Part Six: You Only Feel It When It’s Lost
When Dean wakes up the next morning, Sam’s gone. The note on the table says he’s gone running and will bring back breakfast, so Dean takes another shower, tries not to expect too much or even think much about what happened the night before.
But things have changed.
Dean can feel it when Sam returns with the greasy bags of breakfast sandwiches and coffee. For one thing, he doesn’t look at Dean as he puts them down on the rickety little dinette table. He greets Dean normally enough -- “Hey.” But he doesn’t spare him even a glance as he crosses the room and disappears into the bathroom for a shower.
Dean grits his teeth, determined not to bring it up until Sam does, determined to let Sam take the lead on this thing.
He eats his breakfast sandwiches and sips his coffee while watching the news on the staticky TV, watching the images of riots and wars in places he’s never even heard of, presented by telecasters he’s never seen before.
“Okay,” Sam says when he returns to the room, clean and dressed and slightly damp all over. At least, all over that Dean can see.
“Okay what?” Dean crumples his breakfast sandwich wrapper into a ball and makes a perfect basket.
“Okay, let’s settle down,” Sam clarifies.
Dean almost chokes on his last bite, swallows painfully. “Seriously?”
Sam shrugs, unwraps a breakfast sandwich and takes a bite.
“I just never thought I’d hear you say that,” Dean says. “I figured you’d want to keep looking, keep on rambling, searching for clues, for some way to reverse this whole thing. I figured if you stopped, it’d feel like quitting to you. I mean, you said it yourself: you’d feel like you were letting the other me down, like when I was in Purgatory.”
Sam shakes his head. “This is different.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” Sam doesn’t elaborate, and Dean’s too hopeful to push.
“So where to?” Dean asks when they’re packed up and in the car.
Sam shrugs. “I was thinking Carbondale,” he says.
“Southern Illinois?” Dean’s surprised.
“Yeah,” Sam says. “It’s about halfway between St. Louis and Nashville, two cities with great live music, which I know you love.”
Dean nods. He’s not wrong about that.
Sam goes on. “It’s small, but it has a college campus where I can do my research, maybe finish my degree.”
No bad memories, Dean thinks. They’ve never hunted in Carbondale, at least not that he can remember.
So they head to Carbondale, which is about a day’s drive from whatever empty town they just slept in. The town Dean will now never forget because he slept with Sam for the first time there. They had their first kiss.
And now Sam wants to settle down.
Dean tries hard not to read too much into it, not to make too much of a big deal about the timing of Sam’s decision, but it’s not easy. In Carbondale, they’ll be less than a day’s drive from Cortland, where they first hopped into this universe. Sam can keep an eye on any unusual events in the area.
But Dean’s pretty sure they won’t find anything. For good or bad, they seem to be stuck in this place, at least for the foreseeable future.
And Sam seems okay with that, finally.
Dean tries not to think too hard about that. He knows better.
//**//**//
In Carbondale, they find a one-bedroom, furnished apartment over a garage. The garage owner is so desperate for renters he doesn’t charge first and last month’s rent. He takes one look at Baby and offers Dean a job in the garage, which Dean accepts on the spot.
Sam spends the first day in their new home on the campus of Southern Illinois University, where he finds a job in the university library. He brings home application materials, then sits blankly at the little kitchenette table, staring at them.
“Sam?”
Dean spent the afternoon grocery shopping, so now he’s heating canned chili on the apartment’s gas stove.
Sam lifts puppy eyes to Dean, gazes at him helplessly for a moment before looking back down at the papers in front of him.
“I don’t exist in this universe,” he says softly. “No Stanford transcripts. I’ll have to start all over.”
“Huh.”
The hits keep coming, but Dean’s determined to make the best of it. He’s determined to get Sam to do the same.
“Well, look on the bright side,” he says. “Now you can take all those fruity electives you didn’t get to take the first time around. You know. Art History, ancient Greek, Yoga.”
Sam rolls his eyes, but his mood improves.
It’s another good day.
//**//**//
Over the next few months, the Winchesters’ lives fall into a comfortable routine. Sam gets up earlier than Dean, goes for his run, showers and cooks breakfast. Dean gets up when he hears the shower running. He gets dressed, then follows the smell of coffee and bacon into the kitchen. They eat in companionable silence or exchange brief comments about the day ahead. Then Dean heads downstairs to the garage and Sam goes to the library.
Dean spends the day at the garage, trying not to miss Sam too much, trying to resist the urge to call him, just to hear his voice. He enjoys the work, but he misses working with Sam. He fantasizes about driving by the library to pick Sam up, hitting the road with him just to be together all the time again.
In the evenings, he starts supper before Sam gets home, tired and stiff from bending over to shelve books all day. They finish supper together, working seamlessly around each other, chatting easily about their time apart at their separate jobs. Dean manages to keep his tone light, to repeat the little things that he’s stored up during the day to share with Sam without letting on how much he’s missed him. After supper, they share the clean-up, shoulders touching on and off as they move around the kitchen.
Sam uses the kitchen table for his homework, and Dean tries to keep his hands to himself but often ends up giving Sam a shoulder rub because he knows he needs it. Then he watches TV with his headphones so as not to disturb Sam’s studying. Dean’s only half aware of how hard he’s trying to please Sam, how much he needs his approval. He knows that in his world, with his Sam, he would probably go out to a bar in the evenings, maybe find a girl.
With this Sam, in this world, all he wants is Sam’s love and attention. He’s hyper-aware of not being the brother this Sam needs, but he’s determined to do the best he can to fill the void. If this is the best they can do, the best they can have, then Dean’s gonna give it everything he can.
When they go to bed, Sam curls around him like Dean’s a comfort object, like he’s a literal replica of Sam’s brother. When he was little, Sam slept with a blue stuffed dog that he called Blue. He wouldn’t go to sleep without it, and when it finally got so worn out that it was nothing but a dirty rag, John got him another one. Even with Dean lying right beside him in his crib, Sam wanted Blue, too.
Now, Dean feels like he’s that stuffed toy. He’s not the real boy, not the brother Sam wants, but he’s an adequate substitute. Maybe even a little bit necessary, to help Sam sleep.
The sex is irregular and always a little weird, like Sam’s hyper-aware that Dean doesn’t know him very well in that department, but they make it work. At first, Sam keeps control of the encounters, and Dean lets him, lets Sam manhandle him and hold him down, do whatever Sam needs to do to get off.
The night Sam asks Dean to fuck him starts like any other. They’ve been living this strange new “normal” life for almost six months, and Dean’s happier than he’s ever been. Sam got his first report card -- all As of course -- and Dean cooked spaghetti and meatballs from scratch for dinner, along with Sam’s favorite salad, of course.
“What’s this?” Sam asks as Dean lights the two candles in the middle of the table, presents two wine glasses and a bottle of red wine he picked up at the grocery store earlier in the day.
