Fic: "I Told You So" Dean/Sam NC-17
Title: I Told You So
Author: mgbutterfly
Rating: NC-17 (it's got teh wincest)
Pairings: Dean/Sam
Disclaimer: If I owned them, I'd make them get into fights then clean each other up. But I don't, I'm merely playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: Dean sat up and forward a bit to check out the damage to his face in the rear-view mirror. When he touched the cut on his cheek, now painfully throbbing, he hissed and cursed under his breath, "Don't say it, Sam."
"I told you so."
Beta!Bitch:barkeep, so, you know, all remaining mistakes are mine.
Author's Notes: This was written for spn_dailylife. My prompt was Zinnia: magenta: lasting affection. (Did I make the deadline??)
The Guy (Ricky, as Dean later discovered) leaned over the pool table to line up his shot. Dean was watching from the other end of the table, waiting for his chance to finish the game and collect his winnings. The Guy pulled the cue back a couple more times, thinking that it would help his (inebriated) aim. Dean had seen that tactic a million times, it never did any good. The Guy had been talking shit all night, and Dean was done playing around. He knew enough to take his time, though, and as much as he was ready to get the hell out of this dive, he wanted, well, actually needed, the money more than sleep at the moment.
Dean glanced over at Sam, sitting at a tall table in the back corner of the bar. Sam raised his eyes from the book he'd been reading and met Dean's with a silent, whenever you are look. Dean turned back to the game at hand and watched as The Guy took his shot... and sunk the eight ball. That was game. Dean 2: The Guy 0.
"Damnation! That was the last of my drinkin' money," The Guy threw the cue to the ground as he pulled the money out of his pocket. "Hey, man, you think I could maybe owe you fifty? I'm a little short."
Dean sighed. He had figured The Guy probably wasn't gonna be good for the full two hundred, "Yeah, man. It's all good. Just gimme the one fifty and I'll be on my way."
"Thanks, man. I 'preciate that."
Dean snatched the money out of The Guy's hand and flashed him a patented Dean Winchester smirk, "Yeah, well... you got a purtty mouth."
The Guy, who had been turning away to belly up to the bar, spun back around and stepped up to Dean, chest to chest, "What'd you say?"
"Nothin' , man. Just something about your mama," Dean ducked as The Guy threw a sloppy right directly at what would have been his neck.
Dean came back up quickly and grabbed The Guy's shirt as he started to fall face first to the ground. Tugging him back to his feet, Dean brushed The Guy's shoulders off and said, "Oops, looks like you're over compensating there, big guy. Here. Let me help."
The Guy gave Dean a cockeyed glare just as Dean pulled his right fist back and let it slam into his face. The Guy, being the scrawny redneck type, went down in a heap. He sat there for a moment trying to shake it off while Dean turned around to grab Sam and get the hell out of Dodge. He watched Sam roll his eyes and almost imperceptibly shake his head as he walked back to the table. His forward progress was interrupted when one of The Guy's friends, one who was considerably more burly, stepped up in front of him and asked, "What's your problem, man? Ricky done gave you the money. Now you gonna hav'ta deal with me."
Dean shrugged and punched Burley in the gut. With Burly doubled over, Dean could see Sam watching with something like amusement on his face. Dean gave Sam the you gonna come help out or what look and Sam crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair. Dean rolled his eyes and started to step around Burley when Ricky came up behind him and pinned his arms to his side. Scrawny fucker was stronger than he looked. Burley recovered and pulled himself up to his full height and landed a heavy right fist in the left side of Dean's face. Dean shook it off, but could feel the cut created by Burley's wedding band start to ooze blood.
Burley got a couple more good punches in, one to Dean's ribs and another to his left cheek, before Sam appeared behind him, tapping him on the shoulder. Burley turned around and Sam gave him a crooked smirk before hitting him across the face with the book he'd been reading. When Burley didn't go down, Sam grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down to plant his knee directly into Burley's solar plexus. Burley was done.
With the big guy down, Ricky let go of Dean quickly and held his hands up in front of himself in truce. Dean rolled his eyes and took a quick step toward Ricky. Ricky flinched backward away from Dean, causing Dean to chuckle to himself. He shook his head, turned to Sam and said, "Let's get outta here, little bro."
Sam rolled his eyes, dusted off the book and followed Dean out the door.
"I told you, Dean."
"Told me what, Sammy?" Dean's voice was positively giddy after his fight.
"I told you that you'd end up getting in a fight tonight. I told you that we shoulda just stayed in, done a little more research. But noooo. 'I wanna go out and have a drink, Sam. I'm feeling restless.' You know, Dean? When you say you're feeling restless, you may as well just be saying, 'Hi, I'm Dean Winchester. I'm gonna kick your ass now.' because we all know what restless means in Dean-ese," Sam said as he opened the passenger side door of the Impala and folded himself into the seat.
Dean stood outside the driver's side and in true eight-year-old fashion, mimicked Sam's whiny little speech. When he finally opened the door and climbed into the car, Sam was back to reading his book. Dean sat up and forward a bit to check out the damage to his face in the rear-view mirror. When he touched the cut on his cheek, now painfully throbbing, he hissed and cursed under his breath, "Don't say it, Sam."
"I told you so."
Dean rolled his eyes, put the keys in the ignition and hightailed it back to the motel.
Once they arrived, Dean led the way into the room. Sam tossed his book onto his bed and pulled the first aid kit off of the bathroom counter. Dean watched as Sam pulled out the hydrogen peroxide, alcohol, antibiotic ointment, small gauze strips and first-aid tape. Sam laid them out in the order in which he'd be using them. When he was done, he turned and looked at Dean, cocked his head and said, "Well? C'mon, Dean. I want to take a shower and go to bed."
