What Remains -- Part 3/4
Nelson waits until almost noon to call Annie. He knows she wakes up early after drinking, but she's hardly ever up for a conversation before lunch. But still. Burning questions on his mind.
"Did you mean it?" he asks, first thing, awkward and rushed and slightly squeaky, like he's all of fifteen and talking to his first big crush.
"Mean," she yawns, "what?"
"About me. Being nice." He's glad they aren't face to face. He couldn't have done this face to face.
"Uh. Yes."
"Really?"
"Nelson! I've always thought you were nice."
"You've never kissed me after saying it before."
"Meant that too."
He doesn't have anything to say to that, like his brain lost contact with his mouth somewhere along the way and the babble going on in his head is (thankfully) not transmitted.
"Hello? Earth to Nelson?"
He finally manages to get "yeah?" out, forcing it past his lips.
"So you going to take me out or what?"
"Yes?"
"That a question?"
"No, it's a yes."
"Perfect." She gives him a time and place that he's sure he writes down somewhere, tells him it's nap time, and hangs up. He does the first thing he can think of and goes over to Dean's. "I've got a date with Annie," he blurts, the second Dean opens the door.
"You dog, you," Dean says, laughing as he lets Nelson in.
"I don't even-" He stops. Dean's apartment is generally pretty clean. Dean subscribes to the "if it's in neat piles it isn't actually messy" method of keeping tidy and for the most part, it works for him. But his apartment is clean today. "Dude, did you mop?"
"Yeah."
"Do you own a mop?"
"Annie brought me one." Dean keeps walking into the kitchen and Nelson follows and Dean's got ingredients laid out on the counter. It's not entirely unusual but Dean knows he and Annie can't come over and Dean doesn't normally pull out all the stops for himself. He sure doesn't clean.
"Dude," Nelson says, and Dean stops a second, like he's gotten caught at something. "Who are you having over?"
"Just Jack. He's got more questions." Dean keeps chopping at some sort of vegetable Nelson's not sure he could identify. "So," Dean continues, "where's Annie taking you?"
And then it's Nelson's turn to evade direct questioning.
---
Sam ends up sleeping for a vast majority of the day. He wakes up groggy and still tired some hours later but it's too much to fall back asleep so he gets up, showers and shaves and brushes his teeth three times. The pancakes and the coffee breath have compounded the problem of his mouth tasting like ass.
He boots up the laptop (Mrs. Greer sprang for WiFi, she wanted to join the digital age as well) to do some of his own research on the piper. He trusts Bobby but he's also sure he'd like to read it for himself. Most of the lore he's come up with so far reinforces what Bobby told him and today's no different, every source, every time. It's not like the lore has never been wrong before, it's not like he hasn't pulled the answer out of his ass at the last minute before either. He spent a year trying to get Dean out of his deal and three days actually doing it, he's not quite ready to believe that this is it. Still, he thinks that someday he'll have to process that Dean will never remember him, but not today.
He heads over to Dean's apartment later, as the sky's darkening into night. He's never had to schedule dinner with his brother before. Never had to schedule dinner with anyone he wasn't dating (or pretending to date) before. It's hard to shake the feeling that he's on a date. Brother, he tells himself, over and over. This is your brother.
"Come in the kitchen," Dean says as he answers the door. "I'm not quite done. You like spaghetti?"
"Sure." He follows Dean into the kitchen, expecting a jar of Ragu and a bag of spaghetti noodles but Dean's actually chopping things up, adding them to a pot and actually making the sauce. Sam's pretty sure he's never seen Dean mix ingredients in his lifetime.
"You like to cook?"
"Sort of grew out of necessity. I like variety. Get tired of diner food." Dean licks the spoon in the pan, taste-testing. He offers the spoon to Sam but Sam, thinking of the date cliché, declines. Dean goes back to chopping peppers. "So, you have more questions?"
Sam leans against the counter, watches the slide of the knife through the peppers, the easy rhythm Dean falls into. "Not for my thesis, really."
"But others?"
So many, but he goes with the one he wants to know the answer to the most. "I was wondering how you came up with the name Sam."
"Sure," Dean says. "Nelson told me it was the only thing I said, over and over. I just kept repeating it for days." Dean brushes against Sam as he turns back to the stove and adds the chopped peppers to the sauce. Sam tries not to jump at the same time that he tries not to lean into it. "I mean, it had to be my name, right? Because no one ever came looking for me and I think," he pauses for a second, "I hope that I'd never leave someone that important to me." He stirs the sauce, leaning over to sip some from the spoon again.
"Maybe they think you’re dead," Sam says.
Dean shrugs. "Could be. Anyway, I'm sure it's my name. It feels right when I say it. Like it's part of me."
It hurts so much to keep quiet right then. Sam says, "Bathroom" past the lump in his throat because he can't stand to look at Dean right then and not tear him apart. He closes the bathroom door behind him, he can't scream like he wants to but hits the counter a few times, hard enough to bruise.
Dean doesn't say anything when he comes back out.
Talk turns to other topics then, Dean asks Sam about school and Sam tells him real stories about Stanford and some fake stories about a masters degree. Sam asks Dean about cars and he gets a detailed account of the Chevelle SS Casey's having him rebuild in the shop.
"Those the parts you had on the table last night?"
"Yeah. I've been remembering little things every now and then. One time it was working on cars so they set me up with a job at the garage."
Sam hopes they can find all the Impala parts for Dean, or replacement Impala parts. He does not want to picture how that conversation will go down if pieces of it are totally gone. Dean serves up the spaghetti and they have water instead of wine ("Because, dude, my liver so does not need that yet.") and they never run out of things to say.
Dinner that night becomes breakfast the next day, lunch the day after that and the next few weeks are like that. They'll meet for breakfast or Sam will go by the diner for lunch and Shelly will press Styrofoam boxes in his hands, ask him nicely if he'll run Dean's lunch over to the garage. Sometimes Nelson will be there, sometimes Annie, sometimes it's just the two of them and Sam's pretty sure he's never talked this much to Dean in his lifetime. It's awesome and sad at the same time. He waits for some spark of recognition, for Dean to remember. He keeps hoping.
---
Sam's always around now and Dean always looks happy and it gives Nelson plenty of time to spend with Annie and everyone's pretty pleased with the situation. Dean still seems pretty excited and flirty about it all, so either Nelson's "gay for each other" assumption is correct or Sam's the densest guy ever. Could go either way at this point.
There's another poker game and this time Steve and Ron are free and when Sam can't walk home at the end of the night, he crashes on Dean's couch, which is widely known to be the largest couch in existence and therefore the perfect size for a sasquatch like Sam. Nelson (who slept in the guest room with Annie and will swear on a stack of Bibles to his mama that sleeping is all they did) stumbles into the living room and Colt's sitting on Sam's neck and purring. Dean's up shortly after, throwing coffee grounds into a filter and Nelson makes them all eggs and toast. Dean finds out Sam's never watched a baseball game in his life and throws pieces of chewed toast at him over the table until Sam gives up and agrees to watch a few games next week when the season starts.
