The Flames Consume From Within (1/5)
Master Post
Part One
It wasn’t supposed to end like this, Sam knew that. If anything, it should be him lying on that hospital bed, suffering from smoke inhalation and second and third-degree burns over 75% of his body. It would have been too, if Dean had just let well enough alone, not gone after him. To provide back-up. To keep him safe.
He didn’t know if he should be angry at the man that had saved his life, but he was. He was furious. That morning, everything had been so perfect. He’d been so wrapped up in Dean that he wasn’t sure where he ended and his boyfriend began. It was the perfect moment, the one thing he’d been waiting for, praying for. It had all finally come together.
Then it had all been shattered, their lives proved as fragile as people had always warned.
He knew that running back into that building was reckless; there was no arguing that fact. But he just couldn’t accept that not everyone could be saved. Because if he tried hard enough, he could save anyone. He would.
But going back for that woman might have cost him more than what her life would turn out to be worth, as selfish as that may sound.
It might have cost him his whole world, just when he’d managed to get it back.
* * *
For two weeks, Dean had heard nothing but praise of the new guy, the new recruit at the station. While he was away nursing a broken arm, fucking Sam Wells had moved in and taken Dean’s spot, his loyalties. Oh, sure Dean knew he was whining and telling himself things that might not even be true, but dammit, he was bored. Dean Winchester, bored, was never a good thing. He was well aware that he should never be left to his own devices.
Boredom is what led him to satisfy his curiosity about the new guy. Or jealousy. Yeah, it probably was the jealousy that got him to turn off Oprah and get off the couch, and Dean was man enough to admit that. Whatever the motivation, Dean trekked the four blocks to the firehouse in the crisp September air. He wasn’t really looking forward to meeting Sam, but he’d have to do it sooner or later.
And he was rather surprised at what he found.
From the way the other guys had talked, he’d expected to find this massive, bodybuilder-type. But, instead, Sam was just a tall, gangly, floppy-haired kid. He couldn’t have been older than 19. And, as soon as Dean walked in and the other guys called out, his face split into a bright smile that threatened to melt Dean’s entire being on the spot.
Apparently, the other guys had talked about Dean enough that Sam had already developed some sort of fascination with him. He jumped out of his chair and made his way over to Dean, hand out in a friendly gesture. Dean, wariness and anger battling for attraction in his head, hesitantly put out his own hand for Sam to shake.
“Dean, right?” Sam started, gripping Dean’s hand and practically bouncing on his toes, like he was meeting his hero. “Man, it’s good to meet you finally! These guys make it sound like you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread, seriously. Dude, how’d you get them wrapped around your finger?”
Dean couldn’t help but smile at Sam’s overly ambitious attitude. He was shooting out questions faster than Dean could think up answers for them, and he looked genuinely interested. They were all questions that he had to’ve learned in his training, but after three weeks of being around Dean’s friends, he was anxious to learn from Dean.
Dean found himself just nodding along, grinning like a loon, watching Sam’s lips move at rapid speed. He ignored the snickers of the guys around him in favor of trying to make sense of Sam’s words.
After 15 minutes, Sam seemed to wear himself out, and he just stood there, beaming at Dean, head cocked like Dean was some enigma that he couldn’t figure out. Dammit, Dean didn’t want to like this kid. But, it was infectious, the easy way that Sam spoke, the enthusiasm. Dean vaguely wondered why on earth Sam was a fireman instead of a lawyer. He probably would have been able to charm a jury into letting Hitler off with hardly a slap on the wrist.
It didn’t hurt that Sam was the hottest guy Dean had ever laid eyes on, and he’d seen his share of hot guys. He noticed, while he was busy ignoring the actual words flowing out of Sam’s mouth, that Sam wasn’t as gangly as he looked. He was tall, taller than Dean who was a solid 6’1”, and he had broad shoulders to fill him out. His arms looked well-toned underneath the T-shirt he was wearing and his legs seemed to go on for miles. Add in the bright green eyes, shaggy brown hair and dimples…
Dean knew he would have no problem with Sam hanging around, so long as he got to sneak some glances in. And, the kid seemed eager to learn from Dean, of all people, though only God knew why.
This was going to be fun.
* * *
Four days and there was no sign of Dean waking up. Sam was going out of his mind with fear. With guilt. It was eating him alive, knowing that it was all his fault, if only he weren’t so damn stubborn. If only he’d listened to what Dean and the other guys had taught him.
They could have been at home, wherever they decided home was for the night. They could have been curled up in bed, trading lazy kisses, or on the couch, watching a movie and providing their own dialogue. Sam shouldn’t have been sitting there, watching machines breath for his boyfriend. Dean shouldn’t have been lying as still as a corpse.
He had bandages all over his body, including his face where part of the collapsed beam had connected with his jaw. Stark white stuck out against too-pale skin, making Sam’s stomach clench uncomfortably. His left leg was in a cast, from mid-thigh down, just Dean’s toes visible from underneath.
Tired and aching and wanting nothing more to get away from his thoughts, Sam pushed himself out of the plastic chair and made his way down to the cafeteria. There were vending machines right down the hall from Dean’s room, but it was time for something stronger than that. He needed food, what passed for real food in this place anyway, and good, strong coffee, made from an actual coffee pot and not an instant powder.
He hadn’t showered in three days, not since Andy and Anson had made him go home and at least wash the smell of ash from his body. Stupid twins - they didn’t have to gang up on him like that. He’d been numb to pretty much everything since they pulled Dean out though, so he couldn’t be entirely sure that he didn’t smell like last year’s garbage. Or look even worse; he hadn’t seen a mirror.
“Boy, you have got to cut this shit out!”
Sam sighed, stopping in his tracks and turning to face Bobby, the man he called his captain but had come to think of as so much more. “Bobby, what’re you doing here?” he asked quietly. He always had been afraid of speaking too loudly in hospitals.
Bobby just sighed back at him and grabbed Sam into a hug. Sam instantly sagged against his boss, trying hard to keep the tears from flowing. It had been four days and he’d managed not to cry yet; he refused to break down in front of Bobby Singer.
“We’re all worried too, you know,” Bobby whispered in his ear as he gave Sam’s shoulders a squeeze and pulled back. “The guys at the station are getting restless, not having any news. So I came to speak to his doctors, if they’ll talk to me. His parents should be getting here sometime tomorrow.”
Sam just nodded because he couldn’t think of anything to say. He’d forgotten all about Dean’s family. He wasn’t sure who called them, the doctors maybe? He wondered if he should make himself scarce once they arrived. He wasn’t entirely sure that they would know him from Adam anyhow.
“Hey, you okay?” Bobby asked, breaking through Sam’s thoughts.
Sam nodded again. “I’m gonna go grab some coffee. You want anything?”
When Bobby shook his head, Sam hurried away. He couldn’t take the pitiful look his boss was giving him anymore than he could take the ones from the guys.
* * *
Once Dean was back at work, he and Sam quickly fell into a weird camaraderie, part worship, part outright friendship. Sam took to following Dean around whenever their shifts overlapped, which was quite often. He asked questions about everything in sight, but he always kept them strictly fire-related unless Dean steered the conversation onto a different topic.
It amused Dean to no end that Sam admired him so much, but he was becoming extremely frustrated with himself. Every time he saw Sam, regardless of how long it had been, he found himself regressing to an awkward, adolescent stage that he had never really gone through as a kid. He’d always been sure of himself in social situations, but whenever he was faced with Sam, he blushed and fidgeted his way through most of their interactions, constantly checking his words to make sure they didn’t make him sound like a tool.
He had it bad.
He couldn’t remember ever being so enamored with someone, not even Cassie, who was really the only person he’d stuck around with for more than a few days. Dean was a love-‘em-and-leave-‘em kind of guy. He had no use for romantic relationships, not with males or females. Sex was the only thing he’d ever been out to find. Yet here he was, pining over someone like a star-struck teenager.
The kicker was that he had only just recently realized that he was a little gay. That made Dean’s feeling seem even more like they’d come out of left field.
Okay, maybe he was more than a little gay, he conceded as he saw Sam appear at the top of the steps.
There wasn’t anything different about Sam’s appearance; he still had that mussed-up hair and squinty eyes which told Dean that he’d literally just rolled out of bed. He was dressed in a pale green T-shirt and blue jeans, worn tennis shoes slapping against the pavement.
It was a variation of how he’d looked every day for the past three weeks, but suddenly Dean found his heart beating so hard that he was sure everyone in a three-mile radius could hear it. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and he suddenly knew that this was the day he was going to put himself out there - and possibly make a fool out of himself in the process.
Ducking out before Sam could spot him and make his way over, Dean raced towards the kitchen, where the schedule was posted. It looked like he and Sam would both have that upcoming Saturday off work.
Perfect.
As he was turning around, he suddenly found himself face-to-neck with Sam. Covering up his gasp with a semi-manly sounding cough, Dean stepped back enough to look up into Sam’s face, blushing something fierce.
“I, uh…” Dean choked out, throat tight with something he wasn’t sure he wanted to name. “Hey, Sam. I didn’t hear you come in…”
Sam cleared his throat and nodded, cheeks turning red. The blush sent a weird thrill up Dean’s spine.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Sam mumbled, lowering his head and scuffing his toe along the ground. “I wasn’t trying to scare you or anything…”
Dean shook his head. “No, no! That’s totally okay, I just…Sorry. Thinking. I guess.” He found himself whispering the last of his words; he didn’t want to interrupt whatever it was that he could feel crackling in the air.