Dean sighed and grudgingly got up from where he'd been sitting on the edge of one of the beds, studying the absolutely hideous bedspread. He'd seen some pretty horrendous hotel rooms in his day, but the comforters in this one took the cake. They were covered in purple paisleys and, what the hell color was that, magenta?, daisy-like flowers. Magenta. Wasn't that the name of the maid chick in Rocky Horror? The one with the big hair? Dean wondered if Sam had ever been to a production of Rocky Horror. Of course he had, he'd been to college.
He padded over to sit on the toilet in the bright light of the bathroom. Looking up at Sam, cotton ball saturated with hydrogen peroxide in hand, Dean flashed his best thousand kilowatt grin and said, "Aw, c'mon Sammy. No harm done. You know? Except to my pretty face. Maybe this'll make it easier for you to score with the chicks now that my face is all messed up. It's only temporary, so you better use this while you can," Dean finished off with a lascivious waggle of his eyebrows.
Sam dabbed the cotton ball along the cut. Dean could feel the edges tingling and bubbling. The sensation made him want to reach up and rub his cheek. He started to bring his hand up only to have it smacked away by Sam, pissyface and all. Sam wiped away the moisture of the hydrogen peroxide, grabbed another cotton ball out of the kit and saturated this one with alcohol. Dean grit his teeth. This was gonna sting.
When Sam smoothed the cold liquid over the cut Dean hissed, and Sam immediately blew softly on the area to ease the sting, "I told you so," came Sam's almost whisper.
Dean stared up at his brother, considering him for a long moment. He watched Sam's hands as he prepared the gauze strip with antibiotic ointment. Dean realized he'd never really paid all that much attention to Sam's hands before. But now, watching the easily graceful, deliberate movements of his brother's hands, Dean wondered why he had never paid that much attention to Sam's hands. They were huge, able to wield a crossbow with deadly accuracy, or stitch a wound to such perfection that no scar would ever show. Sam's hands that were holding a gauze strip ready to heal Dean's abrasion.
Dean looked up at Sam when he realized that Sam had stopped moving and was staring down at him. The look he was met with was either ultimate patience or intrigued confusion. Dean said, "You're a regular Florence Nightingale. Would you hurry up and finish so I can go have a beer and relax?"
Sam sighed and placed the gauze over the cut, "Hold this while I cut the tape."
Dean pulled his hand up to the gauze and their fingers brushed as Sam pulled his hand away. The tingle it sent down Dean's spine was something completely unexpected. Dean waited quietly while Sam cut the tape and secured the gauze over the cut. When he was done, Sam said, "We'll leave that on tonight and most of tomorrow, then it should probably get some air to heal. Take your shirt off."
Dean gave Sam a what the fuck look then said, "Heh. I know I'm hot and all, Sammy, but isn't this kinda weird?"
Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and in an irritated voice said, "Let me see your ribs, Dean. That guy threw a heavy punch. Don't think I missed the way you're favoring your right side."
Dean knew he wasn't going to win this battle, so he let out an exasperated sigh and peeled his shirt off very carefully. Truth be told, his right side hurt like a bitch and he was a little concerned that Burley may have cracked a rib.
When Sam grit his teeth and flinched back a little, Dean couldn't help but look down. What he saw was pretty damn impressive, if he did say so himself. The entire length of his right ribcage was a spectacular shade of bluish purple. No wonder it hurt so god damn bad.
Sam started to poke around the bruising. Dean flinched when he hit a particularly sore spot and Sam apologized quietly saying he'd try to be a little more gentle. Sam moved his fingers from rib to rib, checking for any sign that one may be cracked or broken. His fingers were cool and gentle, pressing lightly then moving on.
Dean leaned back against the toilet tank and closed his eyes. He took steady, even breaths while his brother worked over the right side of his body. He concentrated on the smoothness of Sam's fingertips, the patience in his movements, the uncalloused skin of his hands. When he felt Sam pull his hands away, Dean opened his eyes. Sam was staring down at him again with that same expression from before. Dean thought it was most definitely intrigued confusion.
"So what's the verdict, Florence?" Dean smiled up at Sam.
"They don't seem to be cracked, but dude, that's one hell of a bruise. You're gonna have to be careful about that side for a while."
"Eh, I'll live. I'm gonna have a beer. Want one?" Dean gingerly stood up from the toilet and touched Sam's right arm to move him out of the way.
"Nah. I'm gonna take a shower and go to bed. You should too, Dean. We have a long day tomorrow."
Dean grinned and pulled his fist back to pop Sam on the arm. You know, show his everlasting affection. When he pulled his right arm back for the punch, he hissed as the muscles pulled against his bruised ribs.
Sam huffed a laugh and said, "I told you so."
~ -|- ~
A few months had passed since Dean's last "incident" at a bar. So when he said to Sam, "Hey, lets go out. I'm feeling restless," Sam immediately said no.
"Do you remember what happened the last time you felt restless?"
Sam watched Dean's face change from completely serious to smug satisfaction. "Yeah. I remember. That cut was nothing and the bruise healed in a couple of weeks. C'mon, Sam. Let's go out."
Sam sighed. He knew that when Dean got an idea in his head, there was no dissuading him, "Fine. But no fighting, Dean. We don't need the attention."
"Deal." Dean grabbed his jacket and keys and headed out the door.
Sam hadn't really been in the mood to go out. They were too close to Palo Alto for Sam's comfort. It had been bad enough being in San Francisco, but now in Redwood City, Sam was constantly itching to get away. Thing was, they could really use a little extra cash. Sam shook his head and grabbed his hoodie and followed Dean out the door.