It's the happiest Dean's looked since he woke up in the hospital and it's definitely the happiest Sam's been since he got here. Nelson watches them smile across the table at each other. Totally not brothers, he thinks.
He thinks it even more the next week when Sam's due to come over. Nelson and Dean are a little less discriminate about their favorite baseball teams. They'll watch the Texas Rangers any time they're on (because they have their home state pride) but Nelson's not so willing to give his heart to a team that hasn't been to the playoffs since 1995. He and Dean have been watching since spring training and even though it's something of a cliché by now, Nelson's going for the Yankees. Dean hasn't decided yet. "I'm weighing my options," he says.
"Fair weather fan!" Nelson accuses.
"Says the guy rooting for the Yankees."
They're arguing in the kitchen, Nelson fiddling with a dip Annie left for them, "Just a snack," she'd said, like any of them are in danger of wasting away. Dean's watching, "supervising" the use of his kitchen implements, when Sam knocks on the door.
Nelson hears them shuffling around in the other room, the slow, uneven measure of Dean's steps. Dean's being unnaturally, nervously loud, Nelson can clearly hear him ask Sam if he wants a beer and Nelson's totally not snickering at him when he comes back in the kitchen. Dean looks agitated, one step away from pulling his hair out. Nelson's pretty sure he knows why; he bites his lip to keep from smirking. Nelson's been waiting for this moment since that dinner. Dean's been getting this way around Sam for a while now. Nelson thinks it's fantastic.
He watches out of the corner of his eye as Dean fumbles in the fridge for beer. Dean is never awkward or clumsy and it's all the more amusing that he almost drops it on the tiled floor when he tries to pop the top off. "Fuck," he whispers.
"What is with you?"
Dean inches closer to Nelson. "I think I'm nervous."
Jackpot. Nelson smiles. "About what?"
"Dude, I think." Dean swallows audibly and a light flush creeps up his neck. "I think I'm gay."
Nelson tries so hard not to laugh at that. So very hard. He's not entirely certain he succeeds. "Why do you think so?"
"Didn't I just say I was nervous?" Dean makes a show of going to the door way to the kitchen, presumably checking to see if Sam's still on the couch. He turns back into the room. "I don't know what to talk about. I don't know where to sit. I can't seem to stop wringing my fucking hands. I want him to like me, for crying out loud. I'm worried he won't like me. That is so gay!"
"How long you been thinking about this?"
Dean shrugs. "A while. Couple of weeks anyway."
"Since Jack started hanging out with us?"
"Maybe? Stop making that face!"
Nelson coughs to cover the laugh. Smirk must have slipped out. "You haven't had problems before tonight," he says. "Totally normal. I mean for you."
"It was different!"
"How?"
"I don't know, it just was. I mean, I guess it's been there for a while? But just now." He shrugs, makes a face that Nelson's not sure he can interpret.
"Sooo... what's he wearing?"
Dean punches him in the arm and the next couple of questions are lost in scuffling. Dean fights dirty for all he moves slower and Nelson's couple of years breaking up bar fights are nothing to Dean's muscle memory.
"You guys all right?" Sam calls from the living room.
"Fine," Nelson says from Dean's armpit. "We'll be out in a second." He bites at Dean's arm, which earns him a smack on the head but it gets him out of the headlock. His high school wrestling coach would be appalled at his tactics. So, primary objective achieved even if his ears are now ringing. Dean's not even breathing hard, the bastard.
"Anyway," Nelson says, straightening his shirt, smoothing down his hair. "Would it bother you if you are?"
Dean pulls another beer out of the fridge and pops the top off that one without any trouble. He takes a sip while he considers the question. "What if I wasn't before?" he finally says. "That would be weird, right?"
"I'm pretty sure you can't have changed that much."
Dean nods, takes a sip of beer. "Nature versus nurture," he says sagely.
"How do you remember things like that and not your own name?"
Dean shrugs. "I don't know where the thoughts come from, they just appear."
Nelson rolls his eyes. "Is it guys other than Jack?"
"Keep your damn voice down!" Dean hisses. Nelson'd asked the last question at full volume. Dean waits a minute, listening for reactions from Sam. "And no! Not so much." He goes to peer into the other room, Nelson sees him wave awkwardly at Sam before turning back. "I guess he's probably wondering where his beer is."
"Do you want me to go, leave you two alone?" Nelson couldn't stop the smirk if he wanted to. Lots of smirking tonight, but Nelson figures if Dean's going to be this awkward and spastic about dating Sam, then it's going to be a permanent expression.
Dean throws the bottle caps at him. "God no. What if I can't find anything to talk about? Stay here. Make conversation."
"We're watching a game."
"So make sports conversation." Dean goes into the other room.
Nelson says hi to Sam, sets the dip and crackers on the coffee table. He sits on the Laz-E-Boy while Sam and Dean share the couch. "So," Nelson asks. "Do you like sports, Jack?"
Dean glares at him. Sam just eyes him oddly and says, "sure."
Nelson watches Dean lean over to explain rules to Sam, a light hand on Sam's knee or arm. Sam twitches at first but later, two or three beers and five innings into the game Sam's leaning into the light touches. He watches Dean more than he watches the game and Nelson's relatively certain he still couldn't explain the difference between a strike and a ball, even though Dean's been explaining it for fifteen minutes.
It's been funny, these past few weeks. He's mostly convinced himself they aren't brothers and watching Dean fall for Sam (again) has been like a watching sitcom unfolding in front him but he hasn't been thinking about it from Sam's point of view. He seems happy, happier than he'd been before, certainly, but for the first time Nelson contemplates what a mind fuck it must be. Would be anyway, he guesses, even if they were only brothers, even if this kind of love wasn't part of it. But now, it's like worrying that they will fall in love with you again, be in love with you the same way. And it's not as cute anymore, now that Nelson wants it to happen for them, for both of them.
---
Sam's pretty sure Dean's flirting with him, possibly has been for weeks, ever since the poker game. It's not the loud, more than over-the-top way he cat calls to women in bars, not anything nearly so obvious. But it's not the smooth, slick way he comes on to the women they help either, like it had been their idea all along. It's quieter, natural, just soft little touches, nothing he would ever have expected from Dean, who's never been what anyone would describe as subtle.
Dean shifts closer and Sam thinks about moving away, sliding down the couch but it's Dean. Part of him wants to take Dean anyway he can get him because this could be all he ever gets. All the research he's done, medical and mythical, and there's nothing he can do to fix it, no spell or ritual cleansing.
Nelson leans over in the fourth inning, nearly falling off his chair, when Dean hits the bathroom and grabs everyone another round. "Weird, isn't it?" he asks, voice a loud whisper.
