FIC: Whispered Words and Secret Smiles (3/3)
Name: Whispered Words and Secret Smiles. (3/3)
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural
Words: 9,324 (in three parts)
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Sam, John, Castiel.
Summary: From the moment Mary dies, Dean and Sam are close. Closer than usual brothers, really. This is their story.
Warnings/Spoilers: Incest, spoilers for seasons 1-3, vague for 4 after the initial episode.
Disclaimer: I don't own this.
Author’s Note: Inspired by John Winchester’s journal, typed up here.
Beta: skullgirl013
Comments: PLEASE! COMMENT! It feeds the bunnies for more fic. :) Please! It makes my day so much. I will reply to all comments I receive, even if it takes me a few days. :)
Part Summary: Dean walks forward, six long strides and he’s in front of Sam, looking down at him because he’s sat on the desk and says, “Give me one good reason why we should wait.”
Extra note: Oh, wow, this got rec'd oncrack_impala. Thank you so much!
-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part 3-
Part 3
2005, October.
It’s been four years and Dean wonders where he is and how he’s doing every day.
Six times Dean picked up his laptop and wrote him an email.
Six times he deleted it before he even signed his name.
Fourteen times he picked up the phone.
He didn’t dial the number any of those times.
He isn’t sure why he won’t do it. He isn’t sure why this is something he’s so scared of. Is he scared Sam is happy or scared he isn’t? Scared he misses him or... what if Sam doesn’t miss him?
So he doesn’t contact him for four whole years. Because he can’t bring himself to.
And then dad goes missing.
And he waits days and he goes to look for him but it’s no good because he needs Sam. He needs family to find family and he tries so hard to not call Sam.
So he turns up on the doorstep instead.
And Sam introduces him to Jess. His girlfriend. Blonde and bubbly and wearing a Smurfs’ t-shirt. Dean wants to be her. He actually wants to be her.
He covers his jealousy with snark. He says horrible things and doesn’t care. Because Sam’s his. He had him first. He kissed him and lay with him and Sam will always be his. Even if he won’t admit it.
Being with Sam again is like... nothing he imagined.
“So how’s college?” Dean asks as they drive.
Sam shrugs. “It’s good.”
“That it?” He looks at Sam, who’s staring out of the window. “Looks like you landed a hottie.”
“She’s smart, too,” Sam says, quietly. “Hot, smart, gorgeous, witty...”
“Perfect woman. Maybe she isn’t out of your league after all.”
Sam doesn’t look away from the window.
“So what’s up?”
“Jessica Lee Moore. Born January the twenty-fourth. Loves AC/DC. Can’t get her head around computers.”
Dean swallows. Female version of him. Exactly.
“She’s me.”
“Really? I hadn't noticed that.” Sam still doesn’t look at him. “I really didn’t at first. I didn’t realise I was going for you. The closest thing to you I could get.”
“Sammy...”
“When I left...” Sam says, quietly. “Why didn’t you ask me to stay?”
“Huh?” Dean looks at him and he can see his face in the reflection on the window. He has tears in his eyes so Dean looks away.
“When I left. I was stood in the doorway and you called me back and you could have... and I’d ... I’d have stayed.”
Dean swallows, flexes his grip around the steering wheel. His car holds him, comforts him while he screams inside to tell Sam that he didn’t know. To say ‘stay’ now. To ask him to take him in his arms and never let go.
“When you left you said we weren’t brothers anymore,” Dean says, quietly. “I thought that meant you wanted to leave more than you wanted to stay.”
Sam still doesn’t look around and Dean aches to be able to look him in the eye.
“I guess you didn’t know me as well as you thought.”
So past tense. So final. So Sam.
“Guess I didn’t.”
The rest of the journey is silent.
2005, November.
When Jessica burns on the ceiling, Dean half expects Sam’s presence in his bed again but it doesn’t happen.
He wakes in the night to hear Sam. Crying in his sleep in the bed opposite, curled up in a ball. Dean gets up, walks across, crouches next to the bed and watches him sleep. He just watches because it’s been so long since he’s been in close proximity to Sam that he wants to stay and just remember. Remember the shared beds and comfort drawn from each other.
He wonders if Sam even knows how Dean feels about him.
He probably doesn’t.
Dean leans out, cards his fingers through Sam’s unruly fringe. Sam leans into the touch and mumbles, in his sleep, “Jess?”
Dean takes his hand away because he’s not stupid. He hasn’t been there for four years. Why would Sam expect him there now?
He crawls back into his own bed and goes to sleep because Sam may be crying in his sleep but at least he’s here.
2006, June.
Dad dies and Sam and Dean are broken.
It’s not something they expected and Dean doesn’t really think about it when Sam climbs in bed next to him and just lies there. He’s in too much shock.
“Dean.”
Dean looks down at him and strokes his hair. Sam just lies there.