They found a little hole in the wall place on El Camino. The place was dark, skanky, had a great juke box and one pool table. The moment they walked in the door, Dean sauntered up to the bar to grab a couple of beers. Sam walked to the pool table and put his name on the chalk board to play the next winner. From the looks of it, the game currently being played would end soon. Sam grabbed a stool at the bar next to Dean and sipped his beer until his name was up for the table.
For a while, no one else put their name on the board to play, so Sam played the same guy for a couple of rounds. When someone did finally put their name in, it turned out that it was someone Sam knew.
Sam looked up from taking his shot to see Adam, a friend from Stanford, putting his name on the board, "Adam? Is that you?"
Adam turned around and a huge smile lit his face, "Sam! God damn, man. Where you been?"
Sam ducked his head and extended his hand to his friend, "I, uh, I've been on the road for a while, with my brother, " Sam lifted his head in Dean's direction. Dean nodded a silent hello to Adam then turned back to the bar.
Adam stared at Dean for a moment, then turned his attention back to Sam. Sam was finishing up his game with guy number one, taking the final shot for the win. He collected his money off the corner of the table and shook the guys hand then turned to Adam and said, "Looks like you're up next. Care to place a little wager?" He grinned wide when Adam rolled his eyes.
Adam chose a cue and racked the colorful balls for the next game. When the set up was complete, he said, "I may as well just give you my money now, Sam. I don't think I've ever won a game against you."
Sam smiled and broke the triangle of balls, sending two into pockets right away. Throughout the game, Sam and Adam chatted quietly. Sam skirted around the topics of Jess and school and the real reason for the extended road trip with practiced ease. When the game was finally over, Sam fifty bucks richer for it, he put his cue back on the rack and turned to shake Adam's hand to say goodbye.
"It was great seeing you, man. Tell Steph I said hi. And try not to get caught next time you rig the fountain with red Kool-Aide and plastic baby dolls."
Adam laughed, and when he took Sam's hand for the shake, he pulled him in close and spoke in a low voice, "Sam, we miss you here. I thought you wanted more. I thought you always told us how controlling your family was. Pushing you into a life you didn't want. Come back to Stanford."
Sam tensed but didn't pull away from Adam's grip, "A lot has happened, Adam. And I'm not sure, well..." Sam trailed off as his eyes skated to Dean at the bar. Dean was watching the two of them now, his body language speaking volumes to what would happen at the first sign of trouble.
"Sam, man, you're better than them. You're better than your dead beat dad and loser brother..."
Adam couldn't finish his sentence for the punch being thrown in his face. Sam's fist connected with Adam's cheek with loud crack, "Don't talk about my brother, and don't talk about my father. You don't know a god damn thing," Sam's voice was a low, lethal hiss in Adam's ear.
Adam recovered quickly, made like he was going to turn around and leave, when he drew his fist back and planted a heavy punch to Sam's left cheek. He followed through with another right to Sam's face. Sam pulled his hands up in a defensive position and as soon as Adam stopped swinging, Sam took his shot. He planted his right fist solidly into Adam's left cheek bone, causing a nice red welt to appear.
Adam made like he was going to swing again, so Sam took the opportunity to land three quick punches; one to the face, one to Adam's ribcage and one to his solar plexus. Adam went to his knees, winded, and Sam stood over him menacingly and said, "You don't know the first fucking thing about my family or my life. Go to Hell, Adam."
Sam turned around just as Dean was placing money on the bar. Dean threw his arm over Sam's shoulder and said, "C'mon, little brother. Let's get outta here."
Sam walked out ahead of Dean and barreled toward the car. Dean trotted to catch up with Sam and when he finally did he asked, "Dude. What the hell did that guy say to you?"
Sam turned his best bitchface on Dean and kept walking. He could hear Dean stop behind him and could only imagine the look on Dean's face. When Sam got to the car he waited patiently for Dean to unlock the doors. The ride back to the motel was a quiet one.
When they finally arrived, Sam drove the key into the lock hard enough to break it. It was a testament to locksmiths everywhere that neither the lock nor the key actually broke. He stormed into the hotel room and immediately locked himself in the bathroom. He took out the first-aid kit and sat it on the counter. When he started pulling supplies out, he realized how badly his hands were shaking. Sighing, and admitting defeat, he opened the bathroom door and poked his head out to find Dean, sitting on the edge of his bed, studying the bedspread.
"Where the hell do these places find these comforters? Is there a "Crappiest Comforters Consignment" somewhere? Jesus. Just look at this thing. I think it's just like that one from, from, heh, the last time we got in a fight."
"Dean, I need your help." Sam watched as the grin disappeared from Dean's face to be replaced with concern.
"OK, Sammy. Let's get you cleaned up."
Sam sat down on the toilet and watched as Dean took out the necessary supplies. The cut on Sam's cheek wasn't bad, but needed to be cleaned and bandaged after being in a place like that dive bar. God only knew what was growing on that pool table, let alone that bar. Sam unclenched his hands when he realized that Dean had taken his fists and was trying to pry them open for him.
Dean said, "Dude. Let it go."
Sam sighed and relaxed a bit more as Dean cleaned his wound with alcohol. His teeth were clenched and his was holding his entire body taut with anger at Adam's words.
Dean finished with cleaning the cut and placed a band-aid over the area. He looked down at Sam and stood waiting.
Sam finally said, "He said something about you, Dean. He was an ass."
Dean smiled. No. Dean smirked, and Sam studied him for a moment before asking, "What? What the hell is that look for?"
"I told you so."
