Fic: Only Dreams (Sam/Dean NC-17) Part 2
Part 1
The next morning Sam’s face is already burning before he’s entirely awake. He’s still cuddled up against Dean, his hands under Dean’s shirt, and his brother’s arms are still around him, holding him close. The memory of what he had to do-pulling his cock out in the middle of the woods-rushes over him, and he tries to tell himself that it’s no big deal, that it was brought on by hypothermia, or that he was delirious from sleep deprivation, but he’s never been good at lying to himself.
The ground is uneven and a stick is stabbing into his left leg, but he doesn’t want to move yet-even without the weirdness of what happened, it’s comforting to have Dean like this again-it’s been so long. He’s always loved his brother, always looked up to him, and he’s always known that Dean was physically attractive, but he’s never thought about being with him, like this. Until now. So he lies still, the scent of Dean’s soap mixing with the smell of pine needles next to his head.
Dean wakes up about ten minutes later, yawning lazily and stretching. Then he realizes that Sam’s hands are under his shirt and he frowns, studying Sam’s face.
“You okay?”
Sam nods and pulls his hands away. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“We’re going to have to get you toughened up. Can’t have you so delicate,” Dean says with a grin, and Sam tries to punch him.
Once they’ve untangled themselves and rolled the bedding up, they make much better time walking than they did the day before, and they find the stable by ten o’clock that morning. There are four horses inside, all broken in-sweet, gentle horses that lived in a stable that provided riding lessons to kids and families. They won’t do well in a war, but if comes to that, Sam figures it’s already too late.
***
It’s slow going on the way back, they’re each riding a horse and leading another, but the sky is clear and the ground is a little less muddy. “Do you think the tornado was just bad luck, or do you think…” Sam trails off, letting his eyes follow the long lines of pine trees that surround the road.
“You mean do I think Lucifer sent it?” Dean shakes his head, puffing his cheeks out. “Nah. That’s just the kind of shit that happens to us.”
Sam can tell that Dean was going for his usual nonchalance, but he’s pretty sure he saw some doubt in his brother’s eyes.
***
The days go by, and the small group settles into a routine. They bathe in the cold creek water, and they sleep in the heavy-duty camping tents, and they feed the horses and take them out on rides. Dean teaches Ben to shoot while Lisa hovers nearby, and Ruby hangs around for weeks on end without venturing out.
They’re so busy that Sam rarely has time to think about what happened in the woods that night. Sometimes Sam lets himself watch Dean while they’re chopping wood, admiring the flex of his back and the pink of his cheeks from the cold wind, which ends with Sam getting hard, and wanting to kiss the pink skin until it’s warm again. Sam tries to avoid that, because there’s no outlet for it, not way to solve his problem. He’s grateful that Lisa and Ben are still in their tent-their presence helps remind him that Dean will always be off-limits, and it keeps him from staring at the way Dean’s shirts stretch tight across his broad shoulders.
Every now and then when Sam’s studying his brother, he catches Dean staring at him first. He figures Dean is wondering about Sam’s supposed demon powers again, watching for any fledgling signs, but when Sam calls him on it, his brother always scoffs and tells Sam that he’s imagining things.
***
Three weeks into February, a group of farmers from east Arkansas arrive. Included in the group is Bobby’s friend Jerry, who once owned the now demolished deer camp.
“How’d you guys manage to escape the spell?” Dean asks when he shakes Jerry’s hand.
“Elk-hunting trip,” Jerry says. “We-me an’ my family, plus a few other couples-were in Idaho. No cell reception, no TV’s. By the time we got back toward civilization, Bobby’d left me a message to stay the hell out of the airport. So we stole a car from the rental agency and drove home. Took forever.”
Sam nods. “Glad to have you. It’s nice to see someone else made it out in one piece.”
“Yeah. Others around here weren’t so lucky.” He pauses for a minute, eyes settling on the remains of his deer camp building, but doesn’t mention it. “Rest of our group’s on the way-ten of ‘em in all, mostly adults and a couple of kids. They’re bringing some cows and some feed, and as many supplies as we could get together.”
The farmers and their families are resourceful people who know how to take care of cattle and grow small patches of crop. They also have a few tools, and by the end of the day they’re already busy planning where to plant the seeds.
