You've Waited All Your Life to See - SPN, Wincest, Sam/Dean, PG-13
Title: You've Waited All Your Life to See
Author: thelonejuliet
Characters: Sam, Dean
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/Jess mentioned in passing
Word Count: 1,522
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Boy-kissing, Wincest
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine - it's all owned by Kripke and Company.
Spoilers: Pilot and a minor one for "Home."
Author's Note(s): This is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine and I invite you to throttle me if you so choose. :)
Title is from Rascal Flatt's "It's Not Just Me." This whole thing came out of having the song on repeat, so...
This is very disjointed, so some things might not make total sense. But, it's intentional - no one's thoughts are ever linear. The flow of the story's a bit skewed as a result, but that's how it's meant to be, I promise. I assure that I do know how to write well. :) Or, at least semi-well.
All fics found here or here!
Summary: As soon as Dean shows up at his apartment, Sam starts coming apart due to a force that he can't see.
You've Waited All Your Life to See
He’s not sure what starts it, where it comes from. All he knows is that suddenly Dean is standing right there, in the middle of his new life, and things are completely out of order. Out of order and more right than they’ve been in a long while.
Something tugs at his heartstrings, something that he can’t name, something that he’s never felt and isn’t entirely sure he wants to ever feel again.
***
When Jess dies and Dean is left standing among the rubble, the only support Sam has in a new-but-familiar world, he can’t say that he’s not somewhat relieved. He always knew that Normal would come crashing down around him. He’s just glad that Dean is there - actually, solidly there - to help him pick up the shattered remains of what never truly existed.
***
The feeling that began creeping its way into Sam’s soul grows exponentially from that first moment, the reappearance of Dean in his life. Months later, there’s still no name for it, but he notices that it takes hold at the weirdest times. When Dean’s cradling his head after the appliances nearly choke him to death. When Dean’s ribbing him about knowing all things weird. When they’re just hanging out.
It’s not until a hunt nearly cost him his life that he realizes Dean feels it too, the Unnamable.
Sam’s had the hands of Death wrapped around his throat and he can’t get his breath, can’t even begin to remember how to breathe until Dean is there. There are hands roaming over his skin, checking for wounds. Fingers are gently sliding over his neck, a hiss being drawn at the marks that begin to surface. Then, Sam opens his eyes.
Brotherly concern is shining from his brother’s green eyes like a spotlight, a beacon. But, there’s something else, something deeper, hiding just beneath the surface. He thinks it looks like a sort of hope, slipping in amongst the gold flecks of Dean’s eyes.
***
He’s not really sure when he began to notice Dean. Not just the fact that he’s there and that he’s Dean: Brother, Protector, Friend. No, it wouldn’t bother him so much if it were just that. He starts to notice little things, miniscule facts that no one else would even care about.
Something’s shifted. It’s in the way Dean’s fingers linger a little too long when something’s handed from one to the other. Or how Sam catches himself just looking, watching - Dean doesn’t even have to be doing anything special. It’s how he’s always aware of Dean’s position, regardless of where they are or what they’re doing.
But, there are other things, too - maybe that he discovered in one of his study sessions. For instance, he’s never noticed before how perfectly-shaped Dean’s mouth is. He finds himself suddenly fascinated with the way the muscles of his brother’s arms shift beneath freckled skin - did he even know Dean had freckles?
He’s never really paid attention to how Dean’s eyes crinkle at the corners, betraying the mirth of a smile and showing just how much those eyes have seen, how hard life has been on a man, a child, who asked for none of it but takes it all in stride.
No one else may see it, but it all starts to keep Sam awake at night, yearning for something that’s hidden even to him.
***
When it finally hits him, it hits hard. Suddenly there’s a ton of bricks swinging towards his head, clearly labeled, in neon-green paint, “Truth.”
It’s nothing, really - just a throwaway comment, something that should barely have registered. But instead, it rings in his ears. Dean’s words bounce around until he finally realizes that he’s in love with his brother. Stupidly, irrevocably, head-over-feet in love with Dean.
“Sammy? You listening to me, pal?” Dean snaps his fingers a couple times; Sam sees the movement but hardly notices, too busy staring past the world into his own soul. “Sam, what’s wrong? Not like you to not take bait like that…”
Oh, you just wish you could entertain me like they could.