"You told me so, what, Dean? You didn't tell me anything," Sam was not amused.
Dean let his smirk transform into to an actual smile and said, "I told you we'd be alright," Dean's smile slipped a little, "I told you it'd be good, getting back together again, hunting."
"Seriously, Dean?" Sam exhaled loudly and moved to get up from where he was sitting, "I'm taking a shower," Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean and Dean raised his arms out in front of him, palms out and turned to walk out of the bathroom.
"I told you so," came Dean's voice as he closed the door behind him.
Sam turned on the shower, letting the water get hot. He stripped and stepped under the warm spray and stood, palms planted on the tile under the shower head. He let the water run down his back, washing away the tension. After a few moments of just standing under the water, he started to clean himself up. He took his time, letting the anger and frustration run down the drain along with the soap and shampoo.
When Sam emerged from the bathroom, hair dripping, towel around his waist, Dean was reclining on his bed, flipping through the channels. "Seriously, ugliest bedspread ever."
Sam reached into his duffel and pulled out a clean pair of boxers and pulled them on. He could feel Dean's eyes on him as he pulled the towel from around his waist and started to dry his hair with it. When he looked up, Dean looked away.
Over the last few months, Sam had noticed Dean watching him more. And not just looking at Sam, making sure he was okay... Dean was looking at him. Really looking. There were also times when Sam caught himself really looking at Dean. Moments, like now, when Sam would realized how well-built Dean was, or how Dean would pull his lip through his teeth when he was concentrating on something, or the way Dean's fingers worked the remote.
Sam shook himself mentally and turned to hang his towel in the bathroom. When he returned to the room, Dean had turned off the t.v. and was propped up against the headboard on his bed, "You OK, Sammy? I mean, everything alright?"
Sam stood for a moment, staring at Dean reclining against that horrid bedspread, and slowly started to walk toward him. He paused at the side of Dean's bed and looked down at his brother, shirtless, shoeless and completely relaxed, "Yeah. I'm alright, Dean. Look, I, uh, appreciate what you did for me. What you do for me. I, ... thanks, Dean."
"Sure. No problem. What's this really about, Sam?" Dean's voice was all business as he pushed himself up to sit against the headboard.
Sam stared at Dean for a long moment. Dean was searching his face for something, Sam wasn't sure what. A moment later, Dean was on his feet, standing only centimeters away from Sam. It was all Sam could do to breathe.
Dean put his hands on Sam's shoulders and waited. Sam watched Dean's eyes as they stood there for what seemed like an eternity, tension stretching thick between them. Finally, Dean sighed, pulled Sam down toward him, and let their lips press together. The kiss was stiff at first, Sam not knowing what to do, what this meant. When he felt Dean's hands slide from his shoulder to his waist, Sam relaxed into the kiss, pulled his right hand up to cradle Dean's face while his left hand found the back of Dean's neck. He opened his mouth a little at Dean's prodding and was surprised at the feel of Dean's tongue lightly touching his. The kiss seemed to last too long and not long enough. When Dean pulled away and said Sam's name like a prayer, Sam pulled him back into a kiss and held him as though Dean were his only lifeline.
Most of the time, that was more true than either of them would care to admit.
Sam could feel the hardness of Dean's cock against his own. There was no doubt in Sam's mind that Dean could feel Sam through the thin fabric of his boxers. Sam slid his right hand down Dean's body to the waistband of his jeans. With deft fingers, Sam undid the button and pulled the zipper down slowly. Dean moaned into his mouth and started to slide his hands down Sam's sides.
Once Sam had Dean's jeans undone, he pulled away from the kiss. He met Dean's eyes with a question in his own, not sure if this was what Dean really wanted. Dean gave him a smirk then reached his hand inside Sam's boxer shorts. The move was unexpected and Sam tensed at the feel of Dean's hand on his cock. Dean said, "This okay? Sam. Sam." The way Dean said Sam's name made it sound like a benediction.
It was the sound of his name on Dean's lips that melted away any question, any reservations Sam had. Sam pulled Dean back into a kiss, this one more fierce than the ones before, and took hold of Dean's cock. He started stroking lightly up and down Dean's length, eventually adding a little more force to his ministrations. When Dean moaned into his mouth and started stroking Sam's dick, Sam relaxed into the motions, matching Dean's pace. Sam's hand came up along Dean and he twisted his wrist toward Dean's head and ran his thumb over the little slit there. Dean bucked up into Sam's hand, pulled his mouth away from Sam's and sucked in a breath as he came over Sam's hand and belly. Sam worked him through the orgasm, then pulled his hand to his lips and licked a line of Dean's come off in one slow swipe of his tongue.
Dean let a noise escape that he would later deny. Sam grinned and pressed their mouths together again as Dean continued his slow work on Sam's cock. Dean stroked Sam evenly and when his hand reached the head of Sam's cock, he applied a tiny bit of pressure there and bit Sam's lip. Sam tensed up, white light igniting behind his eyes as he came, Dean's hand stroking and his teeth biting.
When he was spent, Sam pulled away from Dean and the brothers studied each other quietly. Dean gave him a wink and walked to the sink to wash his hand off. Sam followed a moment later and once they were cleaned up they walked back to the beds.
Dean said, "This doesn't mean we have to cuddle, dude. So don't get any ideas. Besides, you're a cover hog."
Sam grinned and let himself fall back onto his bed. For the first time in a long time, Sam was content. He was sure. He was okay. He had everything he could ever need and more. He had Dean.
Sam reached over and turned out the light. He glanced over to see Dean reclined on his own bed, a satisfied smile playing across his lips. Dean turned his head toward Sam and said, "I told you so, bitch."