“So, I was wondering…”
“Hey, would you…”
Sam and Dean spoke at the same time, both breaking off in nervous laughter once they caught themselves.
Maybe Dean wouldn’t make himself out to be an idiot after all.
Taking the initiative, he stepped forward into Sam’s space and put his hand on Sam’s biceps, trying not to pay as little attention as possible to how much the kid worked out - distraction would not work in his favor at the moment. He waited until he had Sam’s eyes on his before he asked quietly, “Would you like to hang out on Saturday?”
Hang out? That didn’t send the message Dean wanted at all, and he knew it. He didn’t want to scare Sam, but he wanted to make his meaning, his intention clear. He had never once taken anything for himself, and he wanted Sam. He just had this feeling about the guy; he felt like maybe there was something that he was supposed to do with Sam Wells, some greater purpose that he couldn’t quite grasp.
And he had absolutely no clue when he’d turned into a prophet, but he’d long ago made peace with the fact that Sam had a weird effect on him.
After a few minutes with no answer, Dean swallowed his pride and stepped back, immediately feeling the loss of warm, soft cotton beneath his fingers. He looked down at his boots, messing with the loose threads on his jeans to keep himself from reaching out again.
“Sorry, I just…thought maybe…I didn’t mean…You don’t…” he stuttered.
“Hey,” Sam said softly, effectively ending Dean’s rambling.
When nothing else was said, Dean looked up, surprised to find Sam smiling brightly at him, eyes lit up with amusement. He couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his own face, teenage blush coming back in full force.
Sam bit down on his bottom lip, his thoughts racing through the expressions in his hazel eyes. Dean could himself beginning to go weak at the knees.
Dammit.
“Were you asking me out, Dean?” he asked, voice barely rising above the hum of the refrigerator.
Dean could only nod dumbly, too mesmerized by the sight of Sam flirting with him.
“Okay.”
Dean shook his head, not sure he could trust what he was hearing. “Wha-?”
Sam let out a small laugh. “I said, ‘okay,’” he repeated slowly.
Dean still wasn’t quite getting the full effect. “Okay? So you…?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
Dean nodded back. “Okay,” he whispered, surprised.
He hadn’t expected it to be that easy.
Sam laughed again, patting Dean on the shoulder before he turned and headed out of the kitchen. Dean could still feel the light touch searing his skin through the material of his polo shirt by the time he followed five minutes later.
* * *
No one had prepared Sam to face Dean’s parents. He knew they were supposed to show up sometime that day, and he had even gone home to shower so he didn’t look like a total bum. But he didn’t even know if the Winchesters would know who he was or what he meant to their son. What Dean meant to him.
He wondered, as he made his way back up to Dean’s room, if they even knew that Dean was gay. Dean had told him once that it was a fairly recent discovery. He’d told him that Sam was the one that solidified it. Sam could still feel traces of the giddy feelings that had filled him up with Dean’s words. The fact that Dean was willing to venture into new territory for him. He tried to keep that, let that warmth surround him as he faced the loneliness ahead of him, waiting for Dean to return to him. He would need all the comfort he could get.
He knocked on Dean’s door out of habit once he reached the closed door. The door was always closed, and there was some part of Sam that was always hoping Dean would be awake to give him the okay to walk in. When, as usual, he didn’t hear anything, he just opened the door.
And he came face to face with two strangers.
Well, no, not strangers. He recognized immediately that these must be Dean’s parents. Mr. Winchester had the same gruff, five-o’clock-shadowed appearance that his son sported. Mrs. Winchester had the fairness that Dean tried to deny existed within his person. They both had the same sparkling eyes, though the light Sam would have expected to find, that mischievous twinkle that never left Dean’s green orbs, had been dimmed with worry for their son.
“I-I’m sorry,” Sam choked out, immediately backing out the door. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Mr. Winchester gave him a small smile and shook his head. He unfolded himself from the chair by Dean’s bedside and made his way over to Sam. He shook Sam’s hand and smiled again.
“You must be one of Dean’s friends. From the station, I presume, since he’s never mentioned any others,” he said, voice rough. “It’s nice to see he’s had some company. I’m John. That over there is my wife, Mary.”
Sam nodded and smiled at each of them in turn, trying to ignore the way his heart had leapt into his throat at the fact that they didn’t seem to know he might be more than just a friend. “Sam,” he whispered. “I’m Sam Wells.”
Mary smiled then, eyes alight with something like recognition, and walked over toward Sam to pull him into a hug. John seemed surprised, but Sam figured out why as Mary whispered in his ear, “Thank you for being so good to my son. He’s really taken with you.”
Apparently Mary knew that he and Dean were together, but John had no clue. Sam vaguely remembered Dean telling him that he’d talked to his to mom about his being gay. But he didn’t know that Dean had mentioned him enough to warrant Mary’s reaction. It made him extremely happy and terrified him at the same time.
When Sam extracted himself from Mary’s grip, he excused himself from the room with muttered apologies, all but running to the bathroom as tears began to sting the backs of his eyes. Once there, he splashed water on his face and looked at his reflection in the grimy mirror, surprised at what he found. He didn’t even look like himself anymore. Five days of worry and not being able to keep anything down other than coffee had really taken its toll. Would Dean even recognize him if he woke up?
No. No, not if. When. Dean had to wake up. Sam couldn’t imagine any other option, couldn’t fathom Dean not being there.
Since the first time they’d met, he’d been absolutely smitten. Even before then. When Sam had first started at the firehouse, all the guys had talked about the amazing Dean Winchester, fearless in the face of just about anything. At first he just ignored it, sure that they were just trying to scare the new kid, intimidate him with the thought of living up to a legend. But as time wore on, and he found himself being actually accepted by the guys, he started to realize that they genuinely adored Dean. They thought the world of him, and Sam couldn’t help but begin to think the same, even without ever speaking to the guy.
Then Dean had walked in. And Sam’s world had promptly turned upside down.
He still wasn’t sure what had possessed him to go bounding up to Dean. It was like a gravitational pull; he just had to introduce himself and talk to the man he’d heard so much about. The words had just flowed out of him, and even he wasn’t sure what he’d end up saying. But Dean had smiled at him - that made it all worth it. He just wanted to make Dean smile.
Long after that first moment, just the memory of Dean’s smile could brighten up even the darkest corners of his mind. So, no. No Dean really wasn’t an option. Sam was pretty sure it would kill him.
But he knew that he didn’t have control over what happened. He couldn’t just kiss Dean and make it all go away, no matter how badly he wanted the ability. Life wasn’t a fairy tale, and Sam was no Prince Charming. And as he stood there, watching the tears begin to stream down his own, tired face, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from straying, imagining a life without Dean Winchester.
He was not surprised when all he could picture was a world where nothing mattered.
* * *
Milwaukee wasn’t his hometown, in fact it was a far cry from Lawrence, Kansas, but Dean enjoyed it. He liked being able to walk to wherever he was going. He liked that he could stroll along the Milwaukee River and just enjoy the scenery. It was different from the suburbs, where he’d spent most of his life. But, it was a good different.
As much as he enjoyed walking though, he was sure that he would have some sort of heart attack from the strain of walking to Sam’s apartment. He’d been stressing out all day, changing his clothes at least six times like some 15-year-old girl. By the time 6:00 rolled around, Dean was sure his neighbors could all hear the beating of his heart - if it could be heard over the sound of his heavy breathing.
Now was not the time to panic.
Walking was definitely out; he’d be a mess by the time he reached Sam’s door. But, driving meant that Dean could relax a little on the drive over, and he found that his beloved Impala always did just that. He turned on the radio, the local Classic Rock station pouring an old Aerosmith song through the speakers, and let the music calm him down, notes floating around his head in a soothing lullaby.
Then he reached Sam’s apartment at 6:20, ten minutes early. Like a dork. And all his calm flew out the window as he chided himself. Who showed up early for dates? That was just so uncool.
But then. Then he saw Sam sitting on the steps outside the apartment building, leg bouncing up and down, and his heart soared. At least he wasn’t the only anxious one.
He parked the car on the curb and climbed out, trying to saunter casually over to Sam. Though he’s pretty sure he looked like a freak, barely contained nervous energy making him look jumpy.
But Sam’s smile made it all worth it. His face lit up as Dean came walking down the sidewalk. He looked good, Dean noticed as he got within a couple feet of him, blue button-up shirt making his hazel eyes take on a unique color.
“Shall we go?” Dean asked, trying not to let his smile get too wide. He knew that all of his efforts to seem cool were pointless; there was absolutely no way he could control his reaction to Sam anymore.
Sam nodded, bouncing over to Dean like the puppy he so closely resembled, and leading the way to the car.
Dean’s grin grew wider at Sam’s enthusiasm. It looked like the kid was just excited about everything life had to offer, regardless of what it was. Dean vaguely wondered when he’d lost that light, the ability to soak up knowledge and new experiences like he was starving for them.