“Figured we should celebrate your accomplishment,” Dean says with a shrug. “Ain’t no big thing.”
“Dude.” Sam waves his hand at the candles and wine.
“Yeah, the guy at the grocery store says it’s a good one,” Dean says. “And we always have beer, so I just figured we could try something different. It’s supposed to go well with spaghetti. Or whatever.”
Dean starts to cross behind Sam to get to his seat but Sam grabs his wrist with one hand, pulling him close as he slides his other hand behind Dean’s neck, tipping his head up so Sam can kiss him. The kiss is tender, but hot with promise. As he releases Dean, Sam murmurs, “Thank you.”
The wine is good, stronger than the beer they usually drink, and Dean’s comfortably tipsy by the end of his second glass. Sam keeps looking at him with fondness in his soft, hazel eyes, and Dean’s dick gets very interested in record time.
When he clears the table after dinner, Sam crowds up behind him, wrapping his long arms around Dean’s middle, pushing his erection against Dean’s ass.
“Leave it,” Sam murmurs, breath hot on Dean’s neck. He nuzzles Dean’s cheek and ear. Dean’s legs go weak, he puts the dishes down in the sink, tips his head back and closes his eyes as Sam runs his tongue along the shell of his ear.
“Want you to fuck me,” Sam murmurs and Dean almost comes in his jeans.
“Jeezus,” he breathes as Sam’s big hand slides down to cup him through his jeans. He squeezes and Dean lets out a whining groan that would be embarrassing if he wasn’t too turned on to care.
“You keep doin’ that, I’m not gonna last,” Dean chokes out as Sam strokes him, firm and strong, just the way he likes it.
Sam grabs his forearms, turns him around so he can kiss him, deep and sloppy.
“I guess we’ll just have to hurry up then,” Sam murmurs as he releases Dean. His mouth tastes like the marinara sauce Dean spent all afternoon making from scratch.
Dean smirks, proud of himself for making Sam so horny, proud of feeding him so well.
Sam manhandles him into the bedroom, pulling his clothes off at the same time. He pushes Dean down on the bed as he undresses himself and toes his boots off, then kneels between Dean’s knees to remove his boots.
Dean watches, propped up on his elbows, as Sam makes quick work of his boots and socks, then reaches up to yank his jeans and boxers down over his hips and legs. Dean’s cock bobs free, and Sam swats his hand away when he reaches for it.
When Sam leans down to give Dean’s cock a long swipe with his tongue, Dean’s head tips back with a gasp. His eyes close. He collapses onto his back, surrendering to Sam’s amazing tongue and mouth, anticipating another mind-blowing blowjob.
But Sam’s got other ideas.
“Gonna ride you,” he rasps, voice hoarse with need.
Dean’s dick throbs. “Okay.”
Sam wastes no time opening himself up. He lubes up Dean’s cock, straddles Dean’s waist, and reaches around to line himself up. As he sinks down over the head, Dean grits his teeth and struggles not to come. Sam’s hole is hot and tight, tighter than anything Dean’s dick has ever experienced. It must hurt like hell. The tendons in Sam’s neck bulge as he strains to adjust. His eyes are squeezed shut, little tears in the corners. He grits his teeth, then sinks all the way down in one smooth, steady movement that punches the air out of Dean’s lungs.
“Fuck!”
Sheathed completely in Sam’s body, Dean resists the urge to thrust, to gather his gigantic not-brother and flip him over onto his back so Dean can really give it to him, can finally own this man he’s been living with and loving for six months.
Sam leans down, panting, pressing his chest against Dean’s, his cock squeezed between their bellies.
“Wish there were two of you,” he gasps against the side of Dean’s head. “Wish he were here so he could fuck my mouth while we do this.”
“Jeezus!” Dean’s dick throbs. He has to draw his knees up and clench his teeth to keep from coming. “You kinky bastard!”
Sam presses a kiss against Dean’s temple, and Dean can feel him smile.
“You love it,” Sam murmurs, chuckling. “You’ve got a twin kink yourself.”
Sam’s not wrong.
Dean slides his hands up Sam’s back, into his hair. He turns his face so he can capture Sam’s lips, holds his face as they kiss.
“You okay?”
Sam nods as he rocks on Dean’s cock, then sits back on it, pushing it deeper into his body. He rises up, hissing at the burn, then sits back down, repeats until he gets a rhythm going, fucking himself deep and thorough.
All Dean can do is hold onto Sam’s hips, stroking his thighs, gazing up in awe at the muscled god hovering over him. Sam’s shoulders and arms look chiseled out of marble, his neck and chest gleam with sweat. He grabs his own cock, stroking furiously, chasing after his own pleasure, using Dean’s willing body to get it while all Dean can do is watch.
There’s something deeply satisfying about this. Something Dean doesn’t want to think about too much because it implies he’s giving more than he’s getting, which just isn’t the case. When Sam hits his sweet spot and lets out a little whimper, goes still for a moment, parsing the pleasure with the pain and burn, it makes Dean feel like he’s won, for once. Makes him feel like a total success, instead of the failure he’s been most of his life.
When Sam finally lets go, shooting all over Dean’s chest, Dean thrusts up into Sam’s body until he feels his own orgasm building. Then he wraps his arms around Sam and flips them, so that Sam’s on his back beneath him, sleepy and loose as Dean finishes and comes deep inside him. He leans down, kisses Sam’s slack lips, mouths under his jaw to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, sucks until he knows he’s left a mark there. Sam will look in the mirror tomorrow morning and see what Dean did, as if his sore ass isn’t reminder enough.
Dean slides onto his side next to Sam, gasping as his softening cock slips free of Sam’s body. He rolls over, grabs the tissue box off the bedside table, and uses the tissues to wipe himself and Sam off before pulling the blankets up over them both. The fall nights are getting chillier.
It’ll be winter soon.
//**//**//
On the anniversary of their entry into the Universe With No Monsters or Magic, Sam insists they take a drive to Cortland, just to check it out. They park on the side of the road, as they have done several times in a row. Sam gets out the EMF reader, walks up and down beside the road, searching for any sign of whatever brought them here. He tries a spell, which doesn’t work, of course.
Dean tries praying to Castiel, walking up and down the road kicking up gravel and dust.
They spend a little over an hour as close to the time of day as their trip through the universe portal, searching for any clue to what happened the previous year.
A car passes by. It’s still winter, cold and quiet. Another virus has caught hold of the nation and folks are staying home, hunkering down after spending the holidays with friends and relatives. Hospitalization rates are up, and people are dying again. Workplaces are mostly open, but a lot of people wear masks.
Dean waits for Sam to call it quits, then drives them to Lebanon at Sam’s request. They both know it’s futile, but going there helps debunk Sam’s earlier theory about the pearl being the epicenter of the multi-verse shift, once and for all. They stand in the park at the center of the dead little town, staring at the stone monument designating Lebanon the geographic center of the contiguous forty-eight states. In their universes, the Men of Letters placed the bunker on this site because they believed it was a power nexus, an axis mundi between worlds, or at least between Earth and Heaven.