***
“With more of us here, we might attract attention,” Bobby says, turning to address Sam and Dean. “First thing we need is a fence, one that’s a circle around the tents, and a few places to sit and keep a watch out if the need arises.” Bobby readjusts his cap and squints. “We’ll build the fence as soon as possible and eventually we’ll make little rooms for ourselves out of wood, might be sturdier than the tents.”
“So it’s going to be like the Old West,” Dean says.
Sam laughs. “A little more like the pioneers.”
“Will we have to eat other people, like they did on the Oregon Trail?” Ben asks, looking up at them.
“No,” Sam says emphatically at the same time that Dean says, “absolutely not.”
***
The weeks pass with all of them working hard. Several of them venture out at a time in Bobby’s truck to grab sturdy planks from hardware stores. They cut and hammer and nail all day, building eight little shacks that they all refer to as huts. They’re nothing fancy, just square rooms that stand alone, ten feet by ten feet. Lisa and Ben live in one with Ellen, Sam and Dean on one side, and Bobby on the other. The farmers are scattered around them, and they even vote to let Ruby have her own place.
At the beginning of March, Sam climbs up on one of the deer stands he found in the woods and studies their area. The fence they built might not keep out demons, but it will keep out coyotes and bears, and they’re lucky to have fresh water running through the little creek. It’s like an honest-to-god settlement. Sam can remember the drawings in his elementary school textbooks, of Jamestown and Providence, and Dean keeps telling Ben that they’re like Lewis and Clark, tries to make it sound cool, even thought they’re really just refugees.
Sam’s transported back to the sixth grade, when he did his own independent research for a book report, and he tells Ben about how the history books make it sound like a noble thing to colonize America, but that many Europeans exploited the Native Americans for their own benefit.
But apparently the history classes have improved since Sam was in school, because Ben shoots him an exasperated look. “I know that. Our teacher said that it wasn’t really a victory. Nobody won, and the settlers just spread their diseases all over.”
Dean grins over to Sam as if to say, “See, I told you the kid was smart,” and Sam smiles back.
***
By mid-March, Sam is getting increasingly frustrated. Ruby’s just turned up from one of her trips out into the world with absolutely no information, except that now more and more of the brainwashed people wandering around are actually demons, and the fact that the spell can’t be reversed.
“So there’s no way for us to undo this? To get these people back in their right minds?” Sam asks, demanding and loud, not giving a shit that the others are staring at him.
“Nope. It’s irreversible.” Ruby shrugs. “Only way to stop them is to kill them-Lucifer made sure of that.”
Sam walks away from her, and into their hut, ready to beat his head against the rough door. “What can sixteen people do against the devil?” he asks, sliding down the wall and holding his head in his hands.
“He might never find us.” Dean says, coming over to sit down beside him.
“So what, we just hide here, waiting for him?” Sam lifts his head and looks at his brother. “For how long? Five years? Ten years?”
“We’re not hiding. We’re surviving.” Dean reaches over and grabs Sam’s shoulder, squeezing it with affection. “We’re living, and we’ll keep going as long as we have to.”
Sam finds himself leaning into Dean’s touch, pathetically grateful for Dean’s weight against him, and he’s shocked at how optimistic Dean sounds. He’s generally the more cynical of the two of them, but since they’ve founded their little camp, Dean’s been so steady, so solid. His brother is worn down too, with physical exhaustion, but he’s not giving up hope, and Sam hates that he’s the one who feels so hopeless.
“What about all of them?” Sam gestures to the other huts, to where Jerry and his family live, toward the other farmers, toward Lisa and Ben.
“I think they’ve all show us how hardy they are.” Dean runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “We can’t move out to meet the demons head on. Maybe we could’ve, before, but now we have all these people. We’re gonna wait, and plan, and if Satan shows up ahead of schedule with his minions, then we’ll be as ready for them as we can.”
Sam keeps leaning on Dean, thinking about the way his brother devotes himself to all of them. Not just to Ben and to Sam, but to Jerry and his kids as well, and the other farmers, and Ellen and Bobby. Sam admires his courage, and the way he keeps taking care of all of them, even through his own despair.
