Reqiuem For A Dream, Chapter 7
Sam has decided that he hates himself. Not only is he in so far over his head, having no way, no idea, no notion, of even where to start to get Dean out of this mess that their lives have become. But he practically shoved his feelings and his sick obsession on his already broken brother.
He feels wretched and wants to punch himself. Way to go Sam, way to make your brother feel loved. Sam baulks at the word love. He doesn't even know the guy. Sure he knows the scars of his body, he knows certain things but there are still some things which are so alien to him, so unknown to him that they leave him reeling, swaying in a state of semi-permanent uncertainty. But anyway, he doesn't even know him and yet he is talking about loving the guy. But yet if he thinks about it, really thinks long and hard, he does. He does love Dean. Loves him without knowing why, loves him in the unconditional way a brother should and knows that he would do anything to keep him safe. Even if that means staying away from him. Keeping himself and his warped sense of brotherly love away from Dean.
He doesn't even know what possessed him to do it, to lean forward and cover his brother's lips with his but Dean looked so broken, so helpless, that Sam didn't even think, just gave what he had been wanting to give since he had first woken up with Dean's name on his lips and a strange feeling pitting in his stomach.
And now he feels like Dean is slipping away. He hasn't spoken to him properly for days, immersing himself in books that he doesn't understand, trying to find anything to save him. They both have been immersing themselves. And even Bobby has noticed, lashing out at them just this morning.
“Jesus Christ boys. I don't know what the hell is going on with you two, and frankly I don't want to. But, for pete's sake, talk it over, punch each other, hell give each other a hug, I don't care. Just sort it out before it drives all of us crazy.” And with that he had stormed out, muttering something about getting more books from the truck. Leaving Sam and Dean staring at each other over a pile of books. The book weren't the only obstacle between them. Dean had cleared his throat and asked Sam if he had found anything. Sam had muttered no, excused himself and gone outside to find something to punch. Because he hated the look in Dean's eyes.
And he had been seeing it a lot recently, since Sam had dared take the step over the line between brother and whatever the hell he had been hoping for. The look that read of disappointment, confusion, disgust, regret and, Sam hoped, a tiny bit of want, need even.
So now he's standing here again, on the front porch, his fingers curling around a cool bottle of beer, the condensation pooling on his skin a welcome distraction from wanting to feel Dean on his skin. And he can't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this might work out They might be able to get over the massive mistake that Sam made, misreading the signals in Dean's eyes, misreading because he wanted with everything he had to see that Dean wanted him as much as he wanted Dean.
He shakes his head, clearing the image of Dean, leaning up against the Impala, the feeling of Dean's cheek under his hand, the feel of his single tear wet against his thumb and the sound of Sam's name on Dean's lips.
It was so far beyond wrong that Sam wonders, not for the first time, if he is still dreaming, if he is going to wake up with Louise curled into his side and the memory of Dean's taste lingering on his lips.
He runs a hand through his hair and ignores the sound of the porch door opening.
“Sam?” Dean's voice is tentative and if Sam knows anything about Dean, its that he never lets his uncertainty show. So Sam turns, not quite meeting his eyes, afraid that he'll see disgust in them.
“You hungry?” He asks and Sam almost laughs and replies with you have no idea. But he shrugs and turns back towards the car yard, a sigh escaping his throat.
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Dean wants, well he isn't entirely sure what he wants, he just wants. He wants his dad still alive, he wants Sam to stop looking at him like he's ripped his still beating heart out of his chest. He wants him and Sam to be normal, to laugh at each other, to be easy with each other again. But right now he wants Sam to look at him, wants to be able to read those eyes like he has been able to read them before. But he can't. Even when Sam turns, Dean isn't sure of what is going on in that mind of his.
So he says the first thing that comes to his mind.
“You hungry?” And the look that flashes across Sam's face is almost enough to make Dean forget that they are brothers, that they are in Bobby's house, and pull Sam to him and kiss him. Kiss him like he has been wanting to since Sam had kissed him, since Sam, had taken the first step.
And if he's honest with himself, which he rarely is, Dean has been wanting to kiss Sam for a lot longer than that. And he's almost surprised that Sam took the first step, because Sam has always been straight and narrow, the good boy who never does anything wrong. Mr Perfect, his words he once said to him echoing around his mind. But Sam was the one to take that forbidden step and kiss his brother. And Dean knows there is no going back now. But he still can't find the words to tell Sam that its ok, that Dean wants this, that he's given enough and he should be allowed to take once in a while. And he wants to take. Wants to take more than he's wanted anything else ever in his life, but the words die on his lips the minute he opens his mouth to speak.
Sam looks at him now. Looks at him in the eye. His gaze speaking the words that he obviously can't bring himself to speak. And Dean takes a step forward, watching as Sam flinches slightly.
“S'ok.” Dean whispers hoarsely, although he doesn't know who he is trying to reassure right now.
“Dean.” Sam replies in the same voice. And it strikes Dean that they are having a conversation without speaking, so many words they need to saying hanging between them but not being spoken.
