Fic: They Have No Rest (Sam/Dean, R) 4.04 Coda
Title: They Have No Rest
Author: aynslee
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Beta: leighm
Wordcount: 2,032
Spoilers: YES, through 4.04
Summary: 4.04 Coda
Warnings: TOTALLY SELF-INDULGENT. CRYING. Totally. Not kidding about that.
Notes: Thank you annkiri and tvm for cheerleading! Thanks to everyone who voted in my poll. I ended up just letting the fic write itself, with absolutely no plan in place, but I appreciate all of your input! (It turned out to be an established relationship fic.)
Why stop naming the fics with Revelation quotes now?!? 3 in a row!
And the smoke of their torment ascendeth up for ever and ever: and they have no rest day or night, who worship the beast and his image. -Revelation, 14.11
They Have No Rest
Sam holds it together while they're in the car. He doesn't cry and his voice doesn't waver, and most importantly, when he tells Dean he's done using his powers, he means it.
He holds it together while they park, while they check in, but once they're in the room, he can't hold it together anymore.
He stands frozen in the doorway while Dean tosses his bag on the bed, and he's reminded of Dean gathering his clothes up, saying he might as well leave Sam alone with Ruby. He knows Dean wasn't actually going to leave-Sam's always been the one who was willing to pack up his stuff and stomp out-but the threat, and Dean's words, hurt in a way that Dean's punches never could.
There are still things he hasn't told Dean, things he can't say. Two weeks after Dean died, Sam ran out of money. He didn't even realize it until he was standing in a shabby motel office, waiting to check in. Ruby waltzed in wearing her new body and stared the clerk down until he handed Sam a key.
Sam protested, argued with her, told her to get lost.
"Because credit card scams are so much better?" She'd rolled her eyes. "You want to take the high road? Fine. But don't come whining to me when you can't get Dean back." Then she disappeared for two more weeks.
He's still standing in the doorway, and Dean's staring at him with open concern. Sam can't stand that look on his brother's face. The one that's a mixture of hope and fear and guilt, and Sam has to get away. Now. He swipes the bottle of whiskey they carry for anesthetic and takes it into the bathroom, tips it up, and drinks straight out of bottle.
He strips his clothes off, turns the shower on, lets it get hot, almost scalding.
He didn't cry the entire time Dean was gone. He doesn't mean to cry now, but the tears come anyway.
He's on his ass in the shower, hair hanging in his face when hears a light knock on the door. "Sam?"
He doesn't answer. He doesn't feel like yelling, and there's no way he can get up.
The knocks get louder, along with Dean's voice. "If you don't answer, I'm coming in there."
The door opens, and then Dean's yanking the shower curtain aside.
"Sam?" Dean lowers his voice. "You sick?"
Sam can tell from the tone in Dean's voice that he's nervous, panicked. He wishes that he wasn't the one who caused it.
"You should have left me dead." Sam knows Dean's gearing up to cut him off, and he holds his hand up. "Everyone would be better off. Dad wanted me dead, other hunters want me dead, now heaven wants me dead." Some part of Sam knows that he's contorting the words, but the other part, the part that's sad and miserable, doesn't care.
"Sam." Dean is bending over him now. "Please."
"Please what? You know it's true." Sam leans his head against the off-white tile. "You said yourself that you'd be hunting me. Maybe you should just take me out now."
Before the last word's out Sam's mouth, Dean's hands are gripping his arms, dragging him up and hauling him out of the shower. "We're not doing this again. One drunken ramble from you is enough."
Dean guides him to the edge of the bed closest to the wall, sits him down, still dripping. He's all business as he crouches in front of Sam and takes Sam's face in his hands, staring straight at him. "Let's get something straight. I don't care if God himself tells me to kill you. It's not gonna happen."
Sam looks down, watches the water stain the comforter. "Maybe it should."
"Sam. Stop it."
Sam meets Dean's eyes again. It's really not fair to his brother, none of this is. He never intended for him to find out. And maybe that's wrong, but this is exactly what he didn't want: his brother, angry and heartbroken, once again feeling responsible for Sam. "Why should I?"
"Because you said you're done using the powers. So there's no problem." Dean moves from his crouch and gets down on his knees in front of Sam. "I don’t want to hear you saying this shit anymore, got it?"