Here, it’s just a place, stupidly designated as a tourist attraction that was supposed to make the town some money back in the day.
Obviously, no one came, and now the town is all but deserted.
“Tell you one thing,” Dean says, kicking at a loose rock just to have something to do. “If anyone is still working on the problem of how to fix this from inside one of our home universes? It’s Sam.”
Sam frowns, considering. “Yeah, probably,” he agrees. “If you’re even missing there.”
Dean throws up his hands. “I’m here, aren’t I? Means I’m not there. So I’m missing. My Sam never gives up looking for me, when I go missing.”
When Dean glances at Sam, he can see they’re both thinking about the time Dean disappeared and went to Purgatory for a year, when Sam assumed Dean was dead and stopped looking for him.
They both know that wouldn’t happen again.
“At least he’s got magic in his world,” Sam muses. “I could do with some astrological signs or healing herbs, anything that could help us figure this out.”
“There’s a partial solar eclipse next month, right over Carbondale,” Dean suggests. “Maybe that has some natural power in it or something.”
Sam shakes his head. “That wouldn’t matter,” he insists. “None of us would be there, in our universes. It would have to be an event that lines up all three universes at once, for sure, but it would also need to happen in a place we’re all likely to be when it happens.”
“Like here at the bunker,” Dean suggests.
“Or on the road out of Cortland,” Sam says with a nod. “I’d lay good money on your Sam and my Dean visiting that stretch of road regularly, just like we have done.”
Dean nods. “Sounds about right.”
They stop at the Belleville Public Library, just like they did that first day, so that Sam can research possible astrological events in the area.
It doesn’t take long.
“Here it is,” Sam says, sounding surprised. “A lunar eclipse.”
Dean leans over his shoulder, squinting into the screen. Pressing his chest against Sam’s back feels normal now. He can’t remember why it ever felt weird.
“There was a lunar eclipse in Cortland the day we came through the rift,” Sam says. “The next one is on May 2nd.”
Of course the weird freaky things happen on Sam’s birthday. That’s just their luck and the way the universes line up.
“I’ll bake a cake,” Dean says. “We can eat it in the car, sitting on the side of the road, five miles out of Cortland.”
Sam sits back, staring thoughtfully at the screen. He doesn’t react to Dean’s words, and Dean gets the distinct impression he wasn’t even listening.
“Can it really be that simple?” Sam asks, almost to himself.
Dean shrugs. “Maybe? I don’t know, Sammy, but at least it’s worth a shot.”
Sam nods. “Yeah. But that still doesn’t explain how it happened in the first place.”
“There’s lots of lore tying the phases of the moon to various supernatural events,” Dean reminds him. “Werewolves turn on a full moon -- or at least that used to be true. People going crazy for unexplained reasons.”
“Lunacy,” Sam says, nodding. “Right. But for us, it was forgetfulness. We literally lost a full day of memories.”
“Maybe there was a case,” Dean suggests. “Maybe it was a witch or something that cast a spell as we left town so we would forget all about them.”
“A spell tied to the phases of the moon.” Sam nods. “That could be how it happened.”
“And to reverse it, we need to return to the scene on a day when the conditions are just like they were that day,” Dean adds.
Sam shakes his head. “Only one problem,” he says. “No magic here. We would literally need somebody to do that spell who isn’t even here. Somebody living in another universe, one where spells actually work.”
“You’re the best spell-caster I know, Sam,” Dean reminds him. “Meaning, my Sam could do it, as long as he’s in a universe that has magic.”
Sam winces. “All we do is sit there,” he complains. “If I had magic, I could fix everything.” He looks up at Dean. “Your Sam could definitely do the spell. Provided he figures this out like we just did.”
Dean sinks into the chair next to Sam. “Oh, he’s figured it out all right.”
Sam gazes at him with the helpless little brother look Dean knows so well.
“I’m sure he has,” Sam says. “I’m sure he has.”
“Plus, all universes have magic. We’re in the only one that doesn’t.” Dean doesn’t know why he’s so sure, but he is. Maybe he just needs to reassure Sam.
Sam nods. “You might be right about that.”
//**//**//
For the next six weeks, they go on with their weirdly domestic lives, but there’s a difference. Dean can’t put his finger on it, but he feels an underlying expectation, maybe even an anxiety or tension, that plagues their days and nights in ways it didn’t before. They don’t talk about it, but they can both feel it.
They have a plan.
At night, Sam takes extra care with Dean, opening him up with strong, gentle fingers before plunging into him with long, deep strokes. He lets Dean know when he needs Dean inside him, sometimes in the same night. He holds Dean afterward with tears streaming down his cheeks.
“It’s okay, Sammy, it’s okay,” Dean whispers, pressing kisses to Sam’s forehead, his cheeks and temple, sliding his fingers through Sam’s soft hair.
One morning, Dean catches Sam looking at him, sad and fond, and when Dean calls him out on it Sam blushes and ducks his head, dimples popping.
“We never got to have this,” he explains as he sweeps his arm out, indicating the kitchen where they’re both standing, enjoying a morning cup of coffee before heading out to their respective jobs. “There was always something hanging over us, something dangerous and urgent. We never got to just stop for a while and do normal things. Our lives were never normal. Ever.”
Dean nods. “Yeah, same. Always another monster to kill. Always another apocalypse to stop.”
“Right. And now, by some freak of nature, we’re here, and we don’t have a choice, really. We have to live safe, normal lives because that’s all there is. But -- “ Sam takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “But we still have to try, you know? We have to make every effort to get back where we belong, back to the blood and guts and gore and horror of our real lives. It’s just so -- “
“Tragic?” Dean suggests.
Sam shakes his head, dimples popping again. “I was gonna say, ‘stupid,’” he admits. “I used to dream about this. I collected retirement brochures, imagined scenarios where I could convince Dean to stop hunting, or even just pull back a little. Semi-retire. We could be consultants to other hunters, using our knowledge and experience to help people without constantly risking our lives.”
Sam takes a deep breath again, and this time his voice is shaky with emotion. There are tears shining in the corners of his beautiful hazel eyes.
“I wanted to grow old with you,” he says brokenly. “With him. You know what I mean.”
Dean’s instinct to deflect, or to reassure, is almost too much. He has to force himself not to react to Sam’s confession flippantly. He owes it to Sam to really listen to him, to give him the thoughtful response he deserves.
“I don’t think I had it in me to stop, Sam,” he admits. “It took getting trapped in a universe where there’s nothing to hunt to make that happen. It took me not having a choice but to stop.”
And a little brother who really needed him, in a way he’d never known before, even when Sam was sick or delusional or under the influence of the demon blood or the trials. This Sam with his grief and his sense of failure and his constant reminder that Dean isn’t his brother, this Sam needed Dean more than Dean’s ever felt needed before.