***
“Don’t walk around like this,” Sam hears Ben saying to Blake, Jerry’s youngest son, as he demonstrates a typical zombie, arms straight out in front of him, dragging one leg, mouth drooping open. “We can’t be too obvious, you know. If the demons show up, we have to fake them out and pretend to already be whacked in the head”
“So how do we fake them out?” Blake asks, a quizzical look on his face.
“Act like you’re a goody-two shoes, suck-up teachers pet, and then add in a little bit of Children of the Corn. That’ll make ‘em think you’re already brainwashed,” Ben explains triumphantly, smiling broadly at Blake’s wide eyes.
Sam just shakes his head at Blake’s confusion and keeps walking. His nephew is something else, and Sam’s about to tell Dean about Ben’s zombie lessons when he sees Ruby flirting with Dean. She’s got her chest sticking out and she’s playing with her hair, and it makes him crazy-he wants her away from Dean now. He tries to tell himself that it’s because she’s bad news, but it’s not that, because she’ll never fool his brother, never trick him. Even if Dean were to fuck her, he’d never trust her. And Sam’s pretty sure Dean wouldn’t fuck her. But even as he considers it, he’s not sure-it’s been a good three months since his brother’s been with a woman.
Before he can stop himself, he’s in front of them, glaring at Ruby. “Don’t you need to be out scouring for information?”
“What’s the problem Sam? You don’t want me alone with your big brother?”
Sam’s afraid his face is going to flush, and he’s terrified that she’s actually got some insight into how he feels, so he just shoves past them both and goes into his hut.
Dean’s in there a second later, rolling his shoulders back and looking at Sam expectantly. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Sam knows he’s being childish, but he doesn’t care. “Nothing,” he manages to say, grabbing his bucket, soap and towel with quick motions, heading back for the door. He can at least wash off in the creek’s cool water and calm down before he does something insane, like shove his brother down against the dirt floor.
Sam sees a flash of gold hair disappear around the corner of their hut, and that’s just great, Ruby’s been listening in, trying to spy on them. Next she’ll be taunting Sam for being prickly and irrational, and the worst part is that it’ll be true.
He takes long strides, trying to catch up to her, but Dean grabs him from behind, twisting him around.
“What the hell? You gonna stomp of like you did when you were twelve?”
Sam feels his shoulders slump, all the indignation fading away in favor of humiliation. “No.”
Dean studies him closer, his expression softening. “Come on, man, don’t waste your energy being pissed at her.”
Sam nods, doesn’t say anything. He knows Dean’s right. Ruby’s a demon, she’s got her agenda, and they have a reason for keeping her around. Sam shouldn’t let it get to him, but lately everything’s getting to him. He lets Dean lead him down to the creek, wishing that he had a little more control over his emotions.
“Something bothering you?” Dean asks, sitting down on the ground and motioning Sam to sit next to him. “Other than the usual?”
Sam finds a smooth rock and chunks it into the water, watches it sink to the bottom. “Just getting tired of waiting around.”
“I know.” Dean leans forward, staring across the water into the woods, tugging clumps of grass out of the ground. “I hear you, and it sucks. I want to be out there, doing something, going after him, but we’re sitting around on our fucking asses, doing nothing.”
Sam shifts until he can look at Dean, waiting to speak until Dean meets his eyes. “Wait, wasn’t it you that gave me the pep talk, about how what we’re doing here is important, and so on?”
“Yeah, and that’s all true-I wasn’t just saying it to make you feel better, if that’s what you’re gonna accuse me of.” Dean says, pressing his lips together. “But pep talk aside, it still pisses me off that we aren’t hunting that bastard.”
Sam doesn’t know what to say to that. He can’t be mad at Dean-none of this is his fault, and he can tell his brother’s not lying to him. He sighs and flops back on the grass, ignoring Dean’s attempts to make him keep talking.
***
By the end of March, Sam’s sick of feeling helpless, of being helpless. He can tell that they’re all getting worn down-even Dean, who’s usually more gung-ho than the rest of the group, is exhausted. He doesn’t attack his food with as much enthusiasm, he’s not quite as loud, and he’s stopped flirting with Lisa altogether.
Sam is the one who’s supposed to have the destiny. And maybe his demon blood is useless, but that doesn’t mean he’s powerless. He digs through the meager stack of books that Bobby brought with him, and finds what he’s looking for under a book of demonology, running his hand over the leather cover.