Those wonderings had to take a backseat though, as he realized that he had no idea what he was doing. He didn’t know how to date a guy. He was sure there were different rules than girls. It wouldn’t be acceptable to lead Sam to the car, hand placed at the small of his back, would it? Or to open the door for him?
What a great time to figure out that he was completely out of his element, right when the most gorgeous guy Dean had ever laid eyes on was next to him, excitement radiating from every cell in his body.
Something must have showed on his face, or maybe it was the fact that he had completely stopped in his tracks and let Sam get too far ahead of him, because Sam was suddenly right in front of his face, concern gracing his features.
“You okay?” Sam asked quietly.
Dean swallowed audibly. “I…” was all he managed to get out of his dry throat. He looked away, out over the fading green of the yard in front of Sam’s building. The trees were going to start changing soon.
It was only when Sam cleared his throat a few minutes later that Dean looked back. Sam was looking at him with a knowing glint in his eyes.
Dean smiled wryly, trying to control the shaking of his limbs. “I’ve never really done this before. With anyone. Especially not a guy.”
He shook his head to accompany his words, watching warily as Sam moved closer and grabbed his hand.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Just be yourself, okay? It’s just like hanging out with the guys…with a few perks if you play your cards right.”
Dean couldn’t help but laugh, tension easing away as quickly as it came. He squeezed Sam’s hand in his, smile getting more confident, and led him to the car.
* * *
Sam never thought he would yearn for the chair in Dean’s room, the one that he’d been sleeping in for almost a week, but that’s exactly what he found himself thinking as he shifted yet again. Dean’s parents had been sitting with him for a good two hours, and he didn’t want to intrude. So, he’d parked himself in the waiting room, in chairs that would be put to better use in a torture chamber.
“Please tell me you’ve at least showered since the last time we saw you,” Andy’s voice suddenly popped up right by Sam’s ear, startling him.
Sam sighed, glancing up from the book that he’d been pretending to read. Andy and Anson sat themselves on either side of Sam, both looking at him like they were worried he was going to go on a killing spree.
“Yes, I have, thank you very much,” Sam snapped, turning his attention back to the page he was on. It didn’t matter why he went home to shower, just that he did, right?
He could see the twins share a look across him, the motion gnawing at his already frayed nerves.
When Anson spoke up, his voice was softer than Sam had ever heard come out of the usually-annoying twin. “Hey, man,” he said. “Are you okay? Why aren’t you in the room? Is he okay? I mean, I know he’s not okay okay, but is he…did something else…I mean…?”
“Dude, chill,” Andy chided in Sam’s other ear.
Sam sighed again, giving up the pretense of reading and letting On the Road fall to the floor. He didn’t even know why he’d picked that book: the Dean in the story reminded him far too much of his own Dean.
He looked at Andy, then Anson, before staring straight ahead at the badly applied wallpaper. “His parents are in there,” he replied quietly. “I didn’t think it was my place…”
Anson snorted. “Dude, do they know who you are?”
Sam couldn’t help but give a little half smile. “His mom does,” he told the twins. “She thanked me for being good to Dean. I don’t think his Dad has any clue, though.”
And just like that the smile faded from his face. He looked down at his lap, watching his fingers twist around each other.
“His dad would never accept something like that, a gay son,” he continued. “Dean’s never really talked about him, but I always got the sense that they just didn’t get along. But, now…there was something in his eyes. Something…off. He’s an ex-marine, did you know that?”
Anson and Andy shook their heads. Sam didn’t know what else he was going to say.
After a few minutes of tense silence, Andy spoke. “It’s all going to work out, Sam,” he said, shaky voice overriding the comfort of his words. “Dean, he’s…he’s tough. As for his parents, well…that’s something that Dean’s going to have to deal with eventually, you know?”
Then Anson adds, “I know I’m the last person that should be waxing philosophical, man, but maybe…I don’t know. Maybe something like this had to happen. You two…” He paused for a moment, clearing his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see him fidgeting.
Andy piped up after a few beats of Anson doing his best impression of a goldfish, effectively saving his brother. “I think what Evil Twin over there’s trying to say is that you two have something. We’ve all seen the struggle…the…the fight you’ve had to go through, I mean…all that shit with Gordon? And…maybe this is what it takes for you to finally overcome.”
Anson grinned, snapping his fingers and poking Sam in the chest. “That’s exactly what I was going to say.”
Sam couldn’t help but grin. He never thought the clown-around duo that was the Gallagher twins would be the ones to make him feel better about his relationship and the troubles in store. But, life had a funny way of surprising you sometimes.
* * *
“So, have I told you that I love this car?” Sam asked as they pulled up in front of his apartment building.
Dean laughed, still vaguely nodding his head along to the music. “Yeah, I think you might have mentioned that once or, oh, 12 times,” he answered, sneaking a glance over at Sam.
The night had gone well, very well. After the initial freakout, Dean had found that Sam was right: dating a guy was surprisingly easy. He felt like he could be himself, unlike with a woman because he didn’t have to watch what he said, afraid of coming across as sexist and striking out. Plus, he and Sam just seemed to have some sort of connection. By the end of their steak dinner, they could almost finish each other’s sentences. He couldn’t figure out why he and Sam hadn’t hung out sooner. It was so easy - and so fun - to just talk, just be.
“So,” Dean drawled as he shut off the ignition and turned towards Sam, Kansas coming out thick in his relaxed state.
Sam nodded across the bench seat, biting his lip anxiously. That simple action made Dean’s previous nerves begin to slowly creep back into existence. He fidgeted in the driver’s seat, white-knuckled fingers drumming out an unsteady rhythm on the steering wheel as he watched for cues from Sam. Did he go ahead and get out of the car? Or wait until Sam did? Or should he get out and go open Sam’s door? Or -
“Stop thinking,” Sam said suddenly. “You’re making my head hurt.”
Dean chuckled, relaxing his hold on the wheel slightly.
“So, tonight,” he ventured, letting out a slow breath. He could see Sam smile out of the corner of his eye.
“Tonight was good,” Sam responded, amusement evident in his voice.
“Yeah, yeah. Good,” Dean nodded.
The two men lapsed into a comfortable silence, both staring out the windshield. Only their light breathing could be heard breaking through the sound of the breeze blowing in through the open windows.
“So, I guess I should be going…”
Dean made a small, nondescript noise and turned to face Sam. He gave a small nod. “You start early tomorrow, yeah?”
Sam murmured an affirmative. He glanced at Dean from under his bangs, and it was only then that Dean realized he was blushing. So, he scooted closer to the middle of the car, fingers sliding across the top and resting on Sam’s shoulder.
“Dean, I -”
“Yeah?”
Sam shook his head. “Never mind.”
And before Dean even knew what was happening, Sam was leaning towards him, large hands on either side of Dean’s face, and Sam’s mouth was on his. He made a choked sound in the back of his throat and leaned forward into Sam, wrapping one hand around Sam’s neck and twisting the other in the front of Sam’s jacket.
The kiss was far from perfect. Sam’s lips were chapped and rough, catching against his own dry ones. The angle was all wrong, Sam more to the side of his mouth than actually on it. But, threading his fingers in Sam’s silky hair, Dean tilted Sam’s head until he could press their mouths more firmly together, sensation going from weird to good.
He gasped when he felt Sam’s tongue snake along his bottom lip, and Sam took the opportunity to slip past. Sam’s taste exploded across Dean’s taste buds as he slid his tongue alongside Sam’s, slowly, teasingly.
After far too long and not nearly enough, Sam pulled back. He laughed when Dean tried to follow him. Reaching behind him, he opened the door and slid out before Dean had a chance to pull him back in, leaving Dean to grumble alone.
“I’ll see you in a couple days,” Sam said, walking backwards toward his building. “Maybe sooner.”
Dean sat there and stared after Sam until he had long disappeared into the building, goofy smile plastered firmly on his face.
Hours later, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, his lips were still tingling from the feel of Sam’s moving slick against his own. He could still feel the roughness of Sam’s thumb catching his bottom lip, sliding along the stubble creeping across his chin. He could still feel the softness of Sam’s hair underneath his fingers, his palm. His skin felt too tight, his senses still burning with the overload that was Sam Wells; Sam’s cologne was still swirling through his head.
In the morning, he couldn’t remember ever getting a better night’s sleep.
* * *
“Sam? Is that you?”
Sam grunted into the phone, not managing to make it sound like actual words. He chanced a look at his alarm clock: 3:30 a.m. Well, three hours of sleep was more than he’d gotten in a week and a half.
“This is Mary, Dean’s mother. I got your number from Captain Singer.”
That made Sam wake up. In an instant, he was out of bed and looking for clothes, still blinking the sleep from his eyes. His immediate instinct was to panic. Why would Dean’s mother be calling him so late, or early, if something wasn’t wrong?
“What’s happened? Is Dean okay? He hasn’t gotten worse, has he? Did something happen? Oh, God, where are my shoes?” he rambled into the phone.
It was only due to the exertion of tying his sneakers that he heard Mary’s answer.
“Dean’s awake,” she was saying. “He woke up. He’s going to be okay.” Her happiness was evident in every word, even if she did sound a little choked up.
Sam’s heart pounded in his chest; he almost couldn’t believe it. “Seriously? He woke up? Mrs. Winchester, that’s great!” he exclaimed.