Sam's heart pounds in his chest, clammy hands and everything. He hadn't honestly thought at all about how this must look to Nelson. What, he almost wants to say being hit on by my brother? Follow it up with a nervous laugh. "Listen-"
Nelson shakes his head, holds his hand up. "Dude, you don't have to explain, it's fine. I mean, I figured it out."
"You did?"
"Yeah, I mean, 'brothers'." Nelson makes air quotes. "It's cool. No one'll hassle you."
It's not like they've never been mistaken for a gay couple before. Sam never thought he'd be grateful for that. It makes him kind of nervously queasy. "We're in Texas."
Nelson laughs. "There are gay people in Texas."
"I'm not. Uh. Okay." Nelson leans back in the recliner as Dean comes back in the room.
Dean hands Nelson his beer and then flops on the couch, as close to Sam as he can get without actually sitting on top of him and Sam can't complain, won't complain.
It's Dean's quiet rumble in his ear as he explains the strike zone and Sam, who played baseball in high school and still remembers most of the rules, lets it happen. Apparently he's the only one who knows how wrong Dean hitting on him is.
He's pretty sure he shouldn't be thinking, as Dean leans in again, about how amazing his brother smells. He's sure he shouldn't. He's also pretty sure he shouldn't remember how Dean smelled before, but they spent years being confined in small places together, and that's what Sam tells himself. It's different now from before; now there's no gunpowder or cleaning oil, flowery odor of cheap motel bar soap. He's pretty sure Dean's wearing cologne and he smells vaguely like cooking, like tomatoes and olive oil. But underneath everything, it's still Dean, that smell that has nothing to do with where they are or what they've been doing, the smell that just is. He spends the next three innings breathing Dean in.
Dean gets up again in the seventh inning stretch. "Never liked this song anyway," he says.
"God Bless America?" Nelson says. Sam had almost forgotten he was there. "That's both sacrilegious and anti-American."
"Call me a communist," Dean says, heading for the kitchen.
Nelson leans in again when the door closes. "Anyway," he says, like their conversation never stopped. "We're small town, but we're 'progressive'." He makes air quotes again. "I mean, not that we've actually had a gay couple living in town, but we're friendly people. Look how well everyone took the whole 'protecting a wanted man' thing." More air quotes. Sam thinks it must be a new favorite gesture.
"He saved their children, it's not the same thing."
"Still."
Sam just nods as Dean comes back in. "Talking about me again?" he asks.
"Nah," Nelson says, scratching at his belly. "I was telling Jack the long and storied history of the seventh inning stretch."
Dean nods importantly, Sam does a mental count of the beers he's had and the total isn't so bad. Dean's tolerance must be shit these days. "It's for bathroom breaks," Dean says.
"Eloquent," Nelson says.
"I'm all for economy of words."
The last two and a half innings are a lot like the first six and a half. Sam has never actually watched baseball (except for a game he's playing) because it's boring but this time (clearly) is a little different. Dean makes it different. Dean doesn't stop touching him and as much as Sam's waiting for the punch line, he's also leaning in, asking for more, and Dean happily obliges.
Despite helpful bits of advice shouted at the screen from the peanut gallery (Nelson and sometimes Dean, though Dean is distracted more often than not) there are no hits in the last inning, three quick outs and the game's over. Nelson's gone as soon as the team leaves the field, early morning, he says.
Sam doesn't watch him leave, he's got his eyes glued to the screen while he concentrates on every bit of himself that is in contact with Dean and Dean is sprawled back against the couch, pressed up against Sam's side. Dean turns his head and Sam turns his and it's so close Sam feels the gust of breath on his cheek when Dean talks. "So are you a fan for life?"
Dean's hand falls on his thigh, warm and heavy, and Sam pays more attention to that then the question. "Maybe," he says finally. "Who should I be rooting for?"
"We don't have teams in baseball, we just watch for fun."
"Fun? It's four hours of tedium interspersed with twenty minutes of excitement."
"You're looking at it wrong." Dean leans forward, like he's going to tell Sam a secret, and Sam almost can't hear his whisper over the rushing in his ears. "It isn't about excitement. It's about the battle."
Closer and closer, he's never talked to Dean from this angle before, this proximity. "The battle?" he asks, and prays to God he didn't squeak it out.
"You know, the batter knocking the dust off his cleat with the bat, taking extra practice swings, stepping in and out of the box, trying to psych the pitcher out. The battle."
It's hard to have a conversation this way, this close. It's hard to even think. "You have put way too much thought into this."
Dean laughs and hearing it, seeing it from right here, it's like standing too close to the sun. "Maybe," Dean says softly.
Sam's brain skips, caught on the smile and the laugh and they sit there, breathing each other's exhaled breaths and in a minute, he knows Dean is going to kiss him. Sam can't decide if it's the best or the worst idea in the entire world.
Sam stands, forestalling a decision but he's pretty sure it's already too late to run away. He doesn't make it to the door. He doesn't make it a step away from the couch. Dean stands, blocking his way and Sam would have to leap over the coffee table to get out and he knows, he knows he doesn't want to. This, this is more like the Dean he knows, who steps in and takes what he wants when he wants it. Dean moves in close, closer than he could get on the couch and Sam's hands come up to rest on Dean's waist. The light from the kitchen is behind Dean and Sam can't see the scar on his cheek and even with the longer hair he can pretend, for a minute, that this is his Dean, who never takes no for an answer, never backs down from a fight.
Dean doesn't press all the way in, almost but not quite, like he's leaving Sam an escape route, enough room to push away. But Sam doesn't want it, doesn't need it, not really. Dean slips his hand up Sam's neck, runs his thumb down Sam's jaw line. "I want..."
Sam tries to shake his head, tries to break eye contact. Brother brother brother he thinks, chants, but he just doesn't care anymore. "I don't think-" he starts.
The hand on his neck tightens, pulls him down and maybe Dean's not so different after all. "Just let me," Dean says. "Can I?"
"What if," Sam says, pulling back just a little. "What if this isn't who you were before?"
Dean makes a sound like a frustrated growl. "I don't care."
Right then, in that moment, Sam doesn't either. Some time before now, before right this minute, this- Dean- became all he'd ever wanted.
"Okay," he says, and he barely gets the words out. Dean's up on his toes then and his lips nuzzle Sam's, like he's got all the time in the world, nothing to do and no one to see and in a space all his own. It's slower, it's softer than anything Sam could have imagined. They've both been waiting for weeks, it feels like, and there's a perfect sense of everything falling into place, of fitting together.