At midnight, he sneaks out of their hut with a lantern, grateful that Dean had field duty that day and passed out immediately at bedtime. Sam hurries to the creek and settles himself on the edge, sitting cross-legged. He has no weapons, only Bobby’s dog-eared King James Bible. “All the theology classes teach that this,” Sam skims his fingers over the page where the Book of Revelation begins, “is full of symbolism, and that we shouldn’t take it literally.”
Sam isn’t sure who he’s talking to-it’s hard to have faith in a deity that sits by while all of humanity is ruined, but he’s going to start by appealing to the one that’s most familiar to him. “Other people have had visions, or visits from angels. And I’m telling you, in case you aren’t already fully aware, that we need help.”
Sam begins with the first vision in Revelation, and he reads aloud. “Blessed is he that readeth, and they that hear the words of this prophecy, and keep those things which are written therein: for the time is at hand.” He feels his lips moving as he works his way through the chapters, but his mind feels like it’s floating, detached and separate.
When he’s done reading, Sam takes a deep breath, centers himself. His entire body relaxes and he lies down on his back, letting the sense of calmness descend over him. Sam’s not really expecting anything to happen. He doesn’t think Michael or Gabriel will appear, all white-robed and winged, but he feels steadier, feels a little of the crushing tension start to dissipate. If this doesn’t work, then he’ll move on to other gods, other religions, and he’ll even appeal to the universe as a whole, pleading with any nameless force that will listen.
Then his dad shows up, walking right out of the woods and up to the bank of the creek, looking the same as he always did.
Sam knows he’s got to be dreaming, and he doesn’t appreciate his subconscious fucking with him, not one bit. “So, what, are you an angel now, Dad?”
“Don’t get smart with me, Samuel.” John’s voice is terse, but then softens and the right side of his mouth curves into a half-smile. “I’m not the devil, so it really doesn’t matter what I am.”
Sam’s mind is really good at this hallucination, because every detail about his dad is correct, from the faded green Henley under a coarse flannel shirt, to his scruffy beard and hair that’s slightly too long around his ears. “How’d you get here? Can you just walk out of heaven?”
“They sent me.”
“Who?”
“Listen son, stop fighting me. Just accept this.”
Sam clutches John’s outer shirt, and it’s all he can do to not break down and sob. “It’s not fair,” Sam says, over and over.
“Son, you need to get your head on straight for this. And I think you know that nothing’s fair. Not in life, and not afterward either,” John says. “It’s not over. Not until you give up.” John smiles at him, and he pats Sam’s shoulder before getting up and walking back into the woods, leaving Sam alone.
Sam watches him go and lies back down, moving one hand until it’s dangling in the water, and then rolls all the way over, floating face-down in the creek.
The cold water is not shocking or unpleasant-there’s a clarity that comes from the crisp sensation of being surrounded. And no matter what his dad said, Sam is struck by how wrong this whole thing is-he and Dean have worked their whole lives to help people, and now it ends like this, with the whole world possessed or incompetent, and Sam hallucinating. He wonders how crazy he must be to create such a realistic image of his father, and the sad thing is that if it had been real, it would make Sam feel better, just knowing that his dad was looking out for all of them. He keeps floating, and the sense of tranquility comes back, comforting him.
Then there’s a sharp pain in his shoulders as he’s tugged out of the water, and he’s back on the edge of the creek bed, his brother looming over him, yelling, “Sam. Sammy!”
Dean hauls Sam to his feet and drags him back to their hut, yanking Sam’s clothes off with record speed. Sam still feels the peaceful calmness, but that only upsets his brother. “Come on, Sam. I can see you’re breathing, so can you say something?”
Sam can’t. He smiles blissfully up at the beams that crisscross to form the roof.
Dean’s muttering, cursing under his breath, and Sam wants to reassure him, let him know that everything’s fine, so he smiles up at him. It’s hard, but Sam manages to lift his left hand up far enough to touch Dean’s chest. “Dad was here,” he says softly.
Dean doesn’t look relieved though, he just looks more worried. “Dammit, I’ve got to get you warmed up.”
Sam has no idea what he’s talking about-Sam’s warm and toasty. “You don’t believe me. It’s okay,” Sam says. “I don’t believe it either.”