“If we ever get back to where we belong, don’t think for a second that your Sam doesn’t need you,” Sam says as if he’s reading Dean’s mind. “Your Sam may not say it aloud to you, but if he could get you to retire, to stop putting yourself in harm’s way all the time, he would retire with you in a heartbeat. Just like this.”
“This isn’t exactly a hero’s lifestyle,” Dean comments skeptically. “Not sure that’s really what my Sam would want. He’s really into saving people, and even if he’s not so crazy about the hunting part, he’s damn good at it.”
Sam shakes his head. “Trust me, he’d stop if he could get you to stop. He worries every day about you getting killed. Every day.”
Dean clears his throat, shifts his feet, scratches behind his ear.
“Not sure about that,” he says, glance skittering away from Sam’s direct gaze. “We’re a pretty good team, he and I. Not sure who we’d be if we weren’t hunting.”
“You don’t have to be the big hero, Dean,” Sam says, voice soft, coaxing. “He doesn’t expect that. I know he doesn’t. Not anymore.”
Dean shakes his head. “I gotta get to work.”
Sam huffs out a frustrated breath, and Dean doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s let him down. That’s all he does when it comes to his little brother. This version is no different.
//**//**//
But Dean thinks about Sam’s words all day as he’s changing oil and tightening hub caps. He thinks back on his most recent memories of his Sam, the one he doesn’t have regular sex with, or even irregular sex.
He definitely remembers feeling that Sam needed him to be the big brother he looked up to, the brother he trusted and admired and counted on. Dean remembers the feeling of responsibility that went with that, the guilt he felt about not measuring up, about being unworthy of Sam’s trust and devotion.
He never doubted that Sam loved him, exactly, but there was always that niggling uncertainty, always that fear that somehow, if Dean fucked up badly enough, Sam would leave. Sam would finally see through Dean’s mantle of bravado and fake confidence, would finally see the scared little boy underneath, and that would be the end of them. Sam’s disappointment in him would be crushing, debilitating, but survivable. Dean would go on, alone, without Sam, because he never deserved Sam in the first place, and Sam leaving him would be the punishment Dean deserved for not being good enough, for not being the hero his little brother needed.
But what if Sam -- this Sam -- didn’t need that at all? What if, after everything they’ve been through, Sam just needs a partner? An equal. Somebody who understands him and loves him for who he is. Maybe he had that kind of relationship with his Dean, a companionship built on mutual trust and sympathy, true brotherhood.
Dean and his Sam never had a chance to get to that point in their relationship. There were always too many fires to put out, too many monsters to kill, too many people to save. There was always something big hanging over their heads. They never stopped running toward danger, never had more than a stolen moment or two to talk -- usually in the car, but sometimes in a diner or a motel room, rarely in the bunker, since that’s where they worked.
They never slowed down enough to consider how they really felt about each other, to think about what they meant to each other, to figure out how their relationship had evolved over the years.
Has it evolved? Dean can’t even remember thinking much about that. They were just too damn busy all the time.
He thinks they were better together, recently, since the days of the Mark of Cain and the craziness with God’s sister. They’ve been working together against whatever outside forces they were dealing with. They’ve been in sync, instead of at odds. It’s been good.
Maybe not domestic-settled-down good, but as good as their crazy hunting lives with occasional respites while dealing with archangel possession can be.
It occurs to Dean that Sam believes in his counterpart’s ability to get them all home where they belong. For the first time in almost a year, Sam expects to get back to his Dean. He has faith in their plan because he believes in himself, and therefore his other self, too.
Not long before this whole thing began, back when Dean planned to lock himself in the Ma’lak box and have Sam dump him into the ocean with Michael trapped in his head, Sam had punched him for not having faith in them, for being too willing to give up.
Sam’s always had enough faith for both of them. Dean counts on that, always has.
And now, Sam’s faith may actually get them all home.
//**//**//
In bed that night, Dean gathers his gigantic not-brother into his arms, strokes his sweaty back as he plants soft, lingering kisses on his cheeks and eyelids.
“We could just stay here,” he murmurs. “Forget about Cortland. Pretend it didn’t even occur to us to be there on May 2nd.”
“But it did,” Sam reminds him. “We have to go. We have to try.”
“We could just live our lives out here,” Dean goes on, pretending he didn’t hear Sam. “No one would ever know. No one would care.”
“They would care,” Sam reminds him, and Dean doesn’t have an answer to that. “They miss us. They would grieve for us, if we never came back. You know what that’s like.”
“They have each other, same as us,” Dean says, pressing a kiss to Sam’s huge forehead. “They’ll adjust.”
Sam shakes his head, scoots down as if he’s trying to make himself smaller, and buries his face in Dean’s neck.
“We’re good together,” Dean whispers. “You and me, we make a good team.”
Sam huffs out a breath, hot and damp against Dean’s skin.
“I know I’m not him,” Dean goes on. He can’t seem to shut up. “But I wanna be enough, Sammy. I can be enough for you.” He swallows back the emotion rising in his throat, threatening to bubble forth. “Don’t leave me.”
Sam raises his head, stares down into Dean’s face with such fond exasperation it practically breaks Dean’s heart.
“I’m not leaving you, Dean,” he insists. “Not ever. If this thing works, you’re getting your brother back, that’s all.”
“You’re my brother,” Dean insists, tears welling up, threatening to spill down his cheeks.
Sam shakes his head.
“I’m not. You need him back, Dean. In your heart, you know that. You’ve been making the best of things here. We both have. But Sam’s your soulmate, and Dean’s mine. You need him, just like I need Dean.”
Sam brushes his thumbs under Dean’s eyes, holds his face as he leans down to kiss him.
“I love you, Dean,” Sam murmurs against Dean’s mouth. “So does he.”
“Not like this,” Dean moans. He doesn’t care if he sounds pathetic.
“You said yourself it doesn’t matter, remember?” Sam says, kissing along Dean’s cheekbone, kissing his tears away.
“I want you both,” Dean insists.
Sam chuckles. “I know you do.”
He captures Dean’s mouth again, kissing him thoroughly until Dean is breathless. His lips tingle.
Sam lifts his head, gazes at Dean’s mouth, at what he’s done to it. He looks smug, the bastard. Pleased with himself. But when he lifts his eyes to Dean’s, Dean reads a sincere, slightly sad expression there.
“You really need to tell him how you feel,” Sam says.
“Maybe I will,” Dean says. “If we get back.”
Sam cradles Dean’s face between his big hands, waiting until Dean’s eyes rise to his.
“We will get back,” he says with a confidence Dean can’t imagine feeling.
He’s not sure he even wants to go back.
“Promise me you’ll tell him,” Sam says, eyes narrowing as he gets all bossy. “Promise me.”
Dean’s dick perks up. His lips tingle. “Okay, okay, I promise.”
As Sam nods, satisfied, Dean can’t decide which Sam he prefers: this bossy, take-charge, manhandling giant, or the needy, demanding little brother with the pleading, puppy-dog eyes.