“Yeah, I do,” Sam whispers, after what seems like a millennium of awkward silence, more to himself than Dean.
Dean startles, clearly flinches. In a voice softer than Sam’s, he whispers back, “What did you just say?”
Sam focuses his gaze on the man in front of him, and clears his throat. “I said, yeah. I do wish I could entertain you like they could.”
He’s not surprised when Dean turns and walks out the door, no doubt heading back to the bar, to the twin redheads.
When Dean gets back to the room, Sam’s halfway out of Michigan on a Greyhound. He tries not to picture the hurt he’s caused.
***
It takes longer than Sam expects for Dean to track him down. Two weeks. Dean must be getting rusty.
When it all goes down, Sam’s sitting in some mom-and-pop diner on the outskirts of Cincinnati. Rain’s coming down in buckets, lashing against the window next to Sam’s head, surely beating the paint right off the crappy car he’s stolen.
Dean slides into the booth across from Sam, and just waits. After a few minutes, head pounding, whirring through a million different scenarios, Sam speaks.
“Please tell me it’s not just me. It can’t be just me.”
Dean makes a noise in the back of his throat, and Sam looks over just in time to see Dean, slightly watery-eyed, turn away. He watches as his brother stands up and slips out into the darkness of night, out into the pouring rain. Without a thought, Sam follows.
Dean’s just standing there, facing toward the Impala, like he wants so desperately to leave. The rain is plastering his hair to his head, rolling down his face in rivulets, covering up the tears that Sam’s sure are there.
And that something that Sam’s been feeling, that emotion that’s been gnawing on his heart for the better part of a year, finally breaks through, finally takes over his entire being. It fuels him forward, forces him to cover the few feet separating him from Dean. It’s right behind him, cheering him on as he spins his brother around, their eyes meeting, locking for the first time in God-knows-how-long.
“I can’t sleep,” Dean all but whispers, voice barely caring over the rushing in Sam’s ears, his heart beating, the water pounding against the metal of the cars around them. “I can’t sleep anymore, not since…not since Stanford. And, when I do manage to close my eyes, it’s you, only you, no one else. I can’t…there’s this huge chunk of me that’s not there, that hasn’t been there since you left. I didn’t know…It’s not just you Sammy, it never has been…”
Sam doesn’t let Dean say anything else, too overwhelmed for words. He moves his hands from their fierce grip on Dean’s shoulders up to cup Dean’s dripping face, fingers sliding into matted hair. He pulls Dean’s face to his, smashing their lips together almost painfully.
Dean lets out a helpless noise and Sam just pulls him closer, amazed at how perfectly their bodies fit together, wondering how he never noticed it before. He swipes his tongue along Dean’s bottom lip, tries not to let his knees buckle as Dean opens his mouth and Dean’s taste burst across Sam’s tongue, wiping out all senses until everything’s finely tuned to the man in front of him, leaning against him almost helplessly.
Too soon - and not soon enough, if his lungs have anything to say about it - Sam pulls back, resting his forehead against Dean’s, both men panting. He’s surprised at how complete he feels. He’s never felt this whole, not even with Jess and their semi-apple-pie existence.
It’s stupid really, how long it took him to figure out that he couldn’t live without Dean. It’s ridiculous that he didn’t see what was right in front of him all these years.
When he lets out a laugh, Dean returns it. The tension that he hadn’t noticed was there melts away from his brother’s body, leaving him relaxed and pliant against Sam.
Another kiss and Sam is pulling Dean towards the Impala, eager to set off on the next leg of their adventure, wherever or whatever that may be. The details don’t matter as long as he has Dean. And he knows that Dean will always be there, right next to him, ready to pick up the pieces when Sam falls, willing to bear the burdens that Sam is too weary to carry.
As Dean starts the engine, before they pull out, Sam leans over and whispers in Dean’s ear, “Thank you. For not letting me be the only one.”
Dean looks over at him once he’s settled again, and Sam feels his heart clench, the same feeling he felt that first night, when he was divided between his girlfriend and his life. Dean is his - he is Dean’s. He figures that’s what he’s always been waiting for.
It only took the light of a fire and the harshness of a downpour to make him see.