Mary’s laugh was warm as it came across the line. “First off, call me Mary, please. I am not my mother-in-law. Second, Dean’s asking for you. Your name was the first thing out of his mouth.”
And just like that, Sam’s heart stuttered to a halt, dropping into the vicinity of his shoes. Did Dean remember what had happened? Is that why he wanted to see Sam? To place the blame firmly on the shoulders where it belonged?
He shook his head. He couldn’t jump to conclusions. The reason didn’t matter anyway - Dean wanted to see him. That was good enough for Sam. He was almost desperate to see those bright green eyes shining up at him.
“O-oh, okay,” he stuttered into the phone. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
It was a damn good thing that no one was on the streets at four o’clock in the morning.
* * *
There were very few things that Dean Winchester was afraid of. Like planes. And losing his family. And rats. But, he’d be damned if he let his own emotions scare him.
He could run into a burning building without so much as a thought, but the idea of facing Sam after their date had him cowering in the doorway of the firehouse, hoping that no one would notice him and he could just slip away.
“Yo! Winchester!”
Dean hung his head. No such luck today.
He did his best to smile as he saw Ash, the resident mechanic, heading towards him, hair trailing away from his face like some obscene, redneck beer commercial.
Ash stopped right in front of him and narrowed his eyes, as though he could see into Dean’s head that way. And, Lord knew, if anyone could do it, Ash would find a way.
“There’s something with you,” said the mechanic, tilting his head comically. “What’s with you?”
Dean stared back, rolling his shoulders back in a show of no-fear. “Nothing’s with me, man,” he responded easily, cocky smirk falling into place naturally. “Just had a rough weekend, if you catch my drift.”
With a wink and a dirty grin, he pushed past Ash and hurried into the locker room to store his clothes for the next couple days. He sat down heavily on a bench and put his head in his hands. He groaned and rubbed the heel of his hands into eyes, spots immediately dancing in the darkness.
“Dude, you okay? You’re not sick or anything…are you?”
Dean dropped his hands, turning to blink up at Andy. “M’fine,” he mumbled unconvincingly. “Who else is on now?”
Andy sat down next to him, messing with his shoes. “Uh,” he began, tilting his head to make the information come faster, “well. There’s you, me, Anson. I think I saw Roland in the kitchen, go figure. Joshua and Caleb are around somewhere. Singer’s running late, but he should be here in an hour or so. Jake and Gordon are on for a couple more hours then they’re out. Sam’s coming in when they leave. I think Jeff might be, too.”
Dean nodded, chest suddenly tight at the mention of Sam’s name. They’d been playing phone tag for the past two days, never quite able to catch each other at a good enough time to talk. Which means that they hadn’t had a chance to discuss the other night, their date.
Their kiss.
He wasn’t sure where they would go from there. He knew absolutely nothing about sustaining a relationship, let alone making it a good one. He was out of his element, and even Dean could admit that he was worried. He was used to being in the know, being in charge even, having full control of his life and where he was going with it.
Sam had a weird effect on him. Oh, he was happy. In fact, he felt like he was floating. But it seemed that along with that floating came nausea. He didn’t know what to do next without making an ass of himself.
Add in the fact that no one at the station knew he was gay - or that Sam was, for that matter - and he could practically feel the walls closing in on him. He had no clue how they would all react. Not for sure, anyway, though he could name at least one person that would freak out and declare them lepers.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Andy asked again, placing a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You don’t look so good.”
Dean managed a small smile at Andy’s concern. He’d never quite understood it, but Andy was the closest friend he had. They were different enough that it worked well. Andy’s goofiness balanced out Dean’s tendency to go into brooding mode.
Shrugging off Andy’s hand, Dean stood up. “Roland’s in the kitchen, you said?” he asked, already walking out of the locker room, Andy right behind him. “Awesome. The guy eats enough to know how to cook amazing food. Remind me to thank Bobby for hiring him.”
Andy’s responding laugh was all he needed.
* * *
Sam felt like a complete jerk. He’d rushed to the hospital and, upon his arrival, Mary had immediately pushed John out of the room. The utter confusion on John’s face would have been comical if it weren’t so tragic that he really didn’t know his son at all. But it meant that he got alone time with Dean, so he was pretty okay with being a jerk.
Dean was sleeping again when he got there, breathing tube removed. The bandages were still there, though, including the one covering half of his face, and his leg was still immobilized. Mary had said something about morphine - he knew what that meant. It meant Dean was in a hell of a lot of pain.
And it was his fault.
The first tear he saw land on Dean’s bandaged arm was a surprise to Sam. The second one wasn’t as he realized his face was wet, tears pouring out of his eyes as sobs began to wrack his body. He practically folded himself in two, leaning over to press his forehead on the bed, Dean’s clean, unmarked hand grasped tightly in both of his.
He hadn’t been able to bring himself to touch Dean before, too worried about hurting him. And he had refused to cry while in the room, sure that Dean would be able to hear him through the darkness of the coma. He wanted to be strong. He wanted to be that man that Dean believed him to be, the good guy who was brave, able to face anything. But he couldn’t do that, not in that moment. He was so close to having Dean back again, to having those beautiful lips speaking to him, making fun of him. He couldn’t stop the already overwhelming guilt from spreading, taking over. He didn’t know what Dean would say, if Dean would blame him or if they could still be together without that hanging over their heads.
He should have listened when Dean told him not to go. He should have just nodded and said “okay” and ridden back to the station with Dean. But, he didn’t.
He remembered how it all went down: he could only see that little girl with tears running through the ash on her cheeks, clinging to her father as she cried for her mother. He didn’t think. He just ran back into the building, ignoring the fire that licked at his ankles as he took the fragile stairs two at a time. He didn’t want to see that girl go through the pain of not having a parent, just like he did.
He never even heard Dean behind him until it was too late. But he could still hear the sound of the wood breaking above their heads.
As the scene played out behind his eyes for the millionth time, Sam’s tears flowed faster. The salty liquid was getting into his mouth, dripping off his chin, soaking the pristine, white sheets beneath his head.
Only then did he realize he was speaking, a litany of apologies and forgive-me’s falling from his lips.
He gasped when he felt Dean’s hand move in his and sat back quickly, wiping his face with both hands.
Surprisingly, there was a smile on Dean’s face. His green eyes were clear and bright, blinking up at Sam almost shyly. “Hey,” he whispered, voice coming out rough and razor-sharp from lack of use.
Sam had never heard a more beautiful sound in his entire life.
Still, he shushed Dean, reaching for the glass of water on the bedside table. He moved closer to Dean carefully, sniffling and smiling through his tears. “Here, drink this,” he murmured, moving the straw to Dean’s lips. “Talking might be a bad idea for a while…but don’t worry, you’ll be able to yell at bad football plays in no time.”
Dean took a couple sips, wincing as the water moved down his throat. When he turned his head away from the straw, Sam obligingly put the glass back on the table. He sat there for a minute, wiping his face again with one hand while his other hand hovered over the bed. He wasn’t sure how much pain Dean was in; he didn’t want to hurt him anymore.
“I seem to keep ending up in this place, huh, Sammy?” Dean’s voice caused Sam’s eyes to snap back up to Dean’s, his heart warming at the nickname he couldn’t remember anyone using before. “I’m okay, you know.”
Sam shook his head and whispered, “No. No, you’re not.”
Dean’s smile faded, and his face took on a hardened look. Sam had only ever seen that look directed at other people before; it scared him to be on the receiving end.
Without warning, Dean’s arm shot up and grabbed Sam’s hand, pulling him closer to the bed. “You listen to me, Sam,” he said, eyes glittering dangerously. “Don’t you do this guilt thing. This is not your fault. This will never be your fault. And, I’m okay. The doctor told me the extent of everything. I will be fine. It might be a struggle to get there, but…You know what? I might not even have that much scarring. And my leg will heal. I’ll be back to work in no time. I’ll have to invest in some new pants, of course, since that rip in the leg caused most of the burns…”
Sam huffed out an annoyed breath, a few more tears escaping despite his efforts to hold them back. “I’m so sorry,” was the only thing he could think to say.
Dean relaxed his grip on Sam’s hand a little, easing up and letting him sit back. His face took on a softer edge. “Sammy, please,” he whispered. The plea sounded even more broken coming out in Dean’s raspy voice. “Please don’t do this to yourself. I know what you’re thinking. That I’m going to blame you or leave you because of this. I’m not.”
He paused for a moment, looking away from Sam, staring out the window at the rising dawn. What he said next was so quiet that Sam almost didn’t catch it. “But, I could understand if you want to leave me.”
Dean had always been secure, always using his looks and the firefighter angle to put up a front and act tough. But those looks might be damaged now. His muscles might never work as well as they once did, not with the more severe burns on his leg.
And he thought Sam would leave him because of it.
Sam linked his fingers with Dean, reaching out and turning his boyfriend’s head back toward him. “Dean, now you listen to me,” he said, hoping his voice sounded more secure than it felt. “I don’t care about any of this, okay? I care about you. You remember that morning? Before we went in the station?”
Dean nodded, shifting his eyes away again.
Sam sighed. “I meant every word of it, Dean. And I know you did, too. We’re in this together, okay? You and me. Sam and Dean against the world.”
Sam only relaxed when he saw Dean smile again.