~ -|- ~
Author: mgbutterfly
Rating: NC-17 (it's got teh wincest)
Pairings: Dean/Sam
Disclaimer: If I owned them, I'd make them get into fights then clean each other up. But I don't, I'm merely playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: Dean sat up and forward a bit to check out the damage to his face in the rear-view mirror. When he touched the cut on his cheek, now painfully throbbing, he hissed and cursed under his breath, "Don't say it, Sam."
"I told you so."
Beta!Bitch:barkeep, so, you know, all remaining mistakes are mine.
Author's Notes: This was written for spn_dailylife. My prompt was Zinnia: magenta: lasting affection. (Did I make the deadline??)
The Guy (Ricky, as Dean later discovered) leaned over the pool table to line up his shot. Dean was watching from the other end of the table, waiting for his chance to finish the game and collect his winnings. The Guy pulled the cue back a couple more times, thinking that it would help his (inebriated) aim. Dean had seen that tactic a million times, it never did any good. The Guy had been talking shit all night, and Dean was done playing around. He knew enough to take his time, though, and as much as he was ready to get the hell out of this dive, he wanted, well, actually needed, the money more than sleep at the moment.
Dean glanced over at Sam, sitting at a tall table in the back corner of the bar. Sam raised his eyes from the book he'd been reading and met Dean's with a silent, whenever you are look. Dean turned back to the game at hand and watched as The Guy took his shot... and sunk the eight ball. That was game. Dean 2: The Guy 0.
"Damnation! That was the last of my drinkin' money," The Guy threw the cue to the ground as he pulled the money out of his pocket. "Hey, man, you think I could maybe owe you fifty? I'm a little short."
Dean sighed. He had figured The Guy probably wasn't gonna be good for the full two hundred, "Yeah, man. It's all good. Just gimme the one fifty and I'll be on my way."
"Thanks, man. I 'preciate that."
Dean snatched the money out of The Guy's hand and flashed him a patented Dean Winchester smirk, "Yeah, well... you got a purtty mouth."
The Guy, who had been turning away to belly up to the bar, spun back around and stepped up to Dean, chest to chest, "What'd you say?"
"Nothin' , man. Just something about your mama," Dean ducked as The Guy threw a sloppy right directly at what would have been his neck.
Dean came back up quickly and grabbed The Guy's shirt as he started to fall face first to the ground. Tugging him back to his feet, Dean brushed The Guy's shoulders off and said, "Oops, looks like you're over compensating there, big guy. Here. Let me help."
The Guy gave Dean a cockeyed glare just as Dean pulled his right fist back and let it slam into his face. The Guy, being the scrawny redneck type, went down in a heap. He sat there for a moment trying to shake it off while Dean turned around to grab Sam and get the hell out of Dodge. He watched Sam roll his eyes and almost imperceptibly shake his head as he walked back to the table. His forward progress was interrupted when one of The Guy's friends, one who was considerably more burly, stepped up in front of him and asked, "What's your problem, man? Ricky done gave you the money. Now you gonna hav'ta deal with me."
Dean shrugged and punched Burley in the gut. With Burly doubled over, Dean could see Sam watching with something like amusement on his face. Dean gave Sam the you gonna come help out or what look and Sam crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair. Dean rolled his eyes and started to step around Burley when Ricky came up behind him and pinned his arms to his side. Scrawny fucker was stronger than he looked. Burley recovered and pulled himself up to his full height and landed a heavy right fist in the left side of Dean's face. Dean shook it off, but could feel the cut created by Burley's wedding band start to ooze blood.
Burley got a couple more good punches in, one to Dean's ribs and another to his left cheek, before Sam appeared behind him, tapping him on the shoulder. Burley turned around and Sam gave him a crooked smirk before hitting him across the face with the book he'd been reading. When Burley didn't go down, Sam grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down to plant his knee directly into Burley's solar plexus. Burley was done.
With the big guy down, Ricky let go of Dean quickly and held his hands up in front of himself in truce. Dean rolled his eyes and took a quick step toward Ricky. Ricky flinched backward away from Dean, causing Dean to chuckle to himself. He shook his head, turned to Sam and said, "Let's get outta here, little bro."
Sam rolled his eyes, dusted off the book and followed Dean out the door.
"I told you, Dean."
"Told me what, Sammy?" Dean's voice was positively giddy after his fight.
"I told you that you'd end up getting in a fight tonight. I told you that we shoulda just stayed in, done a little more research. But noooo. 'I wanna go out and have a drink, Sam. I'm feeling restless.' You know, Dean? When you say you're feeling restless, you may as well just be saying, 'Hi, I'm Dean Winchester. I'm gonna kick your ass now.' because we all know what restless means in Dean-ese," Sam said as he opened the passenger side door of the Impala and folded himself into the seat.
Dean stood outside the driver's side and in true eight-year-old fashion, mimicked Sam's whiny little speech. When he finally opened the door and climbed into the car, Sam was back to reading his book. Dean sat up and forward a bit to check out the damage to his face in the rear-view mirror. When he touched the cut on his cheek, now painfully throbbing, he hissed and cursed under his breath, "Don't say it, Sam."
"I told you so."
Dean rolled his eyes, put the keys in the ignition and hightailed it back to the motel.
Once they arrived, Dean led the way into the room. Sam tossed his book onto his bed and pulled the first aid kit off of the bathroom counter. Dean watched as Sam pulled out the hydrogen peroxide, alcohol, antibiotic ointment, small gauze strips and first-aid tape. Sam laid them out in the order in which he'd be using them. When he was done, he turned and looked at Dean, cocked his head and said, "Well? C'mon, Dean. I want to take a shower and go to bed."