Dean stares at him for a moment longer, then gathers blankets, lights a fire in the little dirt pit at the front of their hut. “I know you’ve been really feeling the stress of all this lately,” Dean says, and he piles several blankets on top of Sam and then starts rubbing his hands over Sam’s arms with jerky, frantic motions. “And maybe that’s partly my fault. I let you do too much, I let you deal with Ruby while I hang out with Ben, and I shouldn’t let you spend so much time feeling responsible.” Dean picks up Sam’s hands and holds them together, squeezing his fingers and warming the skin.
“No, Dean. No. Don’t blame yourself. It’s good.”
Dean’s frown deepens. “Listen, I know it’s hard to talk about this sort of thing, and I don’t usually want to, but if you were trying to end it, man, you have to tell me. Me and Bobby, we can help you. We can figure something out.”
“It’s not like that Dean, just the opposite. I want to live,” Sam says, but he can see from the way his brother’s shoulders tighten that Dean isn’t buying it, at least not totally.
“Okay. But if you ever feel like it’s too much. You just tell me.” Dean stops running his hands over Sam and leans closer, mouth turned down, peering at Sam’s face. “Do you feel any warmer yet?”
“I feel good. Cozy. But you don’t have to stop.”
Dean’s eyebrows lift, and then he rubs the back of his neck. “Listen, I’m gonna rub your back instead, okay? Maybe it’ll help you fall asleep.”
Sam nods, and Dean’s hands are on him, firm against his back, a pleasant pressure, and it reminds Sam of being a kid, of being taken care of, only now Dean’s hands are big, rough and chapped from hard work.
He can feel the words in the press of Dean’s hands: I can’t lose you, Sam.
Sam wakes up in the middle of the night, and Dean’s still with him, pressed right up against Sam’s back, right arm tight around his chest. Sam’s naked and warm under the covers, and when he shifts he can tell that Dean’s only wearing a thin cotton t-shirt and a worn-out pair of pajama pants. Sam pushes back, sucking in air at the feel of Dean’s hipbones against his ass.
Sam’s still a little fuzzy, and maybe that’s why he finally gives up trying to hide how much he wants this, from himself, from his brother. He turns over, pressing his body closer to Dean’s.
Dean doesn’t wake up, not really, but he makes a small noise and when Sam puts his hand on his brother’s cheek, just barely kissing his mouth, his brother’s eyes are still closed. Dean’s lips are slightly parted, and Sam brushes across them tentatively.
Sam’s trying to control himself, reminding himself that he’s got no right to take this, even a kiss, without knowing if it’s okay, but the warmth of Dean’s body combined with the taste of his lips is overwhelming, and Sam licks his tongue right into Dean’s mouth.
The element of surprise is in Sam’s favor-Dean responds with his mouth, with his hands, and with his whole body. He doesn’t pull away or shove Sam, or punch him, he just gives Sam everything that he’s wanted, everything that he couldn’t take.
Dean kisses him back, not gently or softly, but forcefully, with everything he has. It’s weird, to finally be making out with his brother, but it’s natural too. He’s done everything else with Dean-fought and lived and died, and being with him, loving him, feels as right as anything Sam’s ever done. He wonders how much of his want is caused by their lives, by this thing that Lucifer created, but decides he doesn’t care. If they only have a few days, a few months left, then he wants to have the thing that means the most to him.
Sam tries to stop thinking, tries to stop the tumble of words and thoughts pushing through his head, so he opens his mouth farther and lets Dean in.
He pulls Dean closer, moving his hand to the small of his brother’s back, slipping it up and under Dean’s shirt. He just barely skates his fingers over the heated skin, and that seems to wake Dean up, to yank him out of whatever fugue state he was in. He jerks his head back, eyes wide and blinking, over and over.
Sam doesn’t want him to go nuts, not for a second. “Shhh. Quit freaking out.”
“What the fuck?”
“I said shhh.”
“And I’m supposed to just do what you say?” Dean is struggling now, trying to scoot away. “I don’t-"
Sam knows Dean will keep talking, keep moving away, just because he’s gotten started, so Sam gets his hand off Dean’s back and down in between them, pressing his palm flat over the hard line of Dean’s cock. “It’s me, Dean. And I’m fine, so don’t freak.”
The pajama pants aren’t much of a barrier, especially since Dean’s not wearing anything underneath. Dean sucks in a quick breath and his eyes nearly roll back in his head. He stops struggling and just lies there.