And suddenly Dean realises he can feel the heat coming off Sam in waves, he's standing that close and he doesn't remember moving, doesn't remember Sam moving. But that's the least of his worries, the look in Sam's eyes, his pupils abnormally large, lust shining through the uncertainty, makes Dean falter even though he's not entirely sure what the hell he's doing. Only he knows that he needs to be closer to Sam, right now, he needs to be able to feel him, needs to be able to feel if his heartbeat is as strong as his own right now.
Sam reaches out, a hand shaking slightly, to cup Dean's face again. And Dean lifts his gaze from Sam's mouth to Sam's eyes, lifting his head and parting his lips.
“Boys?” Bobby shouts from inside and the boys spring guiltily apart, the spell broken.
“Yeah.” Sam shouts back, leaving Dean and going through the door and Dean is left cold again. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly and rubs a hand over his face before following his brother.
“I think I might have found something.” Bobby says. Dean looks at Sam. His brother's eyes light up and Dean honestly could die right now, because Sam looks so hopeful, and Dean hasn't seen him look like that for such a long time.
“What are you waiting for Bobby, a drumroll? Come on, I'm dying here.” Dean says without thinking.
“That's not funny Dean.” Sam mutters.
“I...sorry.” He replies, looking back at Bobby expectantly.
“I know who holds your contract.” He says. Dean lets out a sigh.
“Bobby no.” Sam stares at him, anger seeping into his eyes.
“What? What do you mean no? Dean, son, you said it yourself, you're dying.” Bobby sounds as confused as Sam looks.
“And if we try and weasel our way, my way, out of this Sam dies.” He turns towards Sam, trying to convey all his feelings in one look. “You die. I'm not gonna let that happen again.” Dean crosses his arms over his chest.
“Well how did you think this was gonna go Dean? We're not just going to let you die.” Bobby steps in between them, making a physical barrier between the brothers and their tempers.
“No, there's gotta be another way.” Dean says. “I am not going to let Sam die, ok?”
Sam narrows his eyes at Dean, glares at him for a few seconds, then turns on his heal and storms out.
“You two do that a lot, you know?” Bobby says as Dean storms after him, flinging the front door open so hard that it practically falls off its hinges.
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“Sam.” Dean shouts after Sam. He whirls around and pushes at Dean's shoulders. Dean stumbles backwards, glaring daggers at Sam.
“What the hell?”
“You are so goddam selfish you know?” Sam accuses. Dean scoffs.
“I'm selfish.”
“Yeah, you're selfish. You are perfectly happy to sell your soul for me, but you wont let me help you. Are you that afraid of being without me?” Sam demands. Dean blanches. He has never been able to lie to Sam, but telling the truth right now is not something Dean wants to do.
“Sam...” Yes, I'm terrified.
“Answer the question Dean. Are you that afraid of being without me?” Sam demands again. He's staring at Dean, fury bleeding into his eyes. Dean takes a step forward and Sam takes one back.
“Answer me.” Dean shuts his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath as Sam exhales sharply. And Dean can't help wondering if they are sharing the same air. Dean wants, needs, to be closer to him, so he takes another step forward, happy that Sam stays put.
“Yeah.” A look of surprise flickers across Sam's face at Dean's honesty.
“Well then let me help you.” This time its Sam who takes a step forward. And they are right back on the porch again, standing too close yet not closer enough and Dean hopes with everything he has that Bobby doesn't come out because Dean needs this now, needs this like he needs to breathe right now and breathe in Sam.
Dean grabs his brother by the t-shirt, his fingers fisting in the soft material, and pulls him sharply towards him. Surprise flares across Sam's face again, but Dean doesn't let him get a word out before his cups his face and kisses him. His teeth collide with Sam's, its rough and needing and Sam, after a brief moment of having no idea what to do, kisses him back, curling his hands round Dean's arms, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises and neither of them care.
Dean backs Sam up against the nearest car and rocks his hips into Sam's not sparing a thought for the fact that this is wrong, that Bobby could come out at any moment and catch them in a position that neither of them want to be caught in. He's concentrating too much on the way that Sam bucks into him, the noise that Sam lets out from the back of his throat as Dean's mouth leaves his and kisses, bites and sucks its way across Sam's neck, making Sam keen and arch against him.
Sam wants this as much as Dean does, he tells himself that. He reminds himself that he isn't taking advantage, Sam wants this. Sam wants this. He can feel it when his thigh slips into between Sam's and Sam gasps.
“God Dean.” Sam sounds likes he breaking, desperate, needing and Dean has to drag himself away from Sam's heat. Sam looks at him with a mixture of fear and lust and Dean has to hold himself back from launching himself back at him.
“Sammy...” He begins although he has no idea why he's stopping, no idea why he isn't giving Sam the release that he so obviously needs.
“Don't push me away again.” Sam half begs, half orders, fingers still curled around Dean's arms like he's unwilling to let go just yet.
“Not here Sammy. Not now.” Dean curls his fingers around Sam neck and pulls him down to meet his mouth, sucking gently on his lower lip, worrying it with his teeth so when Sam pulls away its swollen and begging to be kissed again.
“Lets get back inside.” Dean says. “We've got some saving today.” The bravado is back, the signature grin and Dean Winchester shrug. Sam smiles lightly. But if Dean is honest, Sam has saved him a little bit already.
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