Dean pulls back, far enough for words to fit between them, far enough to look in Sam's eyes. There are questions on Dean's face, in his eyes that Sam doesn't want, doesn't know how to answer. So he doesn't say anything. He does leans down, hands tight on Dean's waist, fisting in his shirt. Dean's hand clenches in Sam's hair and this kiss is anything but slow, anything but soft. It's the weeks of building and anticipation. It's hard and aching and perfect. There's a hard desperate edge to it as Dean's mouth opens under his, as their tongues slide together.
It lasts forever, until Dean softens under him, sweeps his hand down Sam's back, soothing and gentle and the kiss slows again. Sam pulls back to breath, forehead pressed to Dean's. Dean's mouth is moist, eyes glazed and fuck, it's all because of him. He did that.
"I should go," he says.
"You don't have to." Dean presses another quick kiss to his lips.
Sam pulls away, hides his face in Dean's neck so he won't kiss Dean's mouth. "I do," he says, lips brushing Dean's skin. "I need time to think."
Dean squeezes his shoulders, wraps his arms around Sam's neck. "Me too, I guess," he says. He follows Sam to the door, kisses him again, soft and quick, before he lets Sam open it. "Not too long, okay?"
Standing in the doorway, one foot out and one foot in and no idea where he wants to be, Sam reaches out, brushes his hand over Dean's cheek. It's nothing Dean would have let him do before, not a gesture Dean would have let him make. He doesn't know what to make of the differences, of the similarities. "Not too long," he says.
Dean closes the door after him and for a long time Sam just stands there, back to the apartment, facing the street. His mouth is still wet from Dean's; he licks his lips and tastes what can only be Dean and it's the weirdest fucking thing. It should make him feel sick, guilty, but most of the guilt comes from not feeling bad.
Sam starts out for the B&B, hands in his pockets. He closes his fist around his keys and that seems like a great idea, just getting in the car and driving, fast and far. Somewhere that he won't have to make decisions or tell Dean no. He's running by the time he gets there, sprinting, like something's chasing after him, like he has to get away. He leaves rubber on the asphalt as he peels away, feels the weight of Mrs. Greer's gaze as she peers out the downstairs window. He drives without destination, the only intent to get as far away as possible, to not have to think, to not have to see Dean and wonder, want things he can't let himself have. He drives until it's daylight again.
He calls Bobby as he crosses the state line. Bobby answers after the first ring.
"You've got to tell me-" Sam starts, but he chokes up on the rest of it, words tripping over the lump in his throat.
"What's wrong?" Bobby asks.
Sam wishes he could tell him, Sam wishes he could tell anyone. I kissed my brother, he wishes he could say. I want to do it again. "You've got to tell me," he says instead, again. "Can we fix him? I mean, there's got to be something, some spell, incantation, weird crystal rock, something."
There's no sound from Bobby at first, just a long sigh.
"Anything," Sam says. "Please."
"There's nothing, kid. I've looked everywhere, in everything. I've called everyone I can think of."
"I've heard that before."
"Damn it, this time it's true. There's no loophole, no one to negotiate with. It's already dead and burned and the memories didn't come back."
"So this is it. We just give up, leave him like this."
"Hell no, you don't leave him. He just. He's not gonna remember you. He won't know who you are. You can tell him."
"It's not the same thing."
"I know. Believe me, I know."
You can't, Sam wants to say. They lost the same person; this Dean is not their Dean. That without his memories, without knowing what he means to Sam or what Sam should mean to him, what they've been through together, this is a new person, not the brother he knew at all. Dean couldn't possibly mean the same to both of them. He pulls over to the side of the road, rests his forehead against the steering wheel. "What do I do?" he asks, small and broken. He's never in his life wanted an answer to that question more than he does right now.
"Get to know him."
Sam nods, says, "Yeah" because he remembers that Bobby can't see him. He doesn't want to say he's resigned himself, because this doesn't feel like that. This feels like something inevitable, something he's been working towards his whole life, something he couldn't give up, even if he wanted to. Even if Dean wanted to. He hangs up the phone and turns the car around, heads back into town.
---
Sam's not at the diner the next morning. Nelson stops in for coffee and a donut (because cop or not, donuts are delicious) and Dean's in the booth with Sarah Casey, who's talking at an energetic pace about her tee ball game on Saturday. There's hand flailing and for the hand flailing alone Nelson keeps about ten feet away. He watches Dean's face and figures that all of that nodding and smiling cannot just be for tee ball. Something happened last night. He stays at the counter until Mrs. Casey gathers Sarah on her way out the door.
He drifts over to the booth in her wake. "I've got the stroll today," he says, "you want to make the rounds?"
Dean smiles up at him like Nelson offered him a lifetime supply of pie, and not the opportunity to walk around town in circles. "Sure thing."
It's a beautiful day, sunny and warm, and they can't make it but a few steps before they have to stop and say hello to someone, shake someone's hand as they pass. Nelson wants to wait for a clear patch before he starts in with the questions. Dean looks ridiculously happy about something and Nelson wants to know exactly what. Before he can ask anything though, Dean says, "You're not going to make me talk about it, are you?"
"No," he says quickly, sheepishly. And then amends, "Well."
"Dude."
"All right." Nelson rolls his eyes, feeling extremely put upon. It's not like he can talk to Sam about this stuff, not really.
"Awesome."
They're heading around the square. The stroll is what Mayberry calls town patrol. Someone's got to do it every day and every fourth day it falls to Nelson. Even though nothing ever happens in this town. Except Dean.
"How's the leg?"
Dean looks down at it, considering. "Fine," he says. "Little stiff."
"So did you-"
"Nelson."
"I'm just curious!"
"Fine. Okay. Yes. Yes! Happy?"
Nelson pumps a fist in the air. "Yes! Are you?"
The smile on Dean's face stiffens a bit, loses something. "I don't know. It ended weird."
"Dude, if this is going where I think-"
"Get your mind out of the gutter, asshole." Dean scowls at him. "He just said he needed to think about it. Then he left."
"So, you think what?"
Dean shrugs. "I don't know. He seemed interested but then he bailed."
Nelson stops, puts a hand on Dean's arm. "Sam, you have to have seen the way he looks at you."
"How?"
Nelson fumbles for an accurate description. Like he loves you. "Well. Just not like a guy that isn't interested, okay?"
A smile plays at the corners of Dean's mouth, curving them upward. "Really?"
Nelson rolls his eyes. "Yes, you big girl. Just give him time." They start walking again. "So," Nelson says, "are we going to double date?"
"You are such a woman."
Nelson punches him in the arm but jumps away before Dean can retaliate. The fucker hits hard.
"So what's going on with you and Annie?"
Nelson's turn to flush and stammer, but he finally gets out, "We're at about the same place."
"Dude, you guys move at the pace of glaciers."
He doesn't know how to explain it to Dean, to explain it to anyone in words, really. He doesn't want to rush it, he likes where they are now. It kills him, sure, he really very badly wants to sleep with her, but he knows they'll get there and he's in no rush. "We're happy."