Sam practically jumps on top of him, knocking him onto his back, and lowers himself until he can kiss his brother again. He tugs Dean’s shirt up with one hand, nearly gasping when their bare chests meet, his stomach pressing down against Dean’s.
He rolls his hips, thrusts against Dean, his naked skin brushing back and forth over the threadbare pajama pants. “Need you,” Sam says, panting, dropping all the way down until he can wrap his arms around Dean, still on top of him, loving that he doesn’t have to worry about crushing him.
He licks Dean’s neck and sucks the edge of his ear, getting even harder when Dean bucks up against him. Sam’s breathless, can hardly stand it when he feels Dean tense underneath him, feeling the warm sensation of his brother’s release seeping through the thin fabric, flooding his senses. Sam covers Dean’s mouth again with his own, and pushes forward once more, coming just as Dean’s breathing has quieted.
Sam grabs one of the many blankets and mops up the mess between them, and Dean sheds his pants. Sam sinks back onto his brother’s chest, this time lying still and listening to his heartbeat as he falls asleep again.
Sam wakes up first, and when dawn comes, Dean’s still not awake. As the sun begins to peek through the cracks of their little wooden house, Sam watches him sleep.
***
Sam waits for the blow-up or the awkwardness, but Dean’s quiet all day long. He does his chores just like always, checking on cattle, chopping firewood, and working with the farmers on basic fighting skills. And he keeps a close eye on Sam, watching while he helps with the horses and repairs the huts.
Sam wants to ask what’s wrong, but he doesn’t have to, he already knows. He knows Dean already feels responsible-for Ben, Lisa, and even Sam. And he hates that he’s added to that list by starting this thing between them.
Three more days pass, and Sam knows his feelings are showing on his face. Ben’s already asked him twice why he’s so sad, Ellen’s told him to take care of himself, and Bobby’s given him several knowing looks, although he hopes Bobby thinks it’s just a simple fight.
No one’s asked him what’s wrong with Dean, because his brother is a master at going through the motions. But Sam can see it on Dean’s face, in his lack of animation and exaggerated gestures that no one else would notice, the way his eyes aren’t sparking when he laughs and tells crude jokes.
They’ve barely spoken, but they have so little left-Sam’s not going to let this come between them. So on the fourth day Sam rushes to get his most important chores finished, neglecting the others, and then he follows his brother around.
Dean finally gives him an exasperated, “what?” before turning back to the small trench he’s digging, shovel in hand, seed potatoes on the ground next to him.
Sam can feel his jaw tighten, and he has to work to make his mouth move. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make any of this harder for you.”
“Harder for me?”
“Yeah. By you know,” Sam gestures in the direction of the creek, then between the two of them, “acting like a crazy person and then taking advantage of you when you were just trying to help me.”
Dean keeps digging. “You think you took advantage of me?”
Sam can see the patch of skin on the back of his brother’s neck where he’s getting tanner and wants to touch it, which is distracting him from what he needs to say. “Yes, I do.”
Dean snorts. “And how exactly did you do that?”
“You thought I was trying to drown myself, and then-” Sam hesitates. “I basically attacked you in your sleep.”
Dean lifts the shovel by the handle and stabs it down into the dirt. “That’s the most stupid-ass thing I’ve heard you say. If anyone took advantage, it was me. You clearly weren’t in your right mind, and I…” Dean trails off.
“Stop it. Don’t even say it. I’m almost twenty-five years old, I’m responsible for what I do, not you.”
“Yeah Sam,” Dean says, and he’s yelling now. “When someone’s been taking a dip in a freezing-ass creek and then starts babbling about being cozy, that’s really a good time to let things get out of hand!”
“Stop it.” Sam grabs his brother by the arm. “Stop it.” He drags him away from the potatoes and the trench, drags him way back to the edge of the camp. He doesn’t think anyone will be able to see or hear them out here, but if they can, he really doesn’t give a shit. Fixing things with Dean, making him understand-that’s more important.
“I don’t want to hear it, and I don’t want you to think it. You are not responsible for this-it was me. I want it. I have wanted it, and if you do too, then…” Sam stops, takes a breath and tries to calm down.