Dean sighed and grudgingly got up from where he'd been sitting on the edge of one of the beds, studying the absolutely hideous bedspread. He'd seen some pretty horrendous hotel rooms in his day, but the comforters in this one took the cake. They were covered in purple paisleys and, what the hell color was that, magenta?, daisy-like flowers. Magenta. Wasn't that the name of the maid chick in Rocky Horror? The one with the big hair? Dean wondered if Sam had ever been to a production of Rocky Horror. Of course he had, he'd been to college.
He padded over to sit on the toilet in the bright light of the bathroom. Looking up at Sam, cotton ball saturated with hydrogen peroxide in hand, Dean flashed his best thousand kilowatt grin and said, "Aw, c'mon Sammy. No harm done. You know? Except to my pretty face. Maybe this'll make it easier for you to score with the chicks now that my face is all messed up. It's only temporary, so you better use this while you can," Dean finished off with a lascivious waggle of his eyebrows.
Sam dabbed the cotton ball along the cut. Dean could feel the edges tingling and bubbling. The sensation made him want to reach up and rub his cheek. He started to bring his hand up only to have it smacked away by Sam, pissyface and all. Sam wiped away the moisture of the hydrogen peroxide, grabbed another cotton ball out of the kit and saturated this one with alcohol. Dean grit his teeth. This was gonna sting.
When Sam smoothed the cold liquid over the cut Dean hissed, and Sam immediately blew softly on the area to ease the sting, "I told you so," came Sam's almost whisper.
Dean stared up at his brother, considering him for a long moment. He watched Sam's hands as he prepared the gauze strip with antibiotic ointment. Dean realized he'd never really paid all that much attention to Sam's hands before. But now, watching the easily graceful, deliberate movements of his brother's hands, Dean wondered why he had never paid that much attention to Sam's hands. They were huge, able to wield a crossbow with deadly accuracy, or stitch a wound to such perfection that no scar would ever show. Sam's hands that were holding a gauze strip ready to heal Dean's abrasion.
Dean looked up at Sam when he realized that Sam had stopped moving and was staring down at him. The look he was met with was either ultimate patience or intrigued confusion. Dean said, "You're a regular Florence Nightingale. Would you hurry up and finish so I can go have a beer and relax?"
Sam sighed and placed the gauze over the cut, "Hold this while I cut the tape."
Dean pulled his hand up to the gauze and their fingers brushed as Sam pulled his hand away. The tingle it sent down Dean's spine was something completely unexpected. Dean waited quietly while Sam cut the tape and secured the gauze over the cut. When he was done, Sam said, "We'll leave that on tonight and most of tomorrow, then it should probably get some air to heal. Take your shirt off."
Dean gave Sam a what the fuck look then said, "Heh. I know I'm hot and all, Sammy, but isn't this kinda weird?"
Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and in an irritated voice said, "Let me see your ribs, Dean. That guy threw a heavy punch. Don't think I missed the way you're favoring your right side."
Dean knew he wasn't going to win this battle, so he let out an exasperated sigh and peeled his shirt off very carefully. Truth be told, his right side hurt like a bitch and he was a little concerned that Burley may have cracked a rib.
When Sam grit his teeth and flinched back a little, Dean couldn't help but look down. What he saw was pretty damn impressive, if he did say so himself. The entire length of his right ribcage was a spectacular shade of bluish purple. No wonder it hurt so god damn bad.
Sam started to poke around the bruising. Dean flinched when he hit a particularly sore spot and Sam apologized quietly saying he'd try to be a little more gentle. Sam moved his fingers from rib to rib, checking for any sign that one may be cracked or broken. His fingers were cool and gentle, pressing lightly then moving on.
Dean leaned back against the toilet tank and closed his eyes. He took steady, even breaths while his brother worked over the right side of his body. He concentrated on the smoothness of Sam's fingertips, the patience in his movements, the uncalloused skin of his hands. When he felt Sam pull his hands away, Dean opened his eyes. Sam was staring down at him again with that same expression from before. Dean thought it was most definitely intrigued confusion.
"So what's the verdict, Florence?" Dean smiled up at Sam.
"They don't seem to be cracked, but dude, that's one hell of a bruise. You're gonna have to be careful about that side for a while."
"Eh, I'll live. I'm gonna have a beer. Want one?" Dean gingerly stood up from the toilet and touched Sam's right arm to move him out of the way.
"Nah. I'm gonna take a shower and go to bed. You should too, Dean. We have a long day tomorrow."
Dean grinned and pulled his fist back to pop Sam on the arm. You know, show his everlasting affection. When he pulled his right arm back for the punch, he hissed as the muscles pulled against his bruised ribs.
Sam huffed a laugh and said, "I told you so."
~ -|- ~
A few months had passed since Dean's last "incident" at a bar. So when he said to Sam, "Hey, lets go out. I'm feeling restless," Sam immediately said no.
"Do you remember what happened the last time you felt restless?"
Sam watched Dean's face change from completely serious to smug satisfaction. "Yeah. I remember. That cut was nothing and the bruise healed in a couple of weeks. C'mon, Sam. Let's go out."
Sam sighed. He knew that when Dean got an idea in his head, there was no dissuading him, "Fine. But no fighting, Dean. We don't need the attention."
"Deal." Dean grabbed his jacket and keys and headed out the door.
Sam hadn't really been in the mood to go out. They were too close to Palo Alto for Sam's comfort. It had been bad enough being in San Francisco, but now in Redwood City, Sam was constantly itching to get away. Thing was, they could really use a little extra cash. Sam shook his head and grabbed his hoodie and followed Dean out the door.