* * *
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
_
Part One
It wasn’t supposed to end like this, Sam knew that. If anything, it should be him lying on that hospital bed, suffering from smoke inhalation and second and third-degree burns over 75% of his body. It would have been too, if Dean had just let well enough alone, not gone after him. To provide back-up. To keep him safe.
He didn’t know if he should be angry at the man that had saved his life, but he was. He was furious. That morning, everything had been so perfect. He’d been so wrapped up in Dean that he wasn’t sure where he ended and his boyfriend began. It was the perfect moment, the one thing he’d been waiting for, praying for. It had all finally come together.
Then it had all been shattered, their lives proved as fragile as people had always warned.
He knew that running back into that building was reckless; there was no arguing that fact. But he just couldn’t accept that not everyone could be saved. Because if he tried hard enough, he could save anyone. He would.
But going back for that woman might have cost him more than what her life would turn out to be worth, as selfish as that may sound.
It might have cost him his whole world, just when he’d managed to get it back.
* * *
For two weeks, Dean had heard nothing but praise of the new guy, the new recruit at the station. While he was away nursing a broken arm, fucking Sam Wells had moved in and taken Dean’s spot, his loyalties. Oh, sure Dean knew he was whining and telling himself things that might not even be true, but dammit, he was bored. Dean Winchester, bored, was never a good thing. He was well aware that he should never be left to his own devices.
Boredom is what led him to satisfy his curiosity about the new guy. Or jealousy. Yeah, it probably was the jealousy that got him to turn off Oprah and get off the couch, and Dean was man enough to admit that. Whatever the motivation, Dean trekked the four blocks to the firehouse in the crisp September air. He wasn’t really looking forward to meeting Sam, but he’d have to do it sooner or later.
And he was rather surprised at what he found.
From the way the other guys had talked, he’d expected to find this massive, bodybuilder-type. But, instead, Sam was just a tall, gangly, floppy-haired kid. He couldn’t have been older than 19. And, as soon as Dean walked in and the other guys called out, his face split into a bright smile that threatened to melt Dean’s entire being on the spot.
Apparently, the other guys had talked about Dean enough that Sam had already developed some sort of fascination with him. He jumped out of his chair and made his way over to Dean, hand out in a friendly gesture. Dean, wariness and anger battling for attraction in his head, hesitantly put out his own hand for Sam to shake.
“Dean, right?” Sam started, gripping Dean’s hand and practically bouncing on his toes, like he was meeting his hero. “Man, it’s good to meet you finally! These guys make it sound like you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread, seriously. Dude, how’d you get them wrapped around your finger?”
Dean couldn’t help but smile at Sam’s overly ambitious attitude. He was shooting out questions faster than Dean could think up answers for them, and he looked genuinely interested. They were all questions that he had to’ve learned in his training, but after three weeks of being around Dean’s friends, he was anxious to learn from Dean.
Dean found himself just nodding along, grinning like a loon, watching Sam’s lips move at rapid speed. He ignored the snickers of the guys around him in favor of trying to make sense of Sam’s words.
After 15 minutes, Sam seemed to wear himself out, and he just stood there, beaming at Dean, head cocked like Dean was some enigma that he couldn’t figure out. Dammit, Dean didn’t want to like this kid. But, it was infectious, the easy way that Sam spoke, the enthusiasm. Dean vaguely wondered why on earth Sam was a fireman instead of a lawyer. He probably would have been able to charm a jury into letting Hitler off with hardly a slap on the wrist.
It didn’t hurt that Sam was the hottest guy Dean had ever laid eyes on, and he’d seen his share of hot guys. He noticed, while he was busy ignoring the actual words flowing out of Sam’s mouth, that Sam wasn’t as gangly as he looked. He was tall, taller than Dean who was a solid 6’1”, and he had broad shoulders to fill him out. His arms looked well-toned underneath the T-shirt he was wearing and his legs seemed to go on for miles. Add in the bright green eyes, shaggy brown hair and dimples…
Dean knew he would have no problem with Sam hanging around, so long as he got to sneak some glances in. And, the kid seemed eager to learn from Dean, of all people, though only God knew why.
This was going to be fun.
* * *
Four days and there was no sign of Dean waking up. Sam was going out of his mind with fear. With guilt. It was eating him alive, knowing that it was all his fault, if only he weren’t so damn stubborn. If only he’d listened to what Dean and the other guys had taught him.
They could have been at home, wherever they decided home was for the night. They could have been curled up in bed, trading lazy kisses, or on the couch, watching a movie and providing their own dialogue. Sam shouldn’t have been sitting there, watching machines breath for his boyfriend. Dean shouldn’t have been lying as still as a corpse.
He had bandages all over his body, including his face where part of the collapsed beam had connected with his jaw. Stark white stuck out against too-pale skin, making Sam’s stomach clench uncomfortably. His left leg was in a cast, from mid-thigh down, just Dean’s toes visible from underneath.
Tired and aching and wanting nothing more to get away from his thoughts, Sam pushed himself out of the plastic chair and made his way down to the cafeteria. There were vending machines right down the hall from Dean’s room, but it was time for something stronger than that. He needed food, what passed for real food in this place anyway, and good, strong coffee, made from an actual coffee pot and not an instant powder.
He hadn’t showered in three days, not since Andy and Anson had made him go home and at least wash the smell of ash from his body. Stupid twins - they didn’t have to gang up on him like that. He’d been numb to pretty much everything since they pulled Dean out though, so he couldn’t be entirely sure that he didn’t smell like last year’s garbage. Or look even worse; he hadn’t seen a mirror.
“Boy, you have got to cut this shit out!”
Sam sighed, stopping in his tracks and turning to face Bobby, the man he called his captain but had come to think of as so much more. “Bobby, what’re you doing here?” he asked quietly. He always had been afraid of speaking too loudly in hospitals.
Bobby just sighed back at him and grabbed Sam into a hug. Sam instantly sagged against his boss, trying hard to keep the tears from flowing. It had been four days and he’d managed not to cry yet; he refused to break down in front of Bobby Singer.
“We’re all worried too, you know,” Bobby whispered in his ear as he gave Sam’s shoulders a squeeze and pulled back. “The guys at the station are getting restless, not having any news. So I came to speak to his doctors, if they’ll talk to me. His parents should be getting here sometime tomorrow.”
Sam just nodded because he couldn’t think of anything to say. He’d forgotten all about Dean’s family. He wasn’t sure who called them, the doctors maybe? He wondered if he should make himself scarce once they arrived. He wasn’t entirely sure that they would know him from Adam anyhow.
“Hey, you okay?” Bobby asked, breaking through Sam’s thoughts.
Sam nodded again. “I’m gonna go grab some coffee. You want anything?”
When Bobby shook his head, Sam hurried away. He couldn’t take the pitiful look his boss was giving him anymore than he could take the ones from the guys.
* * *
Once Dean was back at work, he and Sam quickly fell into a weird camaraderie, part worship, part outright friendship. Sam took to following Dean around whenever their shifts overlapped, which was quite often. He asked questions about everything in sight, but he always kept them strictly fire-related unless Dean steered the conversation onto a different topic.
It amused Dean to no end that Sam admired him so much, but he was becoming extremely frustrated with himself. Every time he saw Sam, regardless of how long it had been, he found himself regressing to an awkward, adolescent stage that he had never really gone through as a kid. He’d always been sure of himself in social situations, but whenever he was faced with Sam, he blushed and fidgeted his way through most of their interactions, constantly checking his words to make sure they didn’t make him sound like a tool.
He had it bad.
He couldn’t remember ever being so enamored with someone, not even Cassie, who was really the only person he’d stuck around with for more than a few days. Dean was a love-‘em-and-leave-‘em kind of guy. He had no use for romantic relationships, not with males or females. Sex was the only thing he’d ever been out to find. Yet here he was, pining over someone like a star-struck teenager.
The kicker was that he had only just recently realized that he was a little gay. That made Dean’s feeling seem even more like they’d come out of left field.
Okay, maybe he was more than a little gay, he conceded as he saw Sam appear at the top of the steps.
There wasn’t anything different about Sam’s appearance; he still had that mussed-up hair and squinty eyes which told Dean that he’d literally just rolled out of bed. He was dressed in a pale green T-shirt and blue jeans, worn tennis shoes slapping against the pavement.
It was a variation of how he’d looked every day for the past three weeks, but suddenly Dean found his heart beating so hard that he was sure everyone in a three-mile radius could hear it. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and he suddenly knew that this was the day he was going to put himself out there - and possibly make a fool out of himself in the process.
Ducking out before Sam could spot him and make his way over, Dean raced towards the kitchen, where the schedule was posted. It looked like he and Sam would both have that upcoming Saturday off work.
Perfect.
As he was turning around, he suddenly found himself face-to-neck with Sam. Covering up his gasp with a semi-manly sounding cough, Dean stepped back enough to look up into Sam’s face, blushing something fierce.
“I, uh…” Dean choked out, throat tight with something he wasn’t sure he wanted to name. “Hey, Sam. I didn’t hear you come in…”
Sam cleared his throat and nodded, cheeks turning red. The blush sent a weird thrill up Dean’s spine.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Sam mumbled, lowering his head and scuffing his toe along the ground. “I wasn’t trying to scare you or anything…”
Dean shook his head. “No, no! That’s totally okay, I just…Sorry. Thinking. I guess.” He found himself whispering the last of his words; he didn’t want to interrupt whatever it was that he could feel crackling in the air.