Sam doesn't answer, and Dean keeps talking. "I didn't mean to come down on you like that. I don't know what it was like for you."
Sam doesn't think he'll ever be able to tell Dean what it was like. Sam couldn't stand to be around the other hunters, especially not Bobby-they all reminded him of Dean. So the second time Ruby showed up, he'd been alone for a month. Long enough to go crazy-long enough that he let her in when she knocked.
Sam had glared at her. "I want him back."
She had crossed her arms and glared back, the effect softened by her new face. "I know."
"Are you going to help me?" Sam asked. "Because if you're not, you can leave now."
She'd cocked her head to the side and asked, "How far are you willing to go?"
Just thinking about it is enough to take Sam back to those early days, and he leans forward and hides his face in his hands. "I didn't know how to tell you."
He can't breathe. He didn't fall apart the entire year of Dean's deal, he held it together, tried to be strong for Dean. And now Dean is the one on his knees, apologizing to Sam.
He tries to reach for Dean, but he can't-the whiskey's coming up. He covers his mouth and runs, as fast as he can, which isn't quite fast enough. He lurches and stumbles, finally make it back to the bathroom. He flushes the toilet, gets rid of most of the alcohol.
He starts shivering, hot and cold inside.
Dean goes firmly into caretaker mode, wrapping a towel around Sam's shoulders and leading him back to the bed. Dean grabs another towel from the bathroom and dries Sam's legs off, quick and efficient, then starts drying his hair. He can feel Dean's fingers against his scalp, rubbing. It feels exactly like it did when Sam was a kid. He keeps his eyes closed, and then Dean's drying his face off, wiping the towel gently over his eyelids and cheeks and mouth.
It's soothing, and he feels some of the tension fade. He's still achy all over, throat raw, eyes dry, skin tight and prickly. He lets his shoulders slump forward, and then Dean's got him, holding him up.
"Come on. Sit up for me." He opens a bottle of water and hands it to Sam. "Drink this."
Sam doesn't want it, but he drinks it. He doesn't have enough energy left to say no.
Nothing's resolved. He's still a freak. Dean still thinks he's a freak.
"Now lie down." Sam obeys, and Dean pulls the sheet and comforter up over him. Sam turns his back to Dean and curls up under the covers.
"I don't care if you want to talk about this or not." Dean runs his hand through Sam's hair, an uncharacteristically tender gesture that makes Sam's chest tighten. "When you feel better, we're going to talk about it. I said you didn't have to go through this alone, and I meant it."
He doesn't miss the way Dean's voice breaks, and Sam's eyes start watering all over again. Dammit, he doesn’t want to cry anymore, but he can't make it stop.
Now Dean's moved on from caretaker mode to full on freakout. "Sam…" His voice is pleading. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault." He somehow manages to get the words out. It kills Sam that Dean's apologizing, again, and the fact that his brother hasn't mocked Sam, called him a girl, or cracked a single joke since they've been in the motel room is a good indication of just how fucked up things really are.
He doesn’t feel drunk anymore, just wiped out, exhausted. He feels Dean's hand on his shoulder, light, tentative at first, then stronger. He leaves it there, reassuring pressure as Sam drifts off.
When he wakes up, Dean's still next to him on the bed. His presence is comforting, familiar, even though they've barely touched since Dean came back. The first night, when Sam grabbed him from behind, Dean had flinched. Sam didn't say anything, but he was careful after that, not wanting Dean's shoulders to tense like that again.
But now Dean is right up behind him, lying down behind Sam, sliding under the sheet, getting as close as he possibly can. He's naked too, his skin warm against Sam's. He's not sure, but Sam thinks Dean is crying.
"I never want to hear anyone telling me I need to stop you again. Do you hear me, Sam? It's not fair, and it's not your fault that Yellow Eyes wanted you, but you've got to-" Dean sucks in a breath. "You've got to stay away from these fuckers, and all that shit they want from you."
Sam nods his head and tries to turn around to face Dean, but his brother won't let him move. Sam feels Dean against his ass, hard and ready. Dean's mouth is on his neck, nuzzling and kissing, and sucking, mumbling, can't go through that again, over and over.