They found a little hole in the wall place on El Camino. The place was dark, skanky, had a great juke box and one pool table. The moment they walked in the door, Dean sauntered up to the bar to grab a couple of beers. Sam walked to the pool table and put his name on the chalk board to play the next winner. From the looks of it, the game currently being played would end soon. Sam grabbed a stool at the bar next to Dean and sipped his beer until his name was up for the table.
For a while, no one else put their name on the board to play, so Sam played the same guy for a couple of rounds. When someone did finally put their name in, it turned out that it was someone Sam knew.
Sam looked up from taking his shot to see Adam, a friend from Stanford, putting his name on the board, "Adam? Is that you?"
Adam turned around and a huge smile lit his face, "Sam! God damn, man. Where you been?"
Sam ducked his head and extended his hand to his friend, "I, uh, I've been on the road for a while, with my brother, " Sam lifted his head in Dean's direction. Dean nodded a silent hello to Adam then turned back to the bar.
Adam stared at Dean for a moment, then turned his attention back to Sam. Sam was finishing up his game with guy number one, taking the final shot for the win. He collected his money off the corner of the table and shook the guys hand then turned to Adam and said, "Looks like you're up next. Care to place a little wager?" He grinned wide when Adam rolled his eyes.
Adam chose a cue and racked the colorful balls for the next game. When the set up was complete, he said, "I may as well just give you my money now, Sam. I don't think I've ever won a game against you."
Sam smiled and broke the triangle of balls, sending two into pockets right away. Throughout the game, Sam and Adam chatted quietly. Sam skirted around the topics of Jess and school and the real reason for the extended road trip with practiced ease. When the game was finally over, Sam fifty bucks richer for it, he put his cue back on the rack and turned to shake Adam's hand to say goodbye.
"It was great seeing you, man. Tell Steph I said hi. And try not to get caught next time you rig the fountain with red Kool-Aide and plastic baby dolls."
Adam laughed, and when he took Sam's hand for the shake, he pulled him in close and spoke in a low voice, "Sam, we miss you here. I thought you wanted more. I thought you always told us how controlling your family was. Pushing you into a life you didn't want. Come back to Stanford."
Sam tensed but didn't pull away from Adam's grip, "A lot has happened, Adam. And I'm not sure, well..." Sam trailed off as his eyes skated to Dean at the bar. Dean was watching the two of them now, his body language speaking volumes to what would happen at the first sign of trouble.
"Sam, man, you're better than them. You're better than your dead beat dad and loser brother..."
Adam couldn't finish his sentence for the punch being thrown in his face. Sam's fist connected with Adam's cheek with loud crack, "Don't talk about my brother, and don't talk about my father. You don't know a god damn thing," Sam's voice was a low, lethal hiss in Adam's ear.
Adam recovered quickly, made like he was going to turn around and leave, when he drew his fist back and planted a heavy punch to Sam's left cheek. He followed through with another right to Sam's face. Sam pulled his hands up in a defensive position and as soon as Adam stopped swinging, Sam took his shot. He planted his right fist solidly into Adam's left cheek bone, causing a nice red welt to appear.
Adam made like he was going to swing again, so Sam took the opportunity to land three quick punches; one to the face, one to Adam's ribcage and one to his solar plexus. Adam went to his knees, winded, and Sam stood over him menacingly and said, "You don't know the first fucking thing about my family or my life. Go to Hell, Adam."
Sam turned around just as Dean was placing money on the bar. Dean threw his arm over Sam's shoulder and said, "C'mon, little brother. Let's get outta here."
Sam walked out ahead of Dean and barreled toward the car. Dean trotted to catch up with Sam and when he finally did he asked, "Dude. What the hell did that guy say to you?"
Sam turned his best bitchface on Dean and kept walking. He could hear Dean stop behind him and could only imagine the look on Dean's face. When Sam got to the car he waited patiently for Dean to unlock the doors. The ride back to the motel was a quiet one.
When they finally arrived, Sam drove the key into the lock hard enough to break it. It was a testament to locksmiths everywhere that neither the lock nor the key actually broke. He stormed into the hotel room and immediately locked himself in the bathroom. He took out the first-aid kit and sat it on the counter. When he started pulling supplies out, he realized how badly his hands were shaking. Sighing, and admitting defeat, he opened the bathroom door and poked his head out to find Dean, sitting on the edge of his bed, studying the bedspread.
"Where the hell do these places find these comforters? Is there a "Crappiest Comforters Consignment" somewhere? Jesus. Just look at this thing. I think it's just like that one from, from, heh, the last time we got in a fight."
"Dean, I need your help." Sam watched as the grin disappeared from Dean's face to be replaced with concern.
"OK, Sammy. Let's get you cleaned up."
Sam sat down on the toilet and watched as Dean took out the necessary supplies. The cut on Sam's cheek wasn't bad, but needed to be cleaned and bandaged after being in a place like that dive bar. God only knew what was growing on that pool table, let alone that bar. Sam unclenched his hands when he realized that Dean had taken his fists and was trying to pry them open for him.
Dean said, "Dude. Let it go."
Sam sighed and relaxed a bit more as Dean cleaned his wound with alcohol. His teeth were clenched and his was holding his entire body taut with anger at Adam's words.
Dean finished with cleaning the cut and placed a band-aid over the area. He looked down at Sam and stood waiting.
Sam finally said, "He said something about you, Dean. He was an ass."
Dean smiled. No. Dean smirked, and Sam studied him for a moment before asking, "What? What the hell is that look for?"
"I told you so."
"You told me so, what, Dean? You didn't tell me anything," Sam was not amused.