He ends up leaning against the fence, the fence they all build together, because the fucking world is dead, and he can’t take it anymore. If Dean walks away, if he looks at Sam with pity or tries to baby him, then Sam’s going to leave, he’s going to get on his horse and ride out to find that bastard, alone, and there’s nothing that can stop him. Dean will still have a life here, with Lisa, with Ben, and he can protect them, and keep the whole group safe.
But then Dean’s in front of him, and he’s not looking at him with anything but love, and maybe lust too, and Sam needs his brother to come to him, so he waits, eyes closed, until he feels Dean’s breath against his cheek.
***
Dean reaches for Sam’s belt and unbuckles it as Sam trembles, his back flush against the wood of the fence. Dean is deliberate, takes his time, which surprises Sam. He pulls Sam’s boxers down and then presses his cheek against Sam’s stomach, running his hands all over Sam’s ass and thighs.
He licks Sam’s cock as if he’s tasting it-patiently, with an intensity that Sam never expected before he takes Sam into his mouth. It’s perfect, wet heat and suction, but Sam suddenly doesn’t want Dean that far away. He pulls him up, chest heaving, and spins them around, shoving Dean back against the fence.
Sam unbuttons Dean’s jeans, and he isn’t slow, he isn’t careful. He pushes Dean’s jeans down past his hips and grabs his cock, lining it up with his own. They kiss, hard and fast and wet, coats still on but their jeans pooled around their knees, each of them coming on the other’s bare skin.
***
The last few days of the month are uneventful.
He and Dean and Bobby and Ellen start discussing trying to go out and find other survivors like themselves, even though Ruby claims that there aren’t any. All of them are dubious about her certainty on the matter, and Sam and Dean make plans to leave in early May and scout out the southern United States.
Sam thinks maybe he’s found a balance, between being here with his brother and his nephew, and the little family they’ve created with the other camp refugees, and still being able to take action and do something besides just surviving. Sam’s still anxious, but he’s not as tense now, and with the change in his and Dean’s relationship, he feels tendrils of happiness for the first time in weeks.
During one of their meetings, Dean brings up something they’d been avoiding. “We have to take care of all the people who are infected by Lucifer’s games,” he says. “It sucks, but we have to. Then we’ll have to fight the demons off.”
Sam is reluctant to agree, but he knows Dean’s right. “Maybe we can find a spell that works like a virus-something that will kill all the people at once, as painlessly as possible.” Sam loathes that it’s come to that, but they don’t have any other options, and they spend hours brainstorming ways to develop a spell that will kill a healthy human being.
Sam can see Dean watching him even while he pretends to be reading an old spell book, and he knows he’ll spend the rest of the evening reassuring his brother that he won’t be going for another midnight swim.
***
On the first day of April, the sky changes color. It’s not the sickly green of a brewing tornado, or the dull gray of a storm, but a bright orange-yellow with streaks of red rising up over the line of trees. The sky has cracked open, raw and bleeding, and flashes of gold lightning spark across the horizon.
Dean’s standing outside their hut, his eyes turned up toward the sky. His face is pale, and Sam approaches him cautiously, terrified that this is it for them, that it’s all over, that this is Lucifer’s twisted fuck-you of an April Fool’s gift before they all die.
When Sam gets close Dean grabs onto him, clutching, sinking his fingers into Sam’s forearm. Sam doesn’t say anything, can’t find the words. He just lets Dean’s fingernails bite into his skin, waiting until Dean speaks.
“The demons are trying to get into heaven,” he says, not looking at Sam. “That’s why the sky is all fucked.” He looks up at the crimson edges of the clouds like it’s a normal blue. “Mom was here,” he adds, almost like an afterthought.
But Sam can tell how much his brother is flipping out, from the way he’s fidgeting and chewing his lip, twitching all over, and then his words sink in. “What? You mean you saw her?”
“I tried to wake you up, but she said to let you sleep this time.” Dean looks at him funny. “She said you called her. Her and dad.”
Sam can’t process it. First his dad, and even though he’d had the nagging feeling that it really was his father, it was easy enough to write off-he was tired, desperate, needed some hope so badly, but now that Dean’s seen their mother, that he believes she was real…
Dean keeps talking, his voice steadier than before. “She said that we shouldn’t give up-they haven’t abandoned us, they just weren’t prepared.” Dean takes a deep breath. “They didn’t know he could get into heaven.”