Sam can't remember the last time they went slow like this, those last months with Dean were frantic and bitter, with Sam using every second of his free time looking for a way to save Dean, while Dean pulled away from him, growing more and more distant. "Want you," he says, needing to erase that feeling, the one of hopeless despair, and replace it with this, this new luxury of having each other, having time, if he doesn't go and fuck it all to hell.
Then he's not thinking anymore, because Dean's mouth is all over his skin, his hands are on the back of Sam's neck, brushing his hair out of the way, licking across the nape of his neck. Sam shivers at the contact. Dean's never done this before, never taken his time like this. His hand is on the side of Sam's head now, right at his temples, fingers splayed through Sam's hair.
Sam pushes back against him, moaning. Dean gets both arms around Sam's chest and Sam can feel Dean all along his body: legs, stomach, chest, mouth. It's slow, but intense, overwhelming, and Dean hasn't even touched Sam's dick yet.
Sam pushes back, grinding his ass into Dean. Dean moves one hand down lower, takes his time, palm flat over Sam's chest, then his stomach, and finally, finally, takes Sam's cock into his hand. Sam's cock is already wet, precome spilling over from anticipation. His touch is light first, skimming up and down, before strengthening, gripping. Dean tightens his fist, letting Sam's erection slip through.
Sam grabs for Dean's other hand, the one still wrapped around his chest, and squeezes. He thrusts back again, grinding into Dean. He's met with a groan, with Dean's tongue on his ear, biting the edge until Sam's wriggling, so close to coming.
"God, Sam, I need this." Dean speaking right into his ear, whispering, as he strokes Sam. "I need you."
"Need you too." Sam's stomach flips, twists and he shudders all over. "Love you."
Behind him, Dean arches forward, cock pulsing against Sam's back.
"Let it go," Dean says, panting, and Sam does.
Sam bites his lip, hard as he comes, tastes blood from where Dean hit him. Sam doesn’t care that Dean punched him; it's what Dean does when he's freaking out. He wanted to get Sam's attention-wanted to let Sam know how upset, how worried, how devastated he was.
Sometimes words aren't enough, not for them.
Sam's not naïve enough to think everything's going to be okay now, he's not naïve enough to think that anything's going to be okay, not really, but if Dean's on his side, then that's all he needs.
Author: aynslee
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Beta: leighm
Wordcount: 2,032
Spoilers: YES, through 4.04
Summary: 4.04 Coda
Warnings: TOTALLY SELF-INDULGENT. CRYING. Totally. Not kidding about that.
Notes: Thank you annkiri and tvm for cheerleading! Thanks to everyone who voted in my poll. I ended up just letting the fic write itself, with absolutely no plan in place, but I appreciate all of your input! (It turned out to be an established relationship fic.)
Why stop naming the fics with Revelation quotes now?!? 3 in a row!
And the smoke of their torment ascendeth up for ever and ever: and they have no rest day or night, who worship the beast and his image. -Revelation, 14.11
They Have No Rest
Sam holds it together while they're in the car. He doesn't cry and his voice doesn't waver, and most importantly, when he tells Dean he's done using his powers, he means it.
He holds it together while they park, while they check in, but once they're in the room, he can't hold it together anymore.
He stands frozen in the doorway while Dean tosses his bag on the bed, and he's reminded of Dean gathering his clothes up, saying he might as well leave Sam alone with Ruby. He knows Dean wasn't actually going to leave-Sam's always been the one who was willing to pack up his stuff and stomp out-but the threat, and Dean's words, hurt in a way that Dean's punches never could.
There are still things he hasn't told Dean, things he can't say. Two weeks after Dean died, Sam ran out of money. He didn't even realize it until he was standing in a shabby motel office, waiting to check in. Ruby waltzed in wearing her new body and stared the clerk down until he handed Sam a key.
Sam protested, argued with her, told her to get lost.
"Because credit card scams are so much better?" She'd rolled her eyes. "You want to take the high road? Fine. But don't come whining to me when you can't get Dean back." Then she disappeared for two more weeks.
He's still standing in the doorway, and Dean's staring at him with open concern. Sam can't stand that look on his brother's face. The one that's a mixture of hope and fear and guilt, and Sam has to get away. Now. He swipes the bottle of whiskey they carry for anesthetic and takes it into the bathroom, tips it up, and drinks straight out of bottle.