"I can see that. You're disgusting."
"So are you."
They both realize they're standing in the street smiling at each other at the same moment. Dean clears his throat and Nelson makes the "how 'bout them Bears?" joke that Dean, of course, doesn't get. So Nelson explains and then they talk about baseball and the NBA playoffs (Dean likes the Spurs and Nelson's with him if the Mavs don't pull it out in the last game) and anything but their respective love lives. Nelson thinks they've probably used up their relationship discussion allowance for the year. Still, it's just good to see Dean happy, to see him excited about something.
Dean veers right at the garage, he's still got a shift to work that afternoon, and Nelson keeps going, appreciating the sunshine, the warm breeze, the pretty day.
---
Sam gets lost a couple of times on his way back into town. He'd been taking turns without thinking earlier and he's paying for it now. It's late afternoon when he pulls up to the park just off the town square. He hasn't slept since two nights ago, hasn't eaten since the night before but it's late enough that Dean will be off soon so Sam sits on one of the benches to wait for him.
He isn't there long when Sarah Casey comes walking over from the beauty parlor across the way. Her sandals make loud flapping noises against her feet as she crosses the street and sits next to him.
"My mom's getting her hair done," she says, swinging her legs. "She let me get a pedicure though, what do you think?" She kicks her foot out, splaying her toes.
Sam takes a quick glance. "It's great."
"School's almost out. I'm playing tee ball this summer."
Sam makes a noncommittal noise.
She stops swinging her feet, lets them dangle over the sidewalk. "He didn't leave the apartment much before. We'd take turns."
Sam looks at her now, for the first time. She's so quiet and serious for a child. He wonders what she was like before. "Take turns?"
She nods. "But you'll be with him now, right? I mean, you're always around him these days."
"Were you all keeping him company? Is that why one of you is always around?"
"We didn't want him to be alone," she whispers. "He didn't leave us alone, and he was so sad when he woke up."
"Do you remember anything that happened?" he asks, and he feels like a jerk for making this kid remember, for asking her to talk about it, but he wants, he needs to know what Dean might remember.
"It was the bogeyman, wasn't it?" she asks. She's so young.
"Yeah," Sam says. "It was. But he's gone now, he can't hurt you anymore."
"I know," she says. "Sam had this really big knife. I was trying to get Josh out of his cage and the bogeyman was there. And then he wasn't." She starts to cry, tears pouring down her face but she doesn't wipe at them, doesn't seem to notice.
"Hey," Sam says. He scoots closer to her on the bench, wipes at her tears with his thumbs. "It's okay now."
"I know." She wipes at her face now, sniffs heavily. It's over as quickly as it began. She's calm and almost happy when she looks up at him again. "You being here is good."
Dean being here was good. If Dean hadn't come here these kids, this girl, they'd never be seen again. They'd have died out there in the woods. He just wants Dean to be happy, to have the chance at a normal life he'd never take for himself. He'd decided to leave Dean here, but he hadn't thought of the cost. If Dean stays here, if he never hunts again, more Sarah Caseys will die. We're doing this for them. It's selfish to leave him here and it's selfish to take Dean with him when he goes. But if Dean stays here, he's the only person who wins.
Mrs. Casey comes out of the beauty parlor then, calls to Sarah from across the street. Sarah waves at him as she hurries over to grab her mother's hand.
Sam waves at her as she rounds the corner. Her tears are still drying on his hands and he wonders how he can possibly make this choice. He's sitting there long enough to fall firmly on both sides at least four times each, arguing back and forth with himself.
There's laughter and the chatter of children before Dean comes around the corner. He doesn't know that he's ever heard that sound, that rolling belly laugh come out of Dean before, but it's loud enough now that it echoes across the square. It makes Sam smile and it makes him want to laugh. Dean's got a small crowd around him, one of them has climbed up his back, clinging to his neck like a little monkey.
And it's watching that, seeing Dean happier than he's ever seen him, more carefree than ever, that Sam decides. Dean saved these kids, just like he saved Michael and Asher and Lucas and Ben. He's paid enough for this chance, done enough, and Sam can be selfish enough to give it to him. The others out there that may suffer for it, they're hypothetical and Sam doesn't have to think about them, not really. He has to think of Dean, who has suffered enough, lost enough that he deserves this chance to rest.
The kids start breaking off as they cross the square, heading to various shop fronts and their waiting mothers. They're all gone by the time Dean stops in front of him. He's not laughing anymore, but the happiness hasn't fallen away.
"I haven't seen you all day," Dean says. He looks a little nervous now.
"Been thinking."
"How'd that go for you?"
"Pretty well, actually."
Dean smiles now, soft and hopeful. "Really?"
And Sam smiles too. "Yeah." He'll take what he can, what Dean will give him, while he's here and he'll try not to have any regrets at the end. It's an attitude he knows Dean would approve of, given at least half of the facts, and he's happy enough with it. Dean holds out his hand to pull Sam off the bench and Sam takes it.
---
Nelson's been stuck on desk duty all afternoon and for the last twenty minutes of it, he's been watching Sam sit on the bench outside and brood. He can't tell from here if it's good brooding or bad brooding and whether or not he's decided to stick around for Dean. He doesn't want to see either of them hurt anymore.
He knows the minute Sam sees Dean, his entire face changes, and it's just like that morning in the diner, Sam's first day in town. It's like Sam's only half a person, half alive when he's not with Dean, and it makes more and more sense, the way Sam looked when he first got here. He wonders if Sam even realizes.
Dean comes into view, stops in front of Sam and pretty soon they're both smiling and Dean reaches out, grabs Sam's hand and pulls him along in the direction of Dean's apartment. Dean never drops his hand, at least not before they round the corner and Nelson can't see them anymore. Nelson had never really been worried that Sam wouldn't take what Dean was offering, not really, but he's pretty sure he just witnessed confirmation. It's possible it's a little ridiculous that he feels responsible for both of them, for their happiness, but he can't help but feel a little verklempt that his boys are on the road to happy again.
The phone rings while he's having his chick flick moment. "Deputy Fuller," he answers.
"You sound so official," Annie says, laughing in his ear.
"I do my best."
"You ready for tonight?"
Their big date. "Yes?" he says.
"Hope you have your dancing shoes on."
"We're not actually-"
She laughs again. "We might."
So much laughter today, and Nelson joins in with it all. He can't see any reason not to.
---
Dean doesn't drop his hand the whole way to his apartment. Sam's never held Dean's hand like this, for this long and he looks around, waiting for the nooses and the pitchforks and the fire. But there's nothing, no one seems to notice or care.
It's awesome and freeing and they barely make it through the door before Dean's got him pressed up against it. Sam splays his legs a little so their mouths are level and Dean takes advantage, kissing him quick and deep and dirty. Dean's arms circle his waist, tangle in the fabric of his shirt, splay warm and hot against his spine. Sam cups his hand around Dean's head, fingers threading into his longer hair and kisses him back, mouths open and wet. He licks into Dean's mouth, chases the laughter and the smile with his tongue.