“Why did Dad go away?”
He sounds so small and young. Like a child, not understanding.
Dean doesn’t say for me. He just lies there and holds Sam close. “I don't know,” he says, quietly.
Sam slides an arm across Dean’s chest and Dean reaches down with his other hand and links his fingers with Sam’s. “Did you mean what you said?” he asks, quietly.
Sam doesn’t reply, so Dean assumes he doesn’t know what he means, so he continues with, “We’re becoming brothers again?”
Sam snuggles a little closer. “What do you think?”
2007, June.
Dean watches Sam across the room. He’s sat doing research. As usual. Trying to work out a way of stopping him from going to hell.
“Sammy.”
Sam looks up. Meets Dean’s eyes. And maybe he knows but Dean isn’t sure because he didn’t know until a few minutes ago. He doesn’t just want Sam. He’s in love with him. He’s in love with his brother and best friend.
He takes a few steps towards Sam and he’s going to die in a year anyway and god damn it, he’s going to get the most out of this year. He really is.
“Dean...” Sam seems unsure and Dean stops his movements. “Is now really a good time?”
“No, it’s not. Let’s wait another six years...” Dean says, sarcastically. “Oh, wait...”
“Dean.” Sam stands up, sits on the table and just looks at him.
Dean walks forward, six long strides and he’s in front of Sam, looking down at him because he’s sat on the desk and says, “Give me one good reason why we should wait.”
Sam looks up, meets his eyes. “Hell.”
“I said a good reason,” Dean says. “’cause I’m already going there. I might as well stoke the hellfire on the way.”
Then Sam leans up, grabs Dean by the back of the neck and pulls him down for a kiss. Hard and long and just what he wants. Dean groans, fists his hand in Sam’s hair and slides a knee between his. “Sammy, Sammy, my Sammy,” he says, desperately.
And Sam stands. Their lips slip but rejoin as soon as Sam’s straightened up to put his other hand on Dean’s neck and just pull him in closer. As close as he can possibly get him because it’s not enough. It’s just not enough. It’s never been enough and they’ve been too blind and too thick headed to realise it because this could have happened years ago but it didn’t because they were so stupid.
“Forget hell tonight,” Dean whispers into Sam’s mouth.
“Agreed,” Sam replies, breathlessly as they stumble towards one of the undersized queens and stumble, fall to the mattress, a tangle of limbs. Dean isn’t sure who’s legs are who’s and he doesn’t care because it’s all him and it’s all Sam and it always has been.
They roll over until Dean’s on top and they’re laughing because it’s all so silly and daft and wonderful because this should have been done so many years ago, back when they were innocent to crossroads and red eyed demons and hell. Back when this could last an eternity instead of only a fleeting year.
The laughter falters and stops and vanishes and they’re left just staring at each other. And it’s there in their eyes. The deep, endless, eternal love that they’ve denied so long because of it being wrong. There’s nothing that needs saying because they already know.
Dean leans down and kisses Sam softly. A tender brushing of lips. Sam closes his eyes and Dean doesn’t. He just watches Sam’s face because it’s so beautiful and perfect and Sammy. He leans up and strokes a hand through his hair and Sam sighs, contentedly.
After a moment of this, Sam says, quietly, “If you think you’re getting away with just a kiss, you have another think coming.”
Dean grins, buries his face in Sam’s neck and inhales because he smells like his Sammy. A little older, a little less wise, perhaps, but still his Sammy. The Sammy who’s face he wiped as a baby and kissed to sleep. “Missed you,” Dean says.
“We haven’t been apart in three years,” Sam says, confused.
“Missed this,” Dean says. “Almost lost this. Never losing this.”
Sam slides his fingers into Dean’s short hair and pulls him up to look at him. “Then kiss me.”
Dean obliges, pressing his lips down on Sam’s and pulling his hair to tilt his head back and slide his lips down his chin. Sam inhales sharply when Dean’s lips reach his neck and Dean grins into the soft skin he finds there.
Sam puts his hands on Dean’s chest and pushes, sharply, rolling them over so he’s on top, balanced on a knee between Dean’s legs. He looks down at Dean, who looks moderately annoyed, and grins. The annoyed expression goes away and Dean slides his hand down Sam’s front to cup him through his pants. Sam groans. “Cheat.”
Dean grins and pulls at his button and zip, wanting the pants to be gone now if not sooner. Sam smirks and pulls at his pants, hoping Dean will get the message and follow suit. Dean does and goes for his own pants, pushing them down and off without undoing them first. Sam just smirks at him as he drops his own on the floor. They only have shirts on now and Dean sits up to pull his off. Sam does the same and then they’re naked. Naked together. Two brothers, naked together. And it feels so damn right. The first thing in years that’s felt right.
Dean, still in a sitting position, with Sam’s bare knee between his bare legs, leans across and kisses him, sliding his hand up Sam’