Dean let his smirk transform into to an actual smile and said, "I told you we'd be alright," Dean's smile slipped a little, "I told you it'd be good, getting back together again, hunting."
"Seriously, Dean?" Sam exhaled loudly and moved to get up from where he was sitting, "I'm taking a shower," Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean and Dean raised his arms out in front of him, palms out and turned to walk out of the bathroom.
"I told you so," came Dean's voice as he closed the door behind him.
Sam turned on the shower, letting the water get hot. He stripped and stepped under the warm spray and stood, palms planted on the tile under the shower head. He let the water run down his back, washing away the tension. After a few moments of just standing under the water, he started to clean himself up. He took his time, letting the anger and frustration run down the drain along with the soap and shampoo.
When Sam emerged from the bathroom, hair dripping, towel around his waist, Dean was reclining on his bed, flipping through the channels. "Seriously, ugliest bedspread ever."
Sam reached into his duffel and pulled out a clean pair of boxers and pulled them on. He could feel Dean's eyes on him as he pulled the towel from around his waist and started to dry his hair with it. When he looked up, Dean looked away.
Over the last few months, Sam had noticed Dean watching him more. And not just looking at Sam, making sure he was okay... Dean was looking at him. Really looking. There were also times when Sam caught himself really looking at Dean. Moments, like now, when Sam would realized how well-built Dean was, or how Dean would pull his lip through his teeth when he was concentrating on something, or the way Dean's fingers worked the remote.
Sam shook himself mentally and turned to hang his towel in the bathroom. When he returned to the room, Dean had turned off the t.v. and was propped up against the headboard on his bed, "You OK, Sammy? I mean, everything alright?"
Sam stood for a moment, staring at Dean reclining against that horrid bedspread, and slowly started to walk toward him. He paused at the side of Dean's bed and looked down at his brother, shirtless, shoeless and completely relaxed, "Yeah. I'm alright, Dean. Look, I, uh, appreciate what you did for me. What you do for me. I, ... thanks, Dean."
"Sure. No problem. What's this really about, Sam?" Dean's voice was all business as he pushed himself up to sit against the headboard.
Sam stared at Dean for a long moment. Dean was searching his face for something, Sam wasn't sure what. A moment later, Dean was on his feet, standing only centimeters away from Sam. It was all Sam could do to breathe.
Dean put his hands on Sam's shoulders and waited. Sam watched Dean's eyes as they stood there for what seemed like an eternity, tension stretching thick between them. Finally, Dean sighed, pulled Sam down toward him, and let their lips press together. The kiss was stiff at first, Sam not knowing what to do, what this meant. When he felt Dean's hands slide from his shoulder to his waist, Sam relaxed into the kiss, pulled his right hand up to cradle Dean's face while his left hand found the back of Dean's neck. He opened his mouth a little at Dean's prodding and was surprised at the feel of Dean's tongue lightly touching his. The kiss seemed to last too long and not long enough. When Dean pulled away and said Sam's name like a prayer, Sam pulled him back into a kiss and held him as though Dean were his only lifeline.
Most of the time, that was more true than either of them would care to admit.
Sam could feel the hardness of Dean's cock against his own. There was no doubt in Sam's mind that Dean could feel Sam through the thin fabric of his boxers. Sam slid his right hand down Dean's body to the waistband of his jeans. With deft fingers, Sam undid the button and pulled the zipper down slowly. Dean moaned into his mouth and started to slide his hands down Sam's sides.
Once Sam had Dean's jeans undone, he pulled away from the kiss. He met Dean's eyes with a question in his own, not sure if this was what Dean really wanted. Dean gave him a smirk then reached his hand inside Sam's boxer shorts. The move was unexpected and Sam tensed at the feel of Dean's hand on his cock. Dean said, "This okay? Sam. Sam." The way Dean said Sam's name made it sound like a benediction.
It was the sound of his name on Dean's lips that melted away any question, any reservations Sam had. Sam pulled Dean back into a kiss, this one more fierce than the ones before, and took hold of Dean's cock. He started stroking lightly up and down Dean's length, eventually adding a little more force to his ministrations. When Dean moaned into his mouth and started stroking Sam's dick, Sam relaxed into the motions, matching Dean's pace. Sam's hand came up along Dean and he twisted his wrist toward Dean's head and ran his thumb over the little slit there. Dean bucked up into Sam's hand, pulled his mouth away from Sam's and sucked in a breath as he came over Sam's hand and belly. Sam worked him through the orgasm, then pulled his hand to his lips and licked a line of Dean's come off in one slow swipe of his tongue.
Dean let a noise escape that he would later deny. Sam grinned and pressed their mouths together again as Dean continued his slow work on Sam's cock. Dean stroked Sam evenly and when his hand reached the head of Sam's cock, he applied a tiny bit of pressure there and bit Sam's lip. Sam tensed up, white light igniting behind his eyes as he came, Dean's hand stroking and his teeth biting.
When he was spent, Sam pulled away from Dean and the brothers studied each other quietly. Dean gave him a wink and walked to the sink to wash his hand off. Sam followed a moment later and once they were cleaned up they walked back to the beds.
Dean said, "This doesn't mean we have to cuddle, dude. So don't get any ideas. Besides, you're a cover hog."
Sam grinned and let himself fall back onto his bed. For the first time in a long time, Sam was content. He was sure. He was okay. He had everything he could ever need and more. He had Dean.
Sam reached over and turned out the light. He glanced over to see Dean reclined on his own bed, a satisfied smile playing across his lips. Dean turned his head toward Sam and said, "I told you so, bitch."
~ -|- ~