They kiss until they have to come up for air, gasping breaths filling the little space between them and then they kiss some more. Dean's hands are restless on him, shaping his arms and shoulders, fingers carding through his hair and Sam realizes that Dean's learning him by feel, by touch.
They kiss until Sam gets light-headed and dizzy, pulls back to rest his forehead against Dean's, so close his eyes cross trying to meet Dean's. His head is spinning and it could be hunger, could be the need for sleep or air, but Sam doesn't think so. Dean pulls back further to really look at him and his hands come up to cup warm and firm around Sam's cheeks, brush his thumbs over the circles under Sam's eyes.
"You look tired."
"I'm fine."
"You look like death warmed over."
And Sam (who has actually seen death warmed over) laughs.
"Hey, c'mere," Dean says. He slips his hand into Sam's and tugs him over to the gargantuan couch. He nudges Colt off the cushion and says, "Down," to Sam.
Sam goes, he's too tired to resist, but he doesn't release his grip on Dean's hand. "Don't go," he says, and he feels slightly pathetic but he's reached out, he's taken this now and he doesn't want to let it go.
"I'm not," Dean says. "Just let me-" He pulls his hand away and kneels at Sam's feet to start tugging at the laces of his boots. Dean kicks his shoes off, easy as that because he's not wearing his boots, the ones he used to wear every day.
Dean straightens when he's finished, drops Sam's boots to the floor. Dean's still at his feet, standing over him, like he's trying to figure out how they fit together. Sam grabs his wrist, tugs him over and tucks him against the back of the sofa.
Dean brushes his mouth against Sam's again, licks against Sam's lip, the sharp line of his teeth. It's a different angle lying down and Dean uses his whole body, rubbing his leg against the outside of Sam's hip, fisting his hand in Sam's hair. Sam can feel the hard line of his cock. He knows Dean's interested but Dean doesn't seem to be in a hurry to do anything about it right now.
They're kissing, just kissing, still kissing, and Dean makes these soft noises in the back of his throat, not quite moans and Sam chases after them, licks into Dean's mouth, presses him further back against the sofa. He's comfortable and tired and safe and they kiss forever, until the kisses slow down and it's just their faces pressed together and they fall asleep like that, Dean's mouth against his cheek, his hand tucked just into the back of Sam's pants.
It's late when he wakes up again, or early. It's all a matter or perspective. There's a circle of drool on the arm of the couch under his cheek and he moves out of it, wipes at his face. Dean's tucked into him hogging most of the couch and Sam's ass is hanging off the cushion. Colt has wiggled in between them; he starts purring when Sam moves, like he's reminding Sam that he's available for petting. Sam strokes his head for a few moments before he shoos him away.
Sam scoots back onto the couch, tugging so Dean's half on top of him. Dean barely wakes up during this process, just makes sleepy noises until they're settled again. Sam falls asleep again with Dean's warm weight sprawled over him.
They fumble awake the next morning, neither one of them really used to waking up with someone. Sam stretches and ends up falling off the couch, smacking his elbow on the coffee table on the way down. Dean's still laughing when he leans in to kiss Sam, close-mouthed, because, "It tastes like something crawled in here and died, dude."
They brush their teeth (Sam borrows Dean's toothbrush) and Dean dresses for work. They stumble blearily in the direction of the diner and plop into their booth.
"Usual, boys?" Shelly asks them. Dean blesses her children and her children's children when she hands them coffee and she blushes, stammers out a thank you, you're welcome, don't mention it.
"Usual's fine," Sam says.
Dean wraps his hands around his coffee mug, cradles it near his face. He meets Sam's eyes over the cup and Sam almost fumbles his coffee.
Sam smiles and Dean smiles and for once, he's the one that put that look on Dean's face.
---
Nelson thinks he'd been mostly kidding about the double dating, but Annie thinks it's a fabulous idea and that’s how they find themselves at the ritziest place in town a couple nights later. Ritzy for Jefferson isn't much, none of them are particularly dressed up. Nelson's not particularly sure that Sam and Dean own "dressed up."
He told Sam they wouldn't get hassled and for the most part, Nelson's sure they won't. Still, it feels like a test (even more so than them walking across the square holding hands) when they walk into the restaurant and Dean puts his hand on Sam's back as they walk to the table. They get a few looks, which Nelson expected, but no one walks out, no one stands up and starts inaccurately quoting bits of the Bible at them, and Nelson's pretty pleased with his town.
Dean and Annie keep the conversation rolling and they all laugh so much their abs hurt later and Nelson's a little unsteady on his legs on the way out. They all judge that one to be a success and while they go on individual dates (or so Dean tells Annie who tells Nelson, Dean's decided he cannot have relationship discussions with Nelson anymore) they also go on a couple more double dates. It's like poker nights all over again except more intentional and therefore better.
Nelson takes Annie into Dallas one weekend, to a ritzy place where they actually do have to dress up and Nelson breaks out his suit and tie and Annie has this amazing black dress. Nelson's got reservations at a hotel after. He's not one to kiss and tell but he's pretty sure Dean knows what went down. He comments (often) on the huge, stupid grin that sits on Nelson's face for the next four days.
Annie decides a picnic sounds like a fantastic idea and Sam admits to Nelson later that he's pretty sure he's never been on a picnic in his life, unless eating gas station food on the side of the road counts. Nelson thinks it doesn't. Annie packs the basket, assigns Dean the task of supplying the blanket and Nelson offers to drive.
"What do I do?" Sam asks.
"Eat," Annie says, pinching his arm. "Need to put some meat on your bones."
They set the date for next Saturday. The day dawns beautiful and sunny and just this side of almost too hot. Annie rolls all the windows down in Nelson's car on the way over, pulls her hair up in a ponytail when it whips around her face. A scuffle breaks out when they pull up in front of Dean's, neither one of them is too interested in having to walk up and get him. "Coin toss?" Annie suggests, and Nelson loses.
The inside is dark after stepping out of the bright sunshine and Nelson almost walks into them, pressed up against Dean's door, doing things that would make Nelson's mama blush, blanket in a heap at their feet.
Nelson picks it up and flicks at them with it. "You guys are disgusting," he says, "C'mon." He grins as he turns around.
It's gearing up to be a hot summer but it's not as bad away from the concrete in town. Annie lays the blanket down in the shade near the river and sets up against the tree with a book while the boys splash around in the water. She's got everything laid out for them by the time they heave themselves over the bank, dripping and exhausted. They eat as much as they possibly can and Sam falls asleep with Dean's head on his stomach. Nelson wakes them up later to drive them all back to town.