Both. Definitely both.
PART SEVEN
But things have changed.
Dean can feel it when Sam returns with the greasy bags of breakfast sandwiches and coffee. For one thing, he doesn’t look at Dean as he puts them down on the rickety little dinette table. He greets Dean normally enough -- “Hey.” But he doesn’t spare him even a glance as he crosses the room and disappears into the bathroom for a shower.
Dean grits his teeth, determined not to bring it up until Sam does, determined to let Sam take the lead on this thing.
He eats his breakfast sandwiches and sips his coffee while watching the news on the staticky TV, watching the images of riots and wars in places he’s never even heard of, presented by telecasters he’s never seen before.
“Okay,” Sam says when he returns to the room, clean and dressed and slightly damp all over. At least, all over that Dean can see.
“Okay what?” Dean crumples his breakfast sandwich wrapper into a ball and makes a perfect basket.
“Okay, let’s settle down,” Sam clarifies.
Dean almost chokes on his last bite, swallows painfully. “Seriously?”
Sam shrugs, unwraps a breakfast sandwich and takes a bite.
“I just never thought I’d hear you say that,” Dean says. “I figured you’d want to keep looking, keep on rambling, searching for clues, for some way to reverse this whole thing. I figured if you stopped, it’d feel like quitting to you. I mean, you said it yourself: you’d feel like you were letting the other me down, like when I was in Purgatory.”
Sam shakes his head. “This is different.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” Sam doesn’t elaborate, and Dean’s too hopeful to push.
“So where to?” Dean asks when they’re packed up and in the car.
Sam shrugs. “I was thinking Carbondale,” he says.
“Southern Illinois?” Dean’s surprised.
“Yeah,” Sam says. “It’s about halfway between St. Louis and Nashville, two cities with great live music, which I know you love.”
Dean nods. He’s not wrong about that.
Sam goes on. “It’s small, but it has a college campus where I can do my research, maybe finish my degree.”
No bad memories, Dean thinks. They’ve never hunted in Carbondale, at least not that he can remember.
So they head to Carbondale, which is about a day’s drive from whatever empty town they just slept in. The town Dean will now never forget because he slept with Sam for the first time there. They had their first kiss.
And now Sam wants to settle down.
Dean tries hard not to read too much into it, not to make too much of a big deal about the timing of Sam’s decision, but it’s not easy. In Carbondale, they’ll be less than a day’s drive from Cortland, where they first hopped into this universe. Sam can keep an eye on any unusual events in the area.
But Dean’s pretty sure they won’t find anything. For good or bad, they seem to be stuck in this place, at least for the foreseeable future.
And Sam seems okay with that, finally.
Dean tries not to think too hard about that. He knows better.
//**//**//
In Carbondale, they find a one-bedroom, furnished apartment over a garage. The garage owner is so desperate for renters he doesn’t charge first and last month’s rent. He takes one look at Baby and offers Dean a job in the garage, which Dean accepts on the spot.
Sam spends the first day in their new home on the campus of Southern Illinois University, where he finds a job in the university library. He brings home application materials, then sits blankly at the little kitchenette table, staring at them.
“Sam?”
Dean spent the afternoon grocery shopping, so now he’s heating canned chili on the apartment’s gas stove.
Sam lifts puppy eyes to Dean, gazes at him helplessly for a moment before looking back down at the papers in front of him.
“I don’t exist in this universe,” he says softly. “No Stanford transcripts. I’ll have to start all over.”
“Huh.”
The hits keep coming, but Dean’s determined to make the best of it. He’s determined to get Sam to do the same.
“Well, look on the bright side,” he says. “Now you can take all those fruity electives you didn’t get to take the first time around. You know. Art History, ancient Greek, Yoga.”
Sam rolls his eyes, but his mood improves.
It’s another good day.
//**//**//
Over the next few months, the Winchesters’ lives fall into a comfortable routine. Sam gets up earlier than Dean, goes for his run, showers and cooks breakfast. Dean gets up when he hears the shower running. He gets dressed, then follows the smell of coffee and bacon into the kitchen. They eat in companionable silence or exchange brief comments about the day ahead. Then Dean heads downstairs to the garage and Sam goes to the library.
Dean spends the day at the garage, trying not to miss Sam too much, trying to resist the urge to call him, just to hear his voice. He enjoys the work, but he misses working with Sam. He fantasizes about driving by the library to pick Sam up, hitting the road with him just to be together all the time again.
In the evenings, he starts supper before Sam gets home, tired and stiff from bending over to shelve books all day. They finish supper together, working seamlessly around each other, chatting easily about their time apart at their separate jobs. Dean manages to keep his tone light, to repeat the little things that he’s stored up during the day to share with Sam without letting on how much he’s missed him. After supper, they share the clean-up, shoulders touching on and off as they move around the kitchen.
Sam uses the kitchen table for his homework, and Dean tries to keep his hands to himself but often ends up giving Sam a shoulder rub because he knows he needs it. Then he watches TV with his headphones so as not to disturb Sam’s studying. Dean’s only half aware of how hard he’s trying to please Sam, how much he needs his approval. He knows that in his world, with his Sam, he would probably go out to a bar in the evenings, maybe find a girl.
With this Sam, in this world, all he wants is Sam’s love and attention. He’s hyper-aware of not being the brother this Sam needs, but he’s determined to do the best he can to fill the void. If this is the best they can do, the best they can have, then Dean’s gonna give it everything he can.
When they go to bed, Sam curls around him like Dean’s a comfort object, like he’s a literal replica of Sam’s brother. When he was little, Sam slept with a blue stuffed dog that he called Blue. He wouldn’t go to sleep without it, and when it finally got so worn out that it was nothing but a dirty rag, John got him another one. Even with Dean lying right beside him in his crib, Sam wanted Blue, too.
Now, Dean feels like he’s that stuffed toy. He’s not the real boy, not the brother Sam wants, but he’s an adequate substitute. Maybe even a little bit necessary, to help Sam sleep.
The sex is irregular and always a little weird, like Sam’s hyper-aware that Dean doesn’t know him very well in that department, but they make it work. At first, Sam keeps control of the encounters, and Dean lets him, lets Sam manhandle him and hold him down, do whatever Sam needs to do to get off.
The night Sam asks Dean to fuck him starts like any other. They’ve been living this strange new “normal” life for almost six months, and Dean’s happier than he’s ever been. Sam got his first report card -- all As of course -- and Dean cooked spaghetti and meatballs from scratch for dinner, along with Sam’s favorite salad, of course.
“What’s this?” Sam asks as Dean lights the two candles in the middle of the table, presents two wine glasses and a bottle of red wine he picked up at the grocery store earlier in the day.
“Figured we should celebrate your accomplishment,” Dean says with a shrug. “Ain’t no big thing.”
“Dude.” Sam waves his hand at the candles and wine.