***************
Feedback is welcome, as usual! Pwetty pwease? *bats eyes*
Author: thelonejuliet
Characters: Sam, Dean
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/Jess mentioned in passing
Word Count: 1,522
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Boy-kissing, Wincest
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine - it's all owned by Kripke and Company.
Spoilers: Pilot and a minor one for "Home."
Author's Note(s): This is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine and I invite you to throttle me if you so choose. :)
Title is from Rascal Flatt's "It's Not Just Me." This whole thing came out of having the song on repeat, so...
This is very disjointed, so some things might not make total sense. But, it's intentional - no one's thoughts are ever linear. The flow of the story's a bit skewed as a result, but that's how it's meant to be, I promise. I assure that I do know how to write well. :) Or, at least semi-well.
All fics found here or here!
Summary: As soon as Dean shows up at his apartment, Sam starts coming apart due to a force that he can't see.
You've Waited All Your Life to See
He’s not sure what starts it, where it comes from. All he knows is that suddenly Dean is standing right there, in the middle of his new life, and things are completely out of order. Out of order and more right than they’ve been in a long while.
Something tugs at his heartstrings, something that he can’t name, something that he’s never felt and isn’t entirely sure he wants to ever feel again.
***
When Jess dies and Dean is left standing among the rubble, the only support Sam has in a new-but-familiar world, he can’t say that he’s not somewhat relieved. He always knew that Normal would come crashing down around him. He’s just glad that Dean is there - actually, solidly there - to help him pick up the shattered remains of what never truly existed.
***
The feeling that began creeping its way into Sam’s soul grows exponentially from that first moment, the reappearance of Dean in his life. Months later, there’s still no name for it, but he notices that it takes hold at the weirdest times. When Dean’s cradling his head after the appliances nearly choke him to death. When Dean’s ribbing him about knowing all things weird. When they’re just hanging out.
It’s not until a hunt nearly cost him his life that he realizes Dean feels it too, the Unnamable.
Sam’s had the hands of Death wrapped around his throat and he can’t get his breath, can’t even begin to remember how to breathe until Dean is there. There are hands roaming over his skin, checking for wounds. Fingers are gently sliding over his neck, a hiss being drawn at the marks that begin to surface. Then, Sam opens his eyes.
Brotherly concern is shining from his brother’s green eyes like a spotlight, a beacon. But, there’s something else, something deeper, hiding just beneath the surface. He thinks it looks like a sort of hope, slipping in amongst the gold flecks of Dean’s eyes.
***
He’s not really sure when he began to notice Dean. Not just the fact that he’s there and that he’s Dean: Brother, Protector, Friend. No, it wouldn’t bother him so much if it were just that. He starts to notice little things, miniscule facts that no one else would even care about.
Something’s shifted. It’s in the way Dean’s fingers linger a little too long when something’s handed from one to the other. Or how Sam catches himself just looking, watching - Dean doesn’t even have to be doing anything special. It’s how he’s always aware of Dean’s position, regardless of where they are or what they’re doing.
But, there are other things, too - maybe that he discovered in one of his study sessions. For instance, he’s never noticed before how perfectly-shaped Dean’s mouth is. He finds himself suddenly fascinated with the way the muscles of his brother’s arms shift beneath freckled skin - did he even know Dean had freckles?
He’s never really paid attention to how Dean’s eyes crinkle at the corners, betraying the mirth of a smile and showing just how much those eyes have seen, how hard life has been on a man, a child, who asked for none of it but takes it all in stride.
No one else may see it, but it all starts to keep Sam awake at night, yearning for something that’s hidden even to him.
***
When it finally hits him, it hits hard. Suddenly there’s a ton of bricks swinging towards his head, clearly labeled, in neon-green paint, “Truth.”
It’s nothing, really - just a throwaway comment, something that should barely have registered. But instead, it rings in his ears. Dean’s words bounce around until he finally realizes that he’s in love with his brother. Stupidly, irrevocably, head-over-feet in love with Dean.
“Sammy? You listening to me, pal?” Dean snaps his fingers a couple times; Sam sees the movement but hardly notices, too busy staring past the world into his own soul. “Sam, what’s wrong? Not like you to not take bait like that…”
Oh, you just wish you could entertain me like they could.
