently more than ever before. They are them now, again, and Dean’s tired of holding back.
He’s tired of denying himself, denying Sam what he so obviously wants. It’s been years since Dean realized the truth. He’s deeply and hopelessly in love with his little brother. Probably has been all his life. But for the first time in maybe ever there’s hope glimmering, hope that this thing between them might go somewhere.
They’ve changed. Their lives have basically ended and the only regret Dean has is letting Sam go the one time it really mattered. He had to, Dean knows that much. It just doesn’t mean he has to let go again. Not when Sam’s right here now.
“So he thinks I’m your… what? Boyfriend? And you’ve been pinning away for me at college? That’s lame but kinda cute. You know I’ll tease the shit out of you for that, right?”
Sam doesn’t say a word. He just looks at Dean, open and honest. And for the first time in years neither of them is hiding anything.
One day. Maybe it’s now.
---
It takes almost a week for Dean to actually be able to walk straight and sit down on anything that’s not a bed. Everything is going well, perfect even, except that Marcus seems to think that it’s a good idea to keep trying to give them ‘alone time’. It’s just a tad awkward.
One evening, when Marcus is out to see patients, they sit on the couch in the living room, doing nothing. The TV’s on and it reminds Dean so much of that one time when they were teenagers and Sam pretended to be his student instead of his brother. Only because Dean needed to get laid so badly.
“You know… that time with Belinda? I never did anything with her.”
Sam looks at him, face carefully blank and not a single emotion visible. Dean goes on.
“I couldn’t. After you were gone, saying you weren’t my brother. I couldn’t. She flipped out on me. Was kind of spectacular.” A smirk curves on his lips and he shrugs. Doesn’t know why he’s bringing it up now.
The light from the TV casts a weird light around the room, throwing shadows and making them move ever so often. Sam sits right in the light, visible and just there.
“I was mad at you. She was just so…”
“Shallow? Yeah, I know. But back then, it’s all I could do and I tried everything to forget what was really inside of me. It was my demon to hunt down and it took me years to calm it, to settle it.”
Sam nods, as if he knows what Dean’s talking about. He looks so strong and confident in the way he just watches Dean. It’s some kind of revelation. One day. Maybe it is now. After all they’ve gone through, after all they had to endure. It made them who they are now and maybe that’s what it takes to finally settle this thing between them.
“It’s still haunting you?”
And that’s really the question. The one Dean’s been waiting for.
“Not really. No. Sam… Sammy.”
It’s all he says.
And Sam’s there, right there. Close and touching, fingers on skin and drawing Dean in, closer until they are touching, kissing. It’s soft at first, languid and testing, like they need this, need to explore to be able to go on.
When it turns frantic Dean doesn’t hold back anymore, can’t and doesn’t want to.
They stumble back into their guest room, plastered close together, not stopping, touching, kissing, whispering words that are long overdue. Dean doesn’t even protest much when Sam slams him against wall and claims his mouth in a bruising kiss. Dean’s beyond protesting now, beyond denying himself.
Dean’s thoughts aren’t anywhere close to protesting when Sam strips him out of his clothes and drags him into the bedroom. It’s not awkward at all suddenly.
His cock is heavy, hot against Sam’s skin. They writhe and lick and bite, never let go and touch where they can. Dean’s gone, so lost in them, in Sam. Fingers circling around his length, gently scratch along the skin and Dean wants to touch as well. Gets to when Sam moves just right, leaves them plastered together and they find a mutual rhythm.
It’s frantic even when it’s not. Hot and languid, slow moves and jerked hips, fingers digging into skin and mouths seeking each other. It’s less and so much more than Dean’s ever hoped for. It’s everything.
Later, curled together under the covers, sated and warm, Sam sighs and looks at Dean.
“You never asked me to stay.”
“What?”
“When I took the bus to Stanford, after the kiss, after I told you everything, you never asked me to stay. I wanted you to. I hoped you would. But maybe I had to go away to get this.”
Dean knows exactly what Sam wants to hear, pulls him closer and kisses him deeply.
“One day?”
A nod and kiss is the answer and it’s all Dean needs.
Pretending isn’t so much pretending anymore.
***
2011 and on to the future
Damn the angels. And the demons along with them. Dean’s had enough of them to last a lifetime and right now he really, really doesn’t want to hear how he and Sam are needed in a grand fight of Good versus Evil.
He really, really has had enough of it all. He’s gone to Hell, has seen his brother die twice, once to escape Fate and once to save the world. He almost lost Sam to demon blood and mistrust, almost gave himself up when it was all about vessels and the war. He’s dealt with a soulless Sam for the better part of half of a year and now that he finally has him back, they are supposed to fight again.
No way in Hell.
After the shifter thing, they need time off. They need to get away. And they need to be just them for a while. No pretending anymore, just them and what’s between them now. They deserve this much.
Sam’s asleep next to him, the Impala rumbling beneath them. The highway’s stretched in front of them and there is not destination, no place they have to be. Dean’s determined to ignore any and every call he gets. He needs time with Sam and he’ll take it.
He has no real idea where they are but when the sign for a lodge at a lake shows up, Dean doesn’t even have to think about. He just takes the turn and lets the car fly over asphalt until it’s just gravel and dust.
The glove compartment rattles like it hasn’t in years, candy boxes, knives, tapes, and the miniature Impala all smashed together. The toy car, saved from the depth of Sam’s duffel years ago, makes a sound in there that Dean knows belongs to the feeling of home.
Sam’s awake by the time they reach the lodge, smiles slightly when he sees it but raises his eyebrows anyway.
“Time off, Sammy. We deserve it.”
Sam actually laughs. Out loud, happy and free. It does things to Dean’s heart that no single person should be allowed to do. Only Sam. Only ever Sam.
“Awesome.”
They park in front of the reception house. It's a little thing, barely deserves the name house. But it looks friendly and Dean has hope for the lodge cabins. They deserve something better than a dingy motel after everything.
Sam goes with him, stands right by his side when they ask for a cabin by the lake. The young girl behind the counter doesn’t even blink at them, smiles even when Dean asks for a one bedroom one.
Sam actually gasps a little. It’s the first time they blatantly ignore one truth and go with the other.
“There you go. It’s number 15, right by the lake, has a nice little private beach. One bedroom and an awesome view. Hope you and your partner will like it,” she says with a smile and Dean actually believes it.
“Oh… Pretty sure we will. Come on, Sammy. Vacation time.”
The first thing Sam does when they reach their little get away place is kiss Dean on the front porch, right there in the open, for everyone to see.
The second thing he does is push Dean right into the lake, clothes and everything. And then he just jumps in himself, laughing out loud and free.
That’s the Sam Dean wants to see, wants to keep. That’s the Sam Dean simply wants.
His brother, his best friend, and his lover.
The End
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