“So, I was wondering…”
“Hey, would you…”
Sam and Dean spoke at the same time, both breaking off in nervous laughter once they caught themselves.
Maybe Dean wouldn’t make himself out to be an idiot after all.
Taking the initiative, he stepped forward into Sam’s space and put his hand on Sam’s biceps, trying not to pay as little attention as possible to how much the kid worked out - distraction would not work in his favor at the moment. He waited until he had Sam’s eyes on his before he asked quietly, “Would you like to hang out on Saturday?”
Hang out? That didn’t send the message Dean wanted at all, and he knew it. He didn’t want to scare Sam, but he wanted to make his meaning, his intention clear. He had never once taken anything for himself, and he wanted Sam. He just had this feeling about the guy; he felt like maybe there was something that he was supposed to do with Sam Wells, some greater purpose that he couldn’t quite grasp.
And he had absolutely no clue when he’d turned into a prophet, but he’d long ago made peace with the fact that Sam had a weird effect on him.
After a few minutes with no answer, Dean swallowed his pride and stepped back, immediately feeling the loss of warm, soft cotton beneath his fingers. He looked down at his boots, messing with the loose threads on his jeans to keep himself from reaching out again.
“Sorry, I just…thought maybe…I didn’t mean…You don’t…” he stuttered.
“Hey,” Sam said softly, effectively ending Dean’s rambling.
When nothing else was said, Dean looked up, surprised to find Sam smiling brightly at him, eyes lit up with amusement. He couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his own face, teenage blush coming back in full force.
Sam bit down on his bottom lip, his thoughts racing through the expressions in his hazel eyes. Dean could himself beginning to go weak at the knees.
Dammit.
“Were you asking me out, Dean?” he asked, voice barely rising above the hum of the refrigerator.
Dean could only nod dumbly, too mesmerized by the sight of Sam flirting with him.
“Okay.”
Dean shook his head, not sure he could trust what he was hearing. “Wha-?”
Sam let out a small laugh. “I said, ‘okay,’” he repeated slowly.
Dean still wasn’t quite getting the full effect. “Okay? So you…?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
Dean nodded back. “Okay,” he whispered, surprised.
He hadn’t expected it to be that easy.
Sam laughed again, patting Dean on the shoulder before he turned and headed out of the kitchen. Dean could still feel the light touch searing his skin through the material of his polo shirt by the time he followed five minutes later.
* * *
No one had prepared Sam to face Dean’s parents. He knew they were supposed to show up sometime that day, and he had even gone home to shower so he didn’t look like a total bum. But he didn’t even know if the Winchesters would know who he was or what he meant to their son. What Dean meant to him.
He wondered, as he made his way back up to Dean’s room, if they even knew that Dean was gay. Dean had told him once that it was a fairly recent discovery. He’d told him that Sam was the one that solidified it. Sam could still feel traces of the giddy feelings that had filled him up with Dean’s words. The fact that Dean was willing to venture into new territory for him. He tried to keep that, let that warmth surround him as he faced the loneliness ahead of him, waiting for Dean to return to him. He would need all the comfort he could get.
He knocked on Dean’s door out of habit once he reached the closed door. The door was always closed, and there was some part of Sam that was always hoping Dean would be awake to give him the okay to walk in. When, as usual, he didn’t hear anything, he just opened the door.
And he came face to face with two strangers.
Well, no, not strangers. He recognized immediately that these must be Dean’s parents. Mr. Winchester had the same gruff, five-o’clock-shadowed appearance that his son sported. Mrs. Winchester had the fairness that Dean tried to deny existed within his person. They both had the same sparkling eyes, though the light Sam would have expected to find, that mischievous twinkle that never left Dean’s green orbs, had been dimmed with worry for their son.
“I-I’m sorry,” Sam choked out, immediately backing out the door. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Mr. Winchester gave him a small smile and shook his head. He unfolded himself from the chair by Dean’s bedside and made his way over to Sam. He shook Sam’s hand and smiled again.
“You must be one of Dean’s friends. From the station, I presume, since he’s never mentioned any others,” he said, voice rough. “It’s nice to see he’s had some company. I’m John. That over there is my wife, Mary.”
Sam nodded and smiled at each of them in turn, trying to ignore the way his heart had leapt into his throat at the fact that they didn’t seem to know he might be more than just a friend. “Sam,” he whispered. “I’m Sam Wells.”
Mary smiled then, eyes alight with something like recognition, and walked over toward Sam to pull him into a hug. John seemed surprised, but Sam figured out why as Mary whispered in his ear, “Thank you for being so good to my son. He’s really taken with you.”
Apparently Mary knew that he and Dean were together, but John had no clue. Sam vaguely remembered Dean telling him that he’d talked to his to mom about his being gay. But he didn’t know that Dean had mentioned him enough to warrant Mary’s reaction. It made him extremely happy and terrified him at the same time.
When Sam extracted himself from Mary’s grip, he excused himself from the room with muttered apologies, all but running to the bathroom as tears began to sting the backs of his eyes. Once there, he splashed water on his face and looked at his reflection in the grimy mirror, surprised at what he found. He didn’t even look like himself anymore. Five days of worry and not being able to keep anything down other than coffee had really taken its toll. Would Dean even recognize him if he woke up?
No. No, not if. When. Dean had to wake up. Sam couldn’t imagine any other option, couldn’t fathom Dean not being there.
Since the first time they’d met, he’d been absolutely smitten. Even before then. When Sam had first started at the firehouse, all the guys had talked about the amazing Dean Winchester, fearless in the face of just about anything. At first he just ignored it, sure that they were just trying to scare the new kid, intimidate him with the thought of living up to a legend. But as time wore on, and he found himself being actually accepted by the guys, he started to realize that they genuinely adored Dean. They thought the world of him, and Sam couldn’t help but begin to think the same, even without ever speaking to the guy.
Then Dean had walked in. And Sam’s world had promptly turned upside down.
He still wasn’t sure what had possessed him to go bounding up to Dean. It was like a gravitational pull; he just had to introduce himself and talk to the man he’d heard so much about. The words had just flowed out of him, and even he wasn’t sure what he’d end up saying. But Dean had smiled at him - that made it all worth it. He just wanted to make Dean smile.
Long after that first moment, just the memory of Dean’s smile could brighten up even the darkest corners of his mind. So, no. No Dean really wasn’t an option. Sam was pretty sure it would kill him.
But he knew that he didn’t have control over what happened. He couldn’t just kiss Dean and make it all go away, no matter how badly he wanted the ability. Life wasn’t a fairy tale, and Sam was no Prince Charming. And as he stood there, watching the tears begin to stream down his own, tired face, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from straying, imagining a life without Dean Winchester.
He was not surprised when all he could picture was a world where nothing mattered.
* * *
Milwaukee wasn’t his hometown, in fact it was a far cry from Lawrence, Kansas, but Dean enjoyed it. He liked being able to walk to wherever he was going. He liked that he could stroll along the Milwaukee River and just enjoy the scenery. It was different from the suburbs, where he’d spent most of his life. But, it was a good different.
As much as he enjoyed walking though, he was sure that he would have some sort of heart attack from the strain of walking to Sam’s apartment. He’d been stressing out all day, changing his clothes at least six times like some 15-year-old girl. By the time 6:00 rolled around, Dean was sure his neighbors could all hear the beating of his heart - if it could be heard over the sound of his heavy breathing.
Now was not the time to panic.
Walking was definitely out; he’d be a mess by the time he reached Sam’s door. But, driving meant that Dean could relax a little on the drive over, and he found that his beloved Impala always did just that. He turned on the radio, the local Classic Rock station pouring an old Aerosmith song through the speakers, and let the music calm him down, notes floating around his head in a soothing lullaby.
Then he reached Sam’s apartment at 6:20, ten minutes early. Like a dork. And all his calm flew out the window as he chided himself. Who showed up early for dates? That was just so uncool.
But then. Then he saw Sam sitting on the steps outside the apartment building, leg bouncing up and down, and his heart soared. At least he wasn’t the only anxious one.
He parked the car on the curb and climbed out, trying to saunter casually over to Sam. Though he’s pretty sure he looked like a freak, barely contained nervous energy making him look jumpy.
But Sam’s smile made it all worth it. His face lit up as Dean came walking down the sidewalk. He looked good, Dean noticed as he got within a couple feet of him, blue button-up shirt making his hazel eyes take on a unique color.
“Shall we go?” Dean asked, trying not to let his smile get too wide. He knew that all of his efforts to seem cool were pointless; there was absolutely no way he could control his reaction to Sam anymore.
Sam nodded, bouncing over to Dean like the puppy he so closely resembled, and leading the way to the car.
Dean’s grin grew wider at Sam’s enthusiasm. It looked like the kid was just excited about everything life had to offer, regardless of what it was. Dean vaguely wondered when he’d lost that light, the ability to soak up knowledge and new experiences like he was starving for them.