“Yeah, I do,” Sam whispers, after what seems like a millennium of awkward silence, more to himself than Dean.
Dean startles, clearly flinches. In a voice softer than Sam’s, he whispers back, “What did you just say?”
Sam focuses his gaze on the man in front of him, and clears his throat. “I said, yeah. I do wish I could entertain you like they could.”
He’s not surprised when Dean turns and walks out the door, no doubt heading back to the bar, to the twin redheads.
When Dean gets back to the room, Sam’s halfway out of Michigan on a Greyhound. He tries not to picture the hurt he’s caused.
***
It takes longer than Sam expects for Dean to track him down. Two weeks. Dean must be getting rusty.
When it all goes down, Sam’s sitting in some mom-and-pop diner on the outskirts of Cincinnati. Rain’s coming down in buckets, lashing against the window next to Sam’s head, surely beating the paint right off the crappy car he’s stolen.
Dean slides into the booth across from Sam, and just waits. After a few minutes, head pounding, whirring through a million different scenarios, Sam speaks.
“Please tell me it’s not just me. It can’t be just me.”
Dean makes a noise in the back of his throat, and Sam looks over just in time to see Dean, slightly watery-eyed, turn away. He watches as his brother stands up and slips out into the darkness of night, out into the pouring rain. Without a thought, Sam follows.
Dean’s just standing there, facing toward the Impala, like he wants so desperately to leave. The rain is plastering his hair to his head, rolling down his face in rivulets, covering up the tears that Sam’s sure are there.
And that something that Sam’s been feeling, that emotion that’s been gnawing on his heart for the better part of a year, finally breaks through, finally takes over his entire being. It fuels him forward, forces him to cover the few feet separating him from Dean. It’s right behind him, cheering him on as he spins his brother around, their eyes meeting, locking for the first time in God-knows-how-long.
“I can’t sleep,” Dean all but whispers, voice barely caring over the rushing in Sam’s ears, his heart beating, the water pounding against the metal of the cars around them. “I can’t sleep anymore, not since…not since Stanford. And, when I do manage to close my eyes, it’s you, only you, no one else. I can’t…there’s this huge chunk of me that’s not there, that hasn’t been there since you left. I didn’t know…It’s not just you Sammy, it never has been…”
Sam doesn’t let Dean say anything else, too overwhelmed for words. He moves his hands from their fierce grip on Dean’s shoulders up to cup Dean’s dripping face, fingers sliding into matted hair. He pulls Dean’s face to his, smashing their lips together almost painfully.
Dean lets out a helpless noise and Sam just pulls him closer, amazed at how perfectly their bodies fit together, wondering how he never noticed it before. He swipes his tongue along Dean’s bottom lip, tries not to let his knees buckle as Dean opens his mouth and Dean’s taste burst across Sam’s tongue, wiping out all senses until everything’s finely tuned to the man in front of him, leaning against him almost helplessly.
Too soon - and not soon enough, if his lungs have anything to say about it - Sam pulls back, resting his forehead against Dean’s, both men panting. He’s surprised at how complete he feels. He’s never felt this whole, not even with Jess and their semi-apple-pie existence.
It’s stupid really, how long it took him to figure out that he couldn’t live without Dean. It’s ridiculous that he didn’t see what was right in front of him all these years.
When he lets out a laugh, Dean returns it. The tension that he hadn’t noticed was there melts away from his brother’s body, leaving him relaxed and pliant against Sam.
Another kiss and Sam is pulling Dean towards the Impala, eager to set off on the next leg of their adventure, wherever or whatever that may be. The details don’t matter as long as he has Dean. And he knows that Dean will always be there, right next to him, ready to pick up the pieces when Sam falls, willing to bear the burdens that Sam is too weary to carry.
As Dean starts the engine, before they pull out, Sam leans over and whispers in Dean’s ear, “Thank you. For not letting me be the only one.”
Dean looks over at him once he’s settled again, and Sam feels his heart clench, the same feeling he felt that first night, when he was divided between his girlfriend and his life. Dean is his - he is Dean’s. He figures that’s what he’s always been waiting for.
It only took the light of a fire and the harshness of a downpour to make him see.
***************
Feedback is welcome, as usual! Pwetty pwease? *bats eyes*