He strips his clothes off, turns the shower on, lets it get hot, almost scalding.
He didn't cry the entire time Dean was gone. He doesn't mean to cry now, but the tears come anyway.
He's on his ass in the shower, hair hanging in his face when hears a light knock on the door. "Sam?"
He doesn't answer. He doesn't feel like yelling, and there's no way he can get up.
The knocks get louder, along with Dean's voice. "If you don't answer, I'm coming in there."
The door opens, and then Dean's yanking the shower curtain aside.
"Sam?" Dean lowers his voice. "You sick?"
Sam can tell from the tone in Dean's voice that he's nervous, panicked. He wishes that he wasn't the one who caused it.
"You should have left me dead." Sam knows Dean's gearing up to cut him off, and he holds his hand up. "Everyone would be better off. Dad wanted me dead, other hunters want me dead, now heaven wants me dead." Some part of Sam knows that he's contorting the words, but the other part, the part that's sad and miserable, doesn't care.
"Sam." Dean is bending over him now. "Please."
"Please what? You know it's true." Sam leans his head against the off-white tile. "You said yourself that you'd be hunting me. Maybe you should just take me out now."
Before the last word's out Sam's mouth, Dean's hands are gripping his arms, dragging him up and hauling him out of the shower. "We're not doing this again. One drunken ramble from you is enough."
Dean guides him to the edge of the bed closest to the wall, sits him down, still dripping. He's all business as he crouches in front of Sam and takes Sam's face in his hands, staring straight at him. "Let's get something straight. I don't care if God himself tells me to kill you. It's not gonna happen."
Sam looks down, watches the water stain the comforter. "Maybe it should."
"Sam. Stop it."
Sam meets Dean's eyes again. It's really not fair to his brother, none of this is. He never intended for him to find out. And maybe that's wrong, but this is exactly what he didn't want: his brother, angry and heartbroken, once again feeling responsible for Sam. "Why should I?"
"Because you said you're done using the powers. So there's no problem." Dean moves from his crouch and gets down on his knees in front of Sam. "I don’t want to hear you saying this shit anymore, got it?"
Sam doesn't answer, and Dean keeps talking. "I didn't mean to come down on you like that. I don't know what it was like for you."
Sam doesn't think he'll ever be able to tell Dean what it was like. Sam couldn't stand to be around the other hunters, especially not Bobby-they all reminded him of Dean. So the second time Ruby showed up, he'd been alone for a month. Long enough to go crazy-long enough that he let her in when she knocked.
Sam had glared at her. "I want him back."
She had crossed her arms and glared back, the effect softened by her new face. "I know."
"Are you going to help me?" Sam asked. "Because if you're not, you can leave now."
She'd cocked her head to the side and asked, "How far are you willing to go?"
Just thinking about it is enough to take Sam back to those early days, and he leans forward and hides his face in his hands. "I didn't know how to tell you."
He can't breathe. He didn't fall apart the entire year of Dean's deal, he held it together, tried to be strong for Dean. And now Dean is the one on his knees, apologizing to Sam.
He tries to reach for Dean, but he can't-the whiskey's coming up. He covers his mouth and runs, as fast as he can, which isn't quite fast enough. He lurches and stumbles, finally make it back to the bathroom. He flushes the toilet, gets rid of most of the alcohol.
He starts shivering, hot and cold inside.
Dean goes firmly into caretaker mode, wrapping a towel around Sam's shoulders and leading him back to the bed. Dean grabs another towel from the bathroom and dries Sam's legs off, quick and efficient, then starts drying his hair. He can feel Dean's fingers against his scalp, rubbing. It feels exactly like it did when Sam was a kid. He keeps his eyes closed, and then Dean's drying his face off, wiping the towel gently over his eyelids and cheeks and mouth.
It's soothing, and he feels some of the tension fade. He's still achy all over, throat raw, eyes dry, skin tight and prickly. He lets his shoulders slump forward, and then Dean's got him, holding him up.
"Come on. Sit up for me." He opens a bottle of water and hands it to Sam. "Drink this."
Sam doesn't want it, but he drinks it. He doesn't have enough energy left to say no.
Nothing's resolved. He's still a freak. Dean still thinks he's a freak.