“Yeah, the guy at the grocery store says it’s a good one,” Dean says. “And we always have beer, so I just figured we could try something different. It’s supposed to go well with spaghetti. Or whatever.”
Dean starts to cross behind Sam to get to his seat but Sam grabs his wrist with one hand, pulling him close as he slides his other hand behind Dean’s neck, tipping his head up so Sam can kiss him. The kiss is tender, but hot with promise. As he releases Dean, Sam murmurs, “Thank you.”
The wine is good, stronger than the beer they usually drink, and Dean’s comfortably tipsy by the end of his second glass. Sam keeps looking at him with fondness in his soft, hazel eyes, and Dean’s dick gets very interested in record time.
When he clears the table after dinner, Sam crowds up behind him, wrapping his long arms around Dean’s middle, pushing his erection against Dean’s ass.
“Leave it,” Sam murmurs, breath hot on Dean’s neck. He nuzzles Dean’s cheek and ear. Dean’s legs go weak, he puts the dishes down in the sink, tips his head back and closes his eyes as Sam runs his tongue along the shell of his ear.
“Want you to fuck me,” Sam murmurs and Dean almost comes in his jeans.
“Jeezus,” he breathes as Sam’s big hand slides down to cup him through his jeans. He squeezes and Dean lets out a whining groan that would be embarrassing if he wasn’t too turned on to care.
“You keep doin’ that, I’m not gonna last,” Dean chokes out as Sam strokes him, firm and strong, just the way he likes it.
Sam grabs his forearms, turns him around so he can kiss him, deep and sloppy.
“I guess we’ll just have to hurry up then,” Sam murmurs as he releases Dean. His mouth tastes like the marinara sauce Dean spent all afternoon making from scratch.
Dean smirks, proud of himself for making Sam so horny, proud of feeding him so well.
Sam manhandles him into the bedroom, pulling his clothes off at the same time. He pushes Dean down on the bed as he undresses himself and toes his boots off, then kneels between Dean’s knees to remove his boots.
Dean watches, propped up on his elbows, as Sam makes quick work of his boots and socks, then reaches up to yank his jeans and boxers down over his hips and legs. Dean’s cock bobs free, and Sam swats his hand away when he reaches for it.
When Sam leans down to give Dean’s cock a long swipe with his tongue, Dean’s head tips back with a gasp. His eyes close. He collapses onto his back, surrendering to Sam’s amazing tongue and mouth, anticipating another mind-blowing blowjob.
But Sam’s got other ideas.
“Gonna ride you,” he rasps, voice hoarse with need.
Dean’s dick throbs. “Okay.”
Sam wastes no time opening himself up. He lubes up Dean’s cock, straddles Dean’s waist, and reaches around to line himself up. As he sinks down over the head, Dean grits his teeth and struggles not to come. Sam’s hole is hot and tight, tighter than anything Dean’s dick has ever experienced. It must hurt like hell. The tendons in Sam’s neck bulge as he strains to adjust. His eyes are squeezed shut, little tears in the corners. He grits his teeth, then sinks all the way down in one smooth, steady movement that punches the air out of Dean’s lungs.
“Fuck!”
Sheathed completely in Sam’s body, Dean resists the urge to thrust, to gather his gigantic not-brother and flip him over onto his back so Dean can really give it to him, can finally own this man he’s been living with and loving for six months.
Sam leans down, panting, pressing his chest against Dean’s, his cock squeezed between their bellies.
“Wish there were two of you,” he gasps against the side of Dean’s head. “Wish he were here so he could fuck my mouth while we do this.”
“Jeezus!” Dean’s dick throbs. He has to draw his knees up and clench his teeth to keep from coming. “You kinky bastard!”
Sam presses a kiss against Dean’s temple, and Dean can feel him smile.
“You love it,” Sam murmurs, chuckling. “You’ve got a twin kink yourself.”
Sam’s not wrong.
Dean slides his hands up Sam’s back, into his hair. He turns his face so he can capture Sam’s lips, holds his face as they kiss.
“You okay?”
Sam nods as he rocks on Dean’s cock, then sits back on it, pushing it deeper into his body. He rises up, hissing at the burn, then sits back down, repeats until he gets a rhythm going, fucking himself deep and thorough.
All Dean can do is hold onto Sam’s hips, stroking his thighs, gazing up in awe at the muscled god hovering over him. Sam’s shoulders and arms look chiseled out of marble, his neck and chest gleam with sweat. He grabs his own cock, stroking furiously, chasing after his own pleasure, using Dean’s willing body to get it while all Dean can do is watch.
There’s something deeply satisfying about this. Something Dean doesn’t want to think about too much because it implies he’s giving more than he’s getting, which just isn’t the case. When Sam hits his sweet spot and lets out a little whimper, goes still for a moment, parsing the pleasure with the pain and burn, it makes Dean feel like he’s won, for once. Makes him feel like a total success, instead of the failure he’s been most of his life.
When Sam finally lets go, shooting all over Dean’s chest, Dean thrusts up into Sam’s body until he feels his own orgasm building. Then he wraps his arms around Sam and flips them, so that Sam’s on his back beneath him, sleepy and loose as Dean finishes and comes deep inside him. He leans down, kisses Sam’s slack lips, mouths under his jaw to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, sucks until he knows he’s left a mark there. Sam will look in the mirror tomorrow morning and see what Dean did, as if his sore ass isn’t reminder enough.
Dean slides onto his side next to Sam, gasping as his softening cock slips free of Sam’s body. He rolls over, grabs the tissue box off the bedside table, and uses the tissues to wipe himself and Sam off before pulling the blankets up over them both. The fall nights are getting chillier.
It’ll be winter soon.
//**//**//
On the anniversary of their entry into the Universe With No Monsters or Magic, Sam insists they take a drive to Cortland, just to check it out. They park on the side of the road, as they have done several times in a row. Sam gets out the EMF reader, walks up and down beside the road, searching for any sign of whatever brought them here. He tries a spell, which doesn’t work, of course.
Dean tries praying to Castiel, walking up and down the road kicking up gravel and dust.
They spend a little over an hour as close to the time of day as their trip through the universe portal, searching for any clue to what happened the previous year.
A car passes by. It’s still winter, cold and quiet. Another virus has caught hold of the nation and folks are staying home, hunkering down after spending the holidays with friends and relatives. Hospitalization rates are up, and people are dying again. Workplaces are mostly open, but a lot of people wear masks.
Dean waits for Sam to call it quits, then drives them to Lebanon at Sam’s request. They both know it’s futile, but going there helps debunk Sam’s earlier theory about the pearl being the epicenter of the multi-verse shift, once and for all. They stand in the park at the center of the dead little town, staring at the stone monument designating Lebanon the geographic center of the contiguous forty-eight states. In their universes, the Men of Letters placed the bunker on this site because they believed it was a power nexus, an axis mundi between worlds, or at least between Earth and Heaven.