Word gets around town pretty quickly and Nelson ends up having to explain his "brothers" theory (pretty much confirmed by Sam) to Casey and Mayberry, once they hear about it. Anderson really did wash his hands of the whole situation, Nelson hasn't heard anything from him since the meeting in the hospital corridor. Casey and Mayberry both greet the information with identical 'huh's and carry on about their days.
---
It's Annie's idea to go see a movie and for reasons Sam's not entirely sure of, they all decide to let Dean pick it, which is how they end up at the late showing of something involving zombies and scantily clad women. So it's completely inconceivable that Dean would lean over, twenty minutes into the whole thing, and nuzzle Sam's neck.
Sam prides himself on not screaming like a little girl, but he does jump and drop his bag of M&Ms which Dean is so replacing later. "We are in public," he says, hissing at Dean. "In Texas."
Dean flips up the armrest between them and Sam's stomach fucking flips. "There's a grand total of only us here," Dean says. "Loosen up."
The only other time Sam has ever made out in a movie theater was Marly Scott, tenth grade. They were leaving the next day and Sam didn't tell her and he hadn't kissed her yet so he waited for the lights to go down and made his move. She seemed willing enough to miss out on the movie Sam had paid for in the first place. It was all perfect, Marly was a fantastic kisser, until the guy sitting behind them dropped (or dumped, Sam was never really sure) his Coke on their heads and Sam had never made out in a theater again. Dean's right, no one's around to dump Coke on them. Still, "We'll get shot," he says.
Dean's got his mouth against Sam's ear, Sam was sure he'd been leaning too far away for that to happen. "It's dark. No one's here." He palms Sam's thigh, fingers tracing the inside seam upwards.
"Ngyah," Sam says, admittedly not an intelligent response, but Dean's hand is almost touching his dick and he thinks he'll be forgiven for the lack of witty comebacks.
He feels Dean's smirk against his lips.
Later, he remembers a few screams, maybe an "unngh" or two from someone playing a zombie. Nothing else (although he's not sure a movie like that really exists for the plot). He does remember the soft weight of Dean's mouth against his, the grip of Dean's hand on his thigh.
Annie and Nelson look pretty satisfied with themselves as well as the credits roll and the lights come up. Doesn't look like any of them were watching the movie. They basically paid money to sit in a dark room and make out. Dean grabs his ass as they're leaving and Sam decides he really can't be bothered to care.
It's warm and dark when they come outside, just the four of them out on the streets at this hour. The little theater isn't all that far from Dean's apartment. Nelson and Annie take off from the theater for her place but Sam and Dean stroll slowly back, arms brushing as they walk.
Two hours of Dean's hand almost right up against his cock and now the slightest brush of Dean's arm against his makes him catch his breath. They've done nothing but kiss so far and Sam knows, knows for certain that tonight it's going to be different. It's not going to be enough. It's a slow walk home (an amble, if you will) and by the time they get to Dean's apartment Sam is cross-eyed, he's so hard.
Dean's just as desperate, he's on Sam as soon as he gets the door open, panting kisses into his mouth. His hands slip under Sam's shirt, palming his ribs, rubbing up his sides. Dean pulls back far enough to get the shirt off and then yanks his own up over his head before he presses back in, skin against skin.
When Dean's kissing him, it's easier to forget what it all means. When Dean's up on his toes, tongue sliding against Sam's, hand curled around the back of his neck, he doesn't have to think about what anyone else would say if they knew, if they found out. What Dean would say. Bobby thinks, the doctor thinks, even Sam thinks that this is permanent, that Dean won't ever remember who he is, who Sam is to him.
It's the hardest thing to let go. He isn't entirely sure he'll ever be able to completely. But with the weight of Dean against him, the hot press of Dean's chest against his, Dean moaning into his mouth, Sam feels that part of that burden lift, evaporate. It doesn't matter, it shouldn't matter at all if it's what Dean wants. If it makes Dean happy.
"You are, right?" he says into Dean's mouth, pulls back just enough. "You're happy?"
They're close enough that Dean's eyes cross as he tries to glare at Sam and it looks incredibly ridiculous but Sam doesn't laugh, just waits for the answer. "Yeah," Dean says. "Delirious. Why-"
But there's no easy answer for that and Sam catches the question in his mouth, tongue sliding back against Dean's. He backs Dean into the wall, knocks one of the tastefully framed prints askew with his hand. He strokes his hands over Dean's chest, up his back, finds scars he doesn't remember from wounds he never saw, never helped patch up. Just another reminder that this is someone different, someone new.
Sam can feel the hard length of Dean's cock against his, grinding together between them. Dean breaks his mouth away from Sam's panting. "Bed," Dean mutters against Sam's cheek. "If this is going where it's going, I want it to get there while I'm lying down."
Sam nods, one hand clenched around Dean's arm, one tangled in Dean's shirt against his back. "Yes," he says. Dean pushes at Sam's shoulders, giving himself room to push away from the wall.
"Well, c'mon." Dean tucks his pointer fingers into Sam's belt loops and tugs Sam along. Sam's smiling against his mouth when Dean kisses him, still walking backwards. It's not a big apartment but it feels like forever before they get to the bedroom, before Dean hands fumble at the buttons on his pants. Dean wraps his hands around Sam's cock as soon as he gets them undone and makes this sound- half sigh, half moan- like he's been waiting to do that all night.
Sam leans down, catches the end of the moan on his tongue. Dean keeps one hand on his cock and slips the other down the back of Sam's jeans, splays his fingers against the warm skin of Sam's ass. Dean's pants are still on, hard cock tenting the front and that seems wrong so Sam starts working at the buttons. Lack of blood flow to his brain makes his hands feel huge and clumsy and the button on Dean's pants is complicated and Dean laughs into his mouth as he reaches down to help. "Smooth," he says.
"Shut up," Sam says, mouth open against Dean's neck. They both trip a bit stepping out of their pants, leaning against each other. Dean's cock is warm and thick in his hand and he thinks he should feel weirder about this than he does, because it's not weird at all. It's amazing.
"Down, lay down," Dean says. He shoves Sam backwards so he sprawls over the bed. It's big and wide, way bigger, way more comfortable than anything he's slept on in years. Sam spreads out in the middle and Dean stretches out over him, fitting himself between Sam's legs.
"Have you ever?" Dean mutters against his shoulder.
"Uh." Sam tries to think about the question, about the answer to the question. Dean's cock lines up with his and Sam thrusts up and wonders how he's supposed to think about anything except how awesome this is.
Dean stops sucking a bruise into his neck and rises up above him. "Dude."
"What?"
"Have you?"
Right. Question. "No. You?"
"You're kidding, right? How the hell would I know?" Dean arches his back enough that his cock slides into the crease of Sam's thigh, slick with pre-come and perfect. "We should have been doing this forever ago. Like your first day in town."