"Now lie down." Sam obeys, and Dean pulls the sheet and comforter up over him. Sam turns his back to Dean and curls up under the covers.
"I don't care if you want to talk about this or not." Dean runs his hand through Sam's hair, an uncharacteristically tender gesture that makes Sam's chest tighten. "When you feel better, we're going to talk about it. I said you didn't have to go through this alone, and I meant it."
He doesn't miss the way Dean's voice breaks, and Sam's eyes start watering all over again. Dammit, he doesn’t want to cry anymore, but he can't make it stop.
Now Dean's moved on from caretaker mode to full on freakout. "Sam…" His voice is pleading. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault." He somehow manages to get the words out. It kills Sam that Dean's apologizing, again, and the fact that his brother hasn't mocked Sam, called him a girl, or cracked a single joke since they've been in the motel room is a good indication of just how fucked up things really are.
He doesn’t feel drunk anymore, just wiped out, exhausted. He feels Dean's hand on his shoulder, light, tentative at first, then stronger. He leaves it there, reassuring pressure as Sam drifts off.
When he wakes up, Dean's still next to him on the bed. His presence is comforting, familiar, even though they've barely touched since Dean came back. The first night, when Sam grabbed him from behind, Dean had flinched. Sam didn't say anything, but he was careful after that, not wanting Dean's shoulders to tense like that again.
But now Dean is right up behind him, lying down behind Sam, sliding under the sheet, getting as close as he possibly can. He's naked too, his skin warm against Sam's. He's not sure, but Sam thinks Dean is crying.
"I never want to hear anyone telling me I need to stop you again. Do you hear me, Sam? It's not fair, and it's not your fault that Yellow Eyes wanted you, but you've got to-" Dean sucks in a breath. "You've got to stay away from these fuckers, and all that shit they want from you."
Sam nods his head and tries to turn around to face Dean, but his brother won't let him move. Sam feels Dean against his ass, hard and ready. Dean's mouth is on his neck, nuzzling and kissing, and sucking, mumbling, can't go through that again, over and over.
Sam can't remember the last time they went slow like this, those last months with Dean were frantic and bitter, with Sam using every second of his free time looking for a way to save Dean, while Dean pulled away from him, growing more and more distant. "Want you," he says, needing to erase that feeling, the one of hopeless despair, and replace it with this, this new luxury of having each other, having time, if he doesn't go and fuck it all to hell.
Then he's not thinking anymore, because Dean's mouth is all over his skin, his hands are on the back of Sam's neck, brushing his hair out of the way, licking across the nape of his neck. Sam shivers at the contact. Dean's never done this before, never taken his time like this. His hand is on the side of Sam's head now, right at his temples, fingers splayed through Sam's hair.
Sam pushes back against him, moaning. Dean gets both arms around Sam's chest and Sam can feel Dean all along his body: legs, stomach, chest, mouth. It's slow, but intense, overwhelming, and Dean hasn't even touched Sam's dick yet.
Sam pushes back, grinding his ass into Dean. Dean moves one hand down lower, takes his time, palm flat over Sam's chest, then his stomach, and finally, finally, takes Sam's cock into his hand. Sam's cock is already wet, precome spilling over from anticipation. His touch is light first, skimming up and down, before strengthening, gripping. Dean tightens his fist, letting Sam's erection slip through.
Sam grabs for Dean's other hand, the one still wrapped around his chest, and squeezes. He thrusts back again, grinding into Dean. He's met with a groan, with Dean's tongue on his ear, biting the edge until Sam's wriggling, so close to coming.
"God, Sam, I need this." Dean speaking right into his ear, whispering, as he strokes Sam. "I need you."
"Need you too." Sam's stomach flips, twists and he shudders all over. "Love you."
Behind him, Dean arches forward, cock pulsing against Sam's back.
"Let it go," Dean says, panting, and Sam does.
Sam bites his lip, hard as he comes, tastes blood from where Dean hit him. Sam doesn’t care that Dean punched him; it's what Dean does when he's freaking out. He wanted to get Sam's attention-wanted to let Sam know how upset, how worried, how devastated he was.
Sometimes words aren't enough, not for them.
Sam's not naïve enough to think everything's going to be okay now, he's not naïve enough to think that anything's going to be okay, not really, but if Dean's on his side, then that's all he needs.