Here, it’s just a place, stupidly designated as a tourist attraction that was supposed to make the town some money back in the day.
Obviously, no one came, and now the town is all but deserted.
“Tell you one thing,” Dean says, kicking at a loose rock just to have something to do. “If anyone is still working on the problem of how to fix this from inside one of our home universes? It’s Sam.”
Sam frowns, considering. “Yeah, probably,” he agrees. “If you’re even missing there.”
Dean throws up his hands. “I’m here, aren’t I? Means I’m not there. So I’m missing. My Sam never gives up looking for me, when I go missing.”
When Dean glances at Sam, he can see they’re both thinking about the time Dean disappeared and went to Purgatory for a year, when Sam assumed Dean was dead and stopped looking for him.
They both know that wouldn’t happen again.
“At least he’s got magic in his world,” Sam muses. “I could do with some astrological signs or healing herbs, anything that could help us figure this out.”
“There’s a partial solar eclipse next month, right over Carbondale,” Dean suggests. “Maybe that has some natural power in it or something.”
Sam shakes his head. “That wouldn’t matter,” he insists. “None of us would be there, in our universes. It would have to be an event that lines up all three universes at once, for sure, but it would also need to happen in a place we’re all likely to be when it happens.”
“Like here at the bunker,” Dean suggests.
“Or on the road out of Cortland,” Sam says with a nod. “I’d lay good money on your Sam and my Dean visiting that stretch of road regularly, just like we have done.”
Dean nods. “Sounds about right.”
They stop at the Belleville Public Library, just like they did that first day, so that Sam can research possible astrological events in the area.
It doesn’t take long.
“Here it is,” Sam says, sounding surprised. “A lunar eclipse.”
Dean leans over his shoulder, squinting into the screen. Pressing his chest against Sam’s back feels normal now. He can’t remember why it ever felt weird.
“There was a lunar eclipse in Cortland the day we came through the rift,” Sam says. “The next one is on May 2nd.”
Of course the weird freaky things happen on Sam’s birthday. That’s just their luck and the way the universes line up.
“I’ll bake a cake,” Dean says. “We can eat it in the car, sitting on the side of the road, five miles out of Cortland.”
Sam sits back, staring thoughtfully at the screen. He doesn’t react to Dean’s words, and Dean gets the distinct impression he wasn’t even listening.
“Can it really be that simple?” Sam asks, almost to himself.
Dean shrugs. “Maybe? I don’t know, Sammy, but at least it’s worth a shot.”
Sam nods. “Yeah. But that still doesn’t explain how it happened in the first place.”
“There’s lots of lore tying the phases of the moon to various supernatural events,” Dean reminds him. “Werewolves turn on a full moon -- or at least that used to be true. People going crazy for unexplained reasons.”
“Lunacy,” Sam says, nodding. “Right. But for us, it was forgetfulness. We literally lost a full day of memories.”
“Maybe there was a case,” Dean suggests. “Maybe it was a witch or something that cast a spell as we left town so we would forget all about them.”
“A spell tied to the phases of the moon.” Sam nods. “That could be how it happened.”
“And to reverse it, we need to return to the scene on a day when the conditions are just like they were that day,” Dean adds.
Sam shakes his head. “Only one problem,” he says. “No magic here. We would literally need somebody to do that spell who isn’t even here. Somebody living in another universe, one where spells actually work.”
“You’re the best spell-caster I know, Sam,” Dean reminds him. “Meaning, my Sam could do it, as long as he’s in a universe that has magic.”
Sam winces. “All we do is sit there,” he complains. “If I had magic, I could fix everything.” He looks up at Dean. “Your Sam could definitely do the spell. Provided he figures this out like we just did.”
Dean sinks into the chair next to Sam. “Oh, he’s figured it out all right.”
Sam gazes at him with the helpless little brother look Dean knows so well.
“I’m sure he has,” Sam says. “I’m sure he has.”
“Plus, all universes have magic. We’re in the only one that doesn’t.” Dean doesn’t know why he’s so sure, but he is. Maybe he just needs to reassure Sam.
Sam nods. “You might be right about that.”
//**//**//
For the next six weeks, they go on with their weirdly domestic lives, but there’s a difference. Dean can’t put his finger on it, but he feels an underlying expectation, maybe even an anxiety or tension, that plagues their days and nights in ways it didn’t before. They don’t talk about it, but they can both feel it.
They have a plan.
At night, Sam takes extra care with Dean, opening him up with strong, gentle fingers before plunging into him with long, deep strokes. He lets Dean know when he needs Dean inside him, sometimes in the same night. He holds Dean afterward with tears streaming down his cheeks.
“It’s okay, Sammy, it’s okay,” Dean whispers, pressing kisses to Sam’s forehead, his cheeks and temple, sliding his fingers through Sam’s soft hair.
One morning, Dean catches Sam looking at him, sad and fond, and when Dean calls him out on it Sam blushes and ducks his head, dimples popping.
“We never got to have this,” he explains as he sweeps his arm out, indicating the kitchen where they’re both standing, enjoying a morning cup of coffee before heading out to their respective jobs. “There was always something hanging over us, something dangerous and urgent. We never got to just stop for a while and do normal things. Our lives were never normal. Ever.”
Dean nods. “Yeah, same. Always another monster to kill. Always another apocalypse to stop.”
“Right. And now, by some freak of nature, we’re here, and we don’t have a choice, really. We have to live safe, normal lives because that’s all there is. But -- “ Sam takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “But we still have to try, you know? We have to make every effort to get back where we belong, back to the blood and guts and gore and horror of our real lives. It’s just so -- “
“Tragic?” Dean suggests.
Sam shakes his head, dimples popping again. “I was gonna say, ‘stupid,’” he admits. “I used to dream about this. I collected retirement brochures, imagined scenarios where I could convince Dean to stop hunting, or even just pull back a little. Semi-retire. We could be consultants to other hunters, using our knowledge and experience to help people without constantly risking our lives.”
Sam takes a deep breath again, and this time his voice is shaky with emotion. There are tears shining in the corners of his beautiful hazel eyes.
“I wanted to grow old with you,” he says brokenly. “With him. You know what I mean.”
Dean’s instinct to deflect, or to reassure, is almost too much. He has to force himself not to react to Sam’s confession flippantly. He owes it to Sam to really listen to him, to give him the thoughtful response he deserves.
“I don’t think I had it in me to stop, Sam,” he admits. “It took getting trapped in a universe where there’s nothing to hunt to make that happen. It took me not having a choice but to stop.”
And a little brother who really needed him, in a way he’d never known before, even when Sam was sick or delusional or under the influence of the demon blood or the trials. This Sam with his grief and his sense of failure and his constant reminder that Dean isn’t his brother, this Sam needed Dean more than Dean’s ever felt needed before.