“So what are we gonna do?”
His brother takes a shaky breath. “We’re gonna do what we always have.” The corners of Dean’s mouth turn up, and he almost smiles. “We’ll keep Ben safe, and everyone here alive, and then we’re gonna fight that bastard.”
Dean takes Sam’s arm and guides him back inside, locking their door behind him. He starts unbuttoning Sam’s shirt, slowly, carefully, fingers grazing over his skin, reverent with his touch. Dean kisses the hard muscle of Sam’s shoulder, and Sam shivers when his lips trail across his collarbone. He strips out of his own clothes, unusually methodical, peeling everything off until he’s naked.
Sam sees him digging in a basket, and his breath quickens when he catches sight of the lotion Dean’s holding. Dean doesn’t make a production of it, but moves back to Sam, focusing on him. Once Sam’s finally undressed, Dean lies back, pulling Sam with him. And Sam goes easily, letting Dean direct. He’s trying to concentrate, but he’s still off-kilter from the revelation that his dad’s visit was real, and that Dean saw their mother. Throw in the fact that the sky is boiling red with Lucifer’s attempt to break into heaven, and Sam is pretty damn proud that he’s functioning at all.
Dean seems to have recovered, but he looks like he understands how Sam’s feeling. He hands Sam the lotion, and that helps Sam snap out of his thoughts-he’s with Dean, just like he wanted, and just like he needed, and their little family is safe for the moment. “You sure?” he asks when Dean spreads his legs and urges Sam forward.
“Yeah. It’ll be my turn next,” Dean says, smiling up at him.
It makes Sam wonder if Dean’s trying to distract him, placate him, or more likely to usher him along, making sure that Sam gets what he wants. But when he looks at his brother, he thinks maybe it doesn’t really matter because Dean’s hard, leaking already, and his chest is flushed.
The cool slickness on Sam’s fingers makes his breath stutter-he’s going to make love to Dean. And he might not ever call it that out loud, but that’s what it is. He knows what to do, thank god, and he does it, Dean moaning underneath him as Sam opens him up.
Dean is so hot, and then Sam’s inside. It has to hurt, and he has no idea if his brother’s ever done this before, but Dean just holds on tighter, arching up into Sam, letting his head roll to the side.
Sam bites the exposed skin there, sinking his teeth in enough to mark, pleased when Dean moans and clenches around him. “Love seeing you like this,” Sam says, wrapping his hand around Dean’s cock. “Wanted to throw you on the ground of this hut so many times, you have no idea.”
Dean presses up against him, pushes back. “Shoulda done it.”
Sam tightens his grip and strokes, keeping the same rhythm as the roll of his hips.
“Harder,” Dean says, nearly gasping.
Sam complies, kissing and licking every part of Dean that he can get to until he feels his brother tense. “Feel so fucking good.”
Dean doesn’t answer, he just moans and thrashes wildly until he comes, and then his body’s still, but he’s kissing Sam’s neck and chest, and rubbing his hands over Sam’s back and ass as Sam’s thrusts falter. He comes then, legs quivering, resting his forehead against Dean’s.
Sam rolls off of his brother and lies beside him. He wonders if the fact that sex with Dean makes him feel more grounded is insane, but it does. He feels steadier, like he won’t fall apart. Like he can face the broken sky and everything that comes along with it, and it really helps, knowing that his parents are out there, still fighting.
Dean seems to read his mind, pushing himself up onto his elbow. “What are you thinking in that big brain of yours?”
“It makes me feel better, to know that mom and dad are still them, you know. That if something happens to us…"
“Yeah, me too. But don’t talk like that. It’s not the end.” Dean shakes his head. “Not for us,” he says.
Sam smiles at his brother and echoes his words, finding that he really means them. “Not for us.”
-end-
Author’s Notes: I got into a discussion with
cormallen on the night that The Kids Are Alright aired, and the idea that Ben is Dean’s son stuck with me. Even though Sam and Dean are the focus of this story, I knew I wanted to include Ben once the prompts for this challenge went up, and it ended up being a great starting place.
Thank you
tvm for hosting this challenge, thank you
annkiri for all the help and infinite patience, and thank you
leighm for always listening to me whine. :D