Those wonderings had to take a backseat though, as he realized that he had no idea what he was doing. He didn’t know how to date a guy. He was sure there were different rules than girls. It wouldn’t be acceptable to lead Sam to the car, hand placed at the small of his back, would it? Or to open the door for him?
What a great time to figure out that he was completely out of his element, right when the most gorgeous guy Dean had ever laid eyes on was next to him, excitement radiating from every cell in his body.
Something must have showed on his face, or maybe it was the fact that he had completely stopped in his tracks and let Sam get too far ahead of him, because Sam was suddenly right in front of his face, concern gracing his features.
“You okay?” Sam asked quietly.
Dean swallowed audibly. “I…” was all he managed to get out of his dry throat. He looked away, out over the fading green of the yard in front of Sam’s building. The trees were going to start changing soon.
It was only when Sam cleared his throat a few minutes later that Dean looked back. Sam was looking at him with a knowing glint in his eyes.
Dean smiled wryly, trying to control the shaking of his limbs. “I’ve never really done this before. With anyone. Especially not a guy.”
He shook his head to accompany his words, watching warily as Sam moved closer and grabbed his hand.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Just be yourself, okay? It’s just like hanging out with the guys…with a few perks if you play your cards right.”
Dean couldn’t help but laugh, tension easing away as quickly as it came. He squeezed Sam’s hand in his, smile getting more confident, and led him to the car.
* * *
Sam never thought he would yearn for the chair in Dean’s room, the one that he’d been sleeping in for almost a week, but that’s exactly what he found himself thinking as he shifted yet again. Dean’s parents had been sitting with him for a good two hours, and he didn’t want to intrude. So, he’d parked himself in the waiting room, in chairs that would be put to better use in a torture chamber.
“Please tell me you’ve at least showered since the last time we saw you,” Andy’s voice suddenly popped up right by Sam’s ear, startling him.
Sam sighed, glancing up from the book that he’d been pretending to read. Andy and Anson sat themselves on either side of Sam, both looking at him like they were worried he was going to go on a killing spree.
“Yes, I have, thank you very much,” Sam snapped, turning his attention back to the page he was on. It didn’t matter why he went home to shower, just that he did, right?
He could see the twins share a look across him, the motion gnawing at his already frayed nerves.
When Anson spoke up, his voice was softer than Sam had ever heard come out of the usually-annoying twin. “Hey, man,” he said. “Are you okay? Why aren’t you in the room? Is he okay? I mean, I know he’s not okay okay, but is he…did something else…I mean…?”
“Dude, chill,” Andy chided in Sam’s other ear.
Sam sighed again, giving up the pretense of reading and letting On the Road fall to the floor. He didn’t even know why he’d picked that book: the Dean in the story reminded him far too much of his own Dean.
He looked at Andy, then Anson, before staring straight ahead at the badly applied wallpaper. “His parents are in there,” he replied quietly. “I didn’t think it was my place…”
Anson snorted. “Dude, do they know who you are?”
Sam couldn’t help but give a little half smile. “His mom does,” he told the twins. “She thanked me for being good to Dean. I don’t think his Dad has any clue, though.”
And just like that the smile faded from his face. He looked down at his lap, watching his fingers twist around each other.
“His dad would never accept something like that, a gay son,” he continued. “Dean’s never really talked about him, but I always got the sense that they just didn’t get along. But, now…there was something in his eyes. Something…off. He’s an ex-marine, did you know that?”
Anson and Andy shook their heads. Sam didn’t know what else he was going to say.
After a few minutes of tense silence, Andy spoke. “It’s all going to work out, Sam,” he said, shaky voice overriding the comfort of his words. “Dean, he’s…he’s tough. As for his parents, well…that’s something that Dean’s going to have to deal with eventually, you know?”
Then Anson adds, “I know I’m the last person that should be waxing philosophical, man, but maybe…I don’t know. Maybe something like this had to happen. You two…” He paused for a moment, clearing his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see him fidgeting.
Andy piped up after a few beats of Anson doing his best impression of a goldfish, effectively saving his brother. “I think what Evil Twin over there’s trying to say is that you two have something. We’ve all seen the struggle…the…the fight you’ve had to go through, I mean…all that shit with Gordon? And…maybe this is what it takes for you to finally overcome.”
Anson grinned, snapping his fingers and poking Sam in the chest. “That’s exactly what I was going to say.”
Sam couldn’t help but grin. He never thought the clown-around duo that was the Gallagher twins would be the ones to make him feel better about his relationship and the troubles in store. But, life had a funny way of surprising you sometimes.
* * *
“So, have I told you that I love this car?” Sam asked as they pulled up in front of his apartment building.
Dean laughed, still vaguely nodding his head along to the music. “Yeah, I think you might have mentioned that once or, oh, 12 times,” he answered, sneaking a glance over at Sam.
The night had gone well, very well. After the initial freakout, Dean had found that Sam was right: dating a guy was surprisingly easy. He felt like he could be himself, unlike with a woman because he didn’t have to watch what he said, afraid of coming across as sexist and striking out. Plus, he and Sam just seemed to have some sort of connection. By the end of their steak dinner, they could almost finish each other’s sentences. He couldn’t figure out why he and Sam hadn’t hung out sooner. It was so easy - and so fun - to just talk, just be.
“So,” Dean drawled as he shut off the ignition and turned towards Sam, Kansas coming out thick in his relaxed state.
Sam nodded across the bench seat, biting his lip anxiously. That simple action made Dean’s previous nerves begin to slowly creep back into existence. He fidgeted in the driver’s seat, white-knuckled fingers drumming out an unsteady rhythm on the steering wheel as he watched for cues from Sam. Did he go ahead and get out of the car? Or wait until Sam did? Or should he get out and go open Sam’s door? Or -
“Stop thinking,” Sam said suddenly. “You’re making my head hurt.”
Dean chuckled, relaxing his hold on the wheel slightly.
“So, tonight,” he ventured, letting out a slow breath. He could see Sam smile out of the corner of his eye.
“Tonight was good,” Sam responded, amusement evident in his voice.
“Yeah, yeah. Good,” Dean nodded.
The two men lapsed into a comfortable silence, both staring out the windshield. Only their light breathing could be heard breaking through the sound of the breeze blowing in through the open windows.
“So, I guess I should be going…”
Dean made a small, nondescript noise and turned to face Sam. He gave a small nod. “You start early tomorrow, yeah?”
Sam murmured an affirmative. He glanced at Dean from under his bangs, and it was only then that Dean realized he was blushing. So, he scooted closer to the middle of the car, fingers sliding across the top and resting on Sam’s shoulder.
“Dean, I -”
“Yeah?”
Sam shook his head. “Never mind.”
And before Dean even knew what was happening, Sam was leaning towards him, large hands on either side of Dean’s face, and Sam’s mouth was on his. He made a choked sound in the back of his throat and leaned forward into Sam, wrapping one hand around Sam’s neck and twisting the other in the front of Sam’s jacket.
The kiss was far from perfect. Sam’s lips were chapped and rough, catching against his own dry ones. The angle was all wrong, Sam more to the side of his mouth than actually on it. But, threading his fingers in Sam’s silky hair, Dean tilted Sam’s head until he could press their mouths more firmly together, sensation going from weird to good.
He gasped when he felt Sam’s tongue snake along his bottom lip, and Sam took the opportunity to slip past. Sam’s taste exploded across Dean’s taste buds as he slid his tongue alongside Sam’s, slowly, teasingly.
After far too long and not nearly enough, Sam pulled back. He laughed when Dean tried to follow him. Reaching behind him, he opened the door and slid out before Dean had a chance to pull him back in, leaving Dean to grumble alone.
“I’ll see you in a couple days,” Sam said, walking backwards toward his building. “Maybe sooner.”
Dean sat there and stared after Sam until he had long disappeared into the building, goofy smile plastered firmly on his face.
Hours later, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, his lips were still tingling from the feel of Sam’s moving slick against his own. He could still feel the roughness of Sam’s thumb catching his bottom lip, sliding along the stubble creeping across his chin. He could still feel the softness of Sam’s hair underneath his fingers, his palm. His skin felt too tight, his senses still burning with the overload that was Sam Wells; Sam’s cologne was still swirling through his head.
In the morning, he couldn’t remember ever getting a better night’s sleep.
* * *
“Sam? Is that you?”
Sam grunted into the phone, not managing to make it sound like actual words. He chanced a look at his alarm clock: 3:30 a.m. Well, three hours of sleep was more than he’d gotten in a week and a half.
“This is Mary, Dean’s mother. I got your number from Captain Singer.”
That made Sam wake up. In an instant, he was out of bed and looking for clothes, still blinking the sleep from his eyes. His immediate instinct was to panic. Why would Dean’s mother be calling him so late, or early, if something wasn’t wrong?
“What’s happened? Is Dean okay? He hasn’t gotten worse, has he? Did something happen? Oh, God, where are my shoes?” he rambled into the phone.
It was only due to the exertion of tying his sneakers that he heard Mary’s answer.
“Dean’s awake,” she was saying. “He woke up. He’s going to be okay.” Her happiness was evident in every word, even if she did sound a little choked up.
Sam’s heart pounded in his chest; he almost couldn’t believe it. “Seriously? He woke up? Mrs. Winchester, that’s great!” he exclaimed.