“If we ever get back to where we belong, don’t think for a second that your Sam doesn’t need you,” Sam says as if he’s reading Dean’s mind. “Your Sam may not say it aloud to you, but if he could get you to retire, to stop putting yourself in harm’s way all the time, he would retire with you in a heartbeat. Just like this.”
“This isn’t exactly a hero’s lifestyle,” Dean comments skeptically. “Not sure that’s really what my Sam would want. He’s really into saving people, and even if he’s not so crazy about the hunting part, he’s damn good at it.”
Sam shakes his head. “Trust me, he’d stop if he could get you to stop. He worries every day about you getting killed. Every day.”
Dean clears his throat, shifts his feet, scratches behind his ear.
“Not sure about that,” he says, glance skittering away from Sam’s direct gaze. “We’re a pretty good team, he and I. Not sure who we’d be if we weren’t hunting.”
“You don’t have to be the big hero, Dean,” Sam says, voice soft, coaxing. “He doesn’t expect that. I know he doesn’t. Not anymore.”
Dean shakes his head. “I gotta get to work.”
Sam huffs out a frustrated breath, and Dean doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s let him down. That’s all he does when it comes to his little brother. This version is no different.
//**//**//
But Dean thinks about Sam’s words all day as he’s changing oil and tightening hub caps. He thinks back on his most recent memories of his Sam, the one he doesn’t have regular sex with, or even irregular sex.
He definitely remembers feeling that Sam needed him to be the big brother he looked up to, the brother he trusted and admired and counted on. Dean remembers the feeling of responsibility that went with that, the guilt he felt about not measuring up, about being unworthy of Sam’s trust and devotion.
He never doubted that Sam loved him, exactly, but there was always that niggling uncertainty, always that fear that somehow, if Dean fucked up badly enough, Sam would leave. Sam would finally see through Dean’s mantle of bravado and fake confidence, would finally see the scared little boy underneath, and that would be the end of them. Sam’s disappointment in him would be crushing, debilitating, but survivable. Dean would go on, alone, without Sam, because he never deserved Sam in the first place, and Sam leaving him would be the punishment Dean deserved for not being good enough, for not being the hero his little brother needed.
But what if Sam -- this Sam -- didn’t need that at all? What if, after everything they’ve been through, Sam just needs a partner? An equal. Somebody who understands him and loves him for who he is. Maybe he had that kind of relationship with his Dean, a companionship built on mutual trust and sympathy, true brotherhood.
Dean and his Sam never had a chance to get to that point in their relationship. There were always too many fires to put out, too many monsters to kill, too many people to save. There was always something big hanging over their heads. They never stopped running toward danger, never had more than a stolen moment or two to talk -- usually in the car, but sometimes in a diner or a motel room, rarely in the bunker, since that’s where they worked.
They never slowed down enough to consider how they really felt about each other, to think about what they meant to each other, to figure out how their relationship had evolved over the years.
Has it evolved? Dean can’t even remember thinking much about that. They were just too damn busy all the time.
He thinks they were better together, recently, since the days of the Mark of Cain and the craziness with God’s sister. They’ve been working together against whatever outside forces they were dealing with. They’ve been in sync, instead of at odds. It’s been good.
Maybe not domestic-settled-down good, but as good as their crazy hunting lives with occasional respites while dealing with archangel possession can be.
It occurs to Dean that Sam believes in his counterpart’s ability to get them all home where they belong. For the first time in almost a year, Sam expects to get back to his Dean. He has faith in their plan because he believes in himself, and therefore his other self, too.
Not long before this whole thing began, back when Dean planned to lock himself in the Ma’lak box and have Sam dump him into the ocean with Michael trapped in his head, Sam had punched him for not having faith in them, for being too willing to give up.
Sam’s always had enough faith for both of them. Dean counts on that, always has.
And now, Sam’s faith may actually get them all home.
//**//**//
In bed that night, Dean gathers his gigantic not-brother into his arms, strokes his sweaty back as he plants soft, lingering kisses on his cheeks and eyelids.
“We could just stay here,” he murmurs. “Forget about Cortland. Pretend it didn’t even occur to us to be there on May 2nd.”
“But it did,” Sam reminds him. “We have to go. We have to try.”
“We could just live our lives out here,” Dean goes on, pretending he didn’t hear Sam. “No one would ever know. No one would care.”
“They would care,” Sam reminds him, and Dean doesn’t have an answer to that. “They miss us. They would grieve for us, if we never came back. You know what that’s like.”
“They have each other, same as us,” Dean says, pressing a kiss to Sam’s huge forehead. “They’ll adjust.”
Sam shakes his head, scoots down as if he’s trying to make himself smaller, and buries his face in Dean’s neck.
“We’re good together,” Dean whispers. “You and me, we make a good team.”
Sam huffs out a breath, hot and damp against Dean’s skin.
“I know I’m not him,” Dean goes on. He can’t seem to shut up. “But I wanna be enough, Sammy. I can be enough for you.” He swallows back the emotion rising in his throat, threatening to bubble forth. “Don’t leave me.”
Sam raises his head, stares down into Dean’s face with such fond exasperation it practically breaks Dean’s heart.
“I’m not leaving you, Dean,” he insists. “Not ever. If this thing works, you’re getting your brother back, that’s all.”
“You’re my brother,” Dean insists, tears welling up, threatening to spill down his cheeks.
Sam shakes his head.
“I’m not. You need him back, Dean. In your heart, you know that. You’ve been making the best of things here. We both have. But Sam’s your soulmate, and Dean’s mine. You need him, just like I need Dean.”
Sam brushes his thumbs under Dean’s eyes, holds his face as he leans down to kiss him.
“I love you, Dean,” Sam murmurs against Dean’s mouth. “So does he.”
“Not like this,” Dean moans. He doesn’t care if he sounds pathetic.
“You said yourself it doesn’t matter, remember?” Sam says, kissing along Dean’s cheekbone, kissing his tears away.
“I want you both,” Dean insists.
Sam chuckles. “I know you do.”
He captures Dean’s mouth again, kissing him thoroughly until Dean is breathless. His lips tingle.
Sam lifts his head, gazes at Dean’s mouth, at what he’s done to it. He looks smug, the bastard. Pleased with himself. But when he lifts his eyes to Dean’s, Dean reads a sincere, slightly sad expression there.
“You really need to tell him how you feel,” Sam says.
“Maybe I will,” Dean says. “If we get back.”
Sam cradles Dean’s face between his big hands, waiting until Dean’s eyes rise to his.
“We will get back,” he says with a confidence Dean can’t imagine feeling.
He’s not sure he even wants to go back.
“Promise me you’ll tell him,” Sam says, eyes narrowing as he gets all bossy. “Promise me.”
Dean’s dick perks up. His lips tingle. “Okay, okay, I promise.”
As Sam nods, satisfied, Dean can’t decide which Sam he prefers: this bossy, take-charge, manhandling giant, or the needy, demanding little brother with the pleading, puppy-dog eyes.
Both. Definitely both.
PART SEVEN