"Do you have-"
Dean leans over, digs around in his nightstand and comes back with lube and condoms, laying them on Sam's chest. "You do not want to know the conversation I had to have to get these."
"Yeah? Where'd you go?"
"Drug store on Main."
Sam pictures Inez, the little blue haired lady behind the counter and shudders. "Ugh-" he starts, but Dean chooses that moment to thrust again, smearing slick over Sam's stomach and Sam can't think, can't picture anything but him. He takes the brand new tube of Astroglide and hands it to Dean. "I've heard you can never use too much."
Dean doesn't take it. "I've been thinking about this," he says and at first Sam thinks it isn't going to happen. He's not sure if that's relief or disappointment but whatever it is, Dean sees it on his face. "No, no," he says. "Just. I want you to. You know."
"You want me to fuck you?" he blurts out. His heart's racing in his chest.
Dean closes his eyes for just a second. "Yes, absolutely yes."
When Sam thought about this at all (and it's been all he can think about the last few weeks) it's always Dean fucking him; he never thought about fucking Dean. It feels wrong somehow, like if Dean does remember somehow the memory of Sam fucking him would be worse. "No, let me," he says and presses the lube into Dean's hands again.
"But seriously, I want-"
It's the most ridiculous argument they've ever had and that includes a lot of ridiculous arguments. "D-Sam, let me-"
Dean shakes his head, nuzzles into Sam's neck and Sam feels the words pressed into his skin. "Seriously, dude. I want to. I really, really want you to do it to me, okay?"
"What if-"
Dean pops back up, hard and frustrated and his face is inches from Sam's and Sam has nowhere to look but right at him. "Shut up. Shut up already with the what ifs. Like I don't think about this every day. What I was like before. I am sick to death of what ifs." His hands come up, tight on Sam's face, cupping his head and Sam can feel them tremble just a little. "Even if my memory comes back right fucking now, I am still going to want to do this. So shut up and fuck me already."
Good enough for him. He flips them over, spreads Dean out against the sheets. The lube is slick on his fingers when he opens the top and he's touched his brother a lot of places sewing him up after hunts, but Sam's never touched him there. It's like nothing he'd have expected, smooth and warm and Dean's mouth falls open when Sam crooks his finger.
Dean's quiet, soft little moans and whispered words that make no sense, don't have enough volume to make sense. Sam's heard Dean, actually seen him on several memorable (and only because they were horrifyingly scarring) occasions. Dean's usually pretty vocal, lots of muttered "baby"s and "oh yeah"s and it's all over pretty quick. Dean's never been one for lingering, just makes sure everyone's satisfied and moves on.
He's nothing like that, this is nothing like that now. Dean's hands run smooth and warm up Sam's back, over his sides and there's nothing rushed, nothing hurried about it. Dean's mouth is open against his, tongue brushing over Sam's and it's comfortable and warm and hot all at the same time.
Sam moves down Dean's chest, runs his tongue along the lines of Dean's scars and some day, he'll get Dean to tell him what he remembers of them. If he remembers anything. He bites at the jut of Dean's hipbone, licks up the jagged scar the surgery left. He opens his mouth over Dean's cock and breathes on it just to hear Dean whimper, to feel Dean clench his hands in Sam's hair. Sam's done this before, had someone's cock in his mouth, but it's never been Dean's cock and it's never meant anything even remotely like this.
"Jack," Dean says on a long exhale.
It makes him stop, just for a moment, and he presses his face into Dean's hip, just trying to catch his breath. He's never wanted to hear his name so badly in his life. He hadn't forgotten, really, but he hadn't wanted the harsh reminder that this isn't his brother, either. They wouldn't be doing this if he was, and Sam doesn't ever want to stop. "Hey," Dean says, hand on Sam's face and Sam doesn't want to make eye contact now.
He puts his mouth on Dean, swallows him down and Dean convulses above him, pulling too hard on his hair. Dean's warm and heavy on his tongue, salty and smooth and perfect.
"More," Dean says between panting breaths and Sam slicks up another finger. He presses them in together, relaxes his throat against Dean's quick thrusts. He scissors his fingers inside Dean, stretching him open, slicking him up. "Now, fuck me now," Dean says and pulls at Sam's shoulders. Dean grabs a condom, rips it open with his damn teeth and rolls it down Sam's cock.
Sam's given guys blowjobs, been on the receiving end too, but he's never fucked another guy. "It might be easier on your-" he starts, because he's heard a few things.
"Like this." Dean stays on his back and spreads his legs wider.
"But-"
"If you don't shut up and fuck me now I'm going to kill you."
"Yeah, okay," Sam says, tucking in closer to Dean. Dean hooks his legs up around Sam's waist as Sam settles between his thighs. His cock's up against Dean's ass. "Look at me," he says.
Dean looks at him, puts his hand on Sam's neck at looks at him the whole time Sam presses in. He winces at first but digs his fingers into Sam's ass when Sam tries to stop. "Don't," Dean says. "Keep going."
So he keeps going, further into tight heat and he watches Dean the whole time and by the time he's all the way in, as deep as he can go, Dean's mouth has dropped open and it isn't pain anymore, not pain at all. "God," Dean says, eyes sinking shut.
"Okay?"
"Shut up, I'm fine. You?"
It's so far beyond okay, and maybe that's what Dean means. Sam leans in, bends Dean almost in half but he wants to get his mouth on Dean's, wants to lick his mouth open. Sam pulls out just a little, just enough that Dean moans into mouth when he pushes back in. "Faster."
So Sam moves faster, harder, grinding Dean down in the mattress and he doesn't take his mouth off Dean the whole time. Dean's got a hand around his own cock and Sam pushes it away; he wants to be the one to make Dean come. He licks up Dean's neck, bites at his ear and Dean shouts Jack's name when he comes and Sam mouths Dean's name against his neck and wipes them both off with a corner of the sheet.
They fall asleep like that, Sam sprawled over Dean, one arm trapped beneath Dean's neck. It's not a perfect moment, he's hungry and his leg is cramping and his ear itches and he doesn't want to move Dean to scratch it, but it's the best moment he's ever had.
The sun slanting in his eyes wakes him up the next morning. Dean's hand is tight in his hair and Sam spends a few minutes panicking about Dean remembering. What would he say? What would he do? Who knew what the hell could be a trigger.
"I can hear you thinking," Dean says, deep and rumbly under him. "You okay, Jack?"
And it's so nonchalant, like it's nothing at all, or nothing horrifying, and it's stupid anyway. They've never done this before, nothing to remind Dean of anything. "M'fine," he says. "Hungry."
Dean's stomach rumbles in answer but Dean's arms and legs tighten around Sam, pull him back down when he tries to get up. "I think we should do this again," he says.
Sam sinks back down, noses into the longer hair behind Dean's ear. "Fine," he says, "but this time it's my turn."
They don't leave the bed for hours.
part four