Mary’s laugh was warm as it came across the line. “First off, call me Mary, please. I am not my mother-in-law. Second, Dean’s asking for you. Your name was the first thing out of his mouth.”
And just like that, Sam’s heart stuttered to a halt, dropping into the vicinity of his shoes. Did Dean remember what had happened? Is that why he wanted to see Sam? To place the blame firmly on the shoulders where it belonged?
He shook his head. He couldn’t jump to conclusions. The reason didn’t matter anyway - Dean wanted to see him. That was good enough for Sam. He was almost desperate to see those bright green eyes shining up at him.
“O-oh, okay,” he stuttered into the phone. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
It was a damn good thing that no one was on the streets at four o’clock in the morning.
* * *
There were very few things that Dean Winchester was afraid of. Like planes. And losing his family. And rats. But, he’d be damned if he let his own emotions scare him.
He could run into a burning building without so much as a thought, but the idea of facing Sam after their date had him cowering in the doorway of the firehouse, hoping that no one would notice him and he could just slip away.
“Yo! Winchester!”
Dean hung his head. No such luck today.
He did his best to smile as he saw Ash, the resident mechanic, heading towards him, hair trailing away from his face like some obscene, redneck beer commercial.
Ash stopped right in front of him and narrowed his eyes, as though he could see into Dean’s head that way. And, Lord knew, if anyone could do it, Ash would find a way.
“There’s something with you,” said the mechanic, tilting his head comically. “What’s with you?”
Dean stared back, rolling his shoulders back in a show of no-fear. “Nothing’s with me, man,” he responded easily, cocky smirk falling into place naturally. “Just had a rough weekend, if you catch my drift.”
With a wink and a dirty grin, he pushed past Ash and hurried into the locker room to store his clothes for the next couple days. He sat down heavily on a bench and put his head in his hands. He groaned and rubbed the heel of his hands into eyes, spots immediately dancing in the darkness.
“Dude, you okay? You’re not sick or anything…are you?”
Dean dropped his hands, turning to blink up at Andy. “M’fine,” he mumbled unconvincingly. “Who else is on now?”
Andy sat down next to him, messing with his shoes. “Uh,” he began, tilting his head to make the information come faster, “well. There’s you, me, Anson. I think I saw Roland in the kitchen, go figure. Joshua and Caleb are around somewhere. Singer’s running late, but he should be here in an hour or so. Jake and Gordon are on for a couple more hours then they’re out. Sam’s coming in when they leave. I think Jeff might be, too.”
Dean nodded, chest suddenly tight at the mention of Sam’s name. They’d been playing phone tag for the past two days, never quite able to catch each other at a good enough time to talk. Which means that they hadn’t had a chance to discuss the other night, their date.
Their kiss.
He wasn’t sure where they would go from there. He knew absolutely nothing about sustaining a relationship, let alone making it a good one. He was out of his element, and even Dean could admit that he was worried. He was used to being in the know, being in charge even, having full control of his life and where he was going with it.
Sam had a weird effect on him. Oh, he was happy. In fact, he felt like he was floating. But it seemed that along with that floating came nausea. He didn’t know what to do next without making an ass of himself.
Add in the fact that no one at the station knew he was gay - or that Sam was, for that matter - and he could practically feel the walls closing in on him. He had no clue how they would all react. Not for sure, anyway, though he could name at least one person that would freak out and declare them lepers.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Andy asked again, placing a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You don’t look so good.”
Dean managed a small smile at Andy’s concern. He’d never quite understood it, but Andy was the closest friend he had. They were different enough that it worked well. Andy’s goofiness balanced out Dean’s tendency to go into brooding mode.
Shrugging off Andy’s hand, Dean stood up. “Roland’s in the kitchen, you said?” he asked, already walking out of the locker room, Andy right behind him. “Awesome. The guy eats enough to know how to cook amazing food. Remind me to thank Bobby for hiring him.”
Andy’s responding laugh was all he needed.
* * *
Sam felt like a complete jerk. He’d rushed to the hospital and, upon his arrival, Mary had immediately pushed John out of the room. The utter confusion on John’s face would have been comical if it weren’t so tragic that he really didn’t know his son at all. But it meant that he got alone time with Dean, so he was pretty okay with being a jerk.
Dean was sleeping again when he got there, breathing tube removed. The bandages were still there, though, including the one covering half of his face, and his leg was still immobilized. Mary had said something about morphine - he knew what that meant. It meant Dean was in a hell of a lot of pain.
And it was his fault.
The first tear he saw land on Dean’s bandaged arm was a surprise to Sam. The second one wasn’t as he realized his face was wet, tears pouring out of his eyes as sobs began to wrack his body. He practically folded himself in two, leaning over to press his forehead on the bed, Dean’s clean, unmarked hand grasped tightly in both of his.
He hadn’t been able to bring himself to touch Dean before, too worried about hurting him. And he had refused to cry while in the room, sure that Dean would be able to hear him through the darkness of the coma. He wanted to be strong. He wanted to be that man that Dean believed him to be, the good guy who was brave, able to face anything. But he couldn’t do that, not in that moment. He was so close to having Dean back again, to having those beautiful lips speaking to him, making fun of him. He couldn’t stop the already overwhelming guilt from spreading, taking over. He didn’t know what Dean would say, if Dean would blame him or if they could still be together without that hanging over their heads.
He should have listened when Dean told him not to go. He should have just nodded and said “okay” and ridden back to the station with Dean. But, he didn’t.
He remembered how it all went down: he could only see that little girl with tears running through the ash on her cheeks, clinging to her father as she cried for her mother. He didn’t think. He just ran back into the building, ignoring the fire that licked at his ankles as he took the fragile stairs two at a time. He didn’t want to see that girl go through the pain of not having a parent, just like he did.
He never even heard Dean behind him until it was too late. But he could still hear the sound of the wood breaking above their heads.
As the scene played out behind his eyes for the millionth time, Sam’s tears flowed faster. The salty liquid was getting into his mouth, dripping off his chin, soaking the pristine, white sheets beneath his head.
Only then did he realize he was speaking, a litany of apologies and forgive-me’s falling from his lips.
He gasped when he felt Dean’s hand move in his and sat back quickly, wiping his face with both hands.
Surprisingly, there was a smile on Dean’s face. His green eyes were clear and bright, blinking up at Sam almost shyly. “Hey,” he whispered, voice coming out rough and razor-sharp from lack of use.
Sam had never heard a more beautiful sound in his entire life.
Still, he shushed Dean, reaching for the glass of water on the bedside table. He moved closer to Dean carefully, sniffling and smiling through his tears. “Here, drink this,” he murmured, moving the straw to Dean’s lips. “Talking might be a bad idea for a while…but don’t worry, you’ll be able to yell at bad football plays in no time.”
Dean took a couple sips, wincing as the water moved down his throat. When he turned his head away from the straw, Sam obligingly put the glass back on the table. He sat there for a minute, wiping his face again with one hand while his other hand hovered over the bed. He wasn’t sure how much pain Dean was in; he didn’t want to hurt him anymore.
“I seem to keep ending up in this place, huh, Sammy?” Dean’s voice caused Sam’s eyes to snap back up to Dean’s, his heart warming at the nickname he couldn’t remember anyone using before. “I’m okay, you know.”
Sam shook his head and whispered, “No. No, you’re not.”
Dean’s smile faded, and his face took on a hardened look. Sam had only ever seen that look directed at other people before; it scared him to be on the receiving end.
Without warning, Dean’s arm shot up and grabbed Sam’s hand, pulling him closer to the bed. “You listen to me, Sam,” he said, eyes glittering dangerously. “Don’t you do this guilt thing. This is not your fault. This will never be your fault. And, I’m okay. The doctor told me the extent of everything. I will be fine. It might be a struggle to get there, but…You know what? I might not even have that much scarring. And my leg will heal. I’ll be back to work in no time. I’ll have to invest in some new pants, of course, since that rip in the leg caused most of the burns…”
Sam huffed out an annoyed breath, a few more tears escaping despite his efforts to hold them back. “I’m so sorry,” was the only thing he could think to say.
Dean relaxed his grip on Sam’s hand a little, easing up and letting him sit back. His face took on a softer edge. “Sammy, please,” he whispered. The plea sounded even more broken coming out in Dean’s raspy voice. “Please don’t do this to yourself. I know what you’re thinking. That I’m going to blame you or leave you because of this. I’m not.”
He paused for a moment, looking away from Sam, staring out the window at the rising dawn. What he said next was so quiet that Sam almost didn’t catch it. “But, I could understand if you want to leave me.”
Dean had always been secure, always using his looks and the firefighter angle to put up a front and act tough. But those looks might be damaged now. His muscles might never work as well as they once did, not with the more severe burns on his leg.
And he thought Sam would leave him because of it.
Sam linked his fingers with Dean, reaching out and turning his boyfriend’s head back toward him. “Dean, now you listen to me,” he said, hoping his voice sounded more secure than it felt. “I don’t care about any of this, okay? I care about you. You remember that morning? Before we went in the station?”
Dean nodded, shifting his eyes away again.
Sam sighed. “I meant every word of it, Dean. And I know you did, too. We’re in this together, okay? You and me. Sam and Dean against the world.”
Sam only relaxed when he saw Dean smile again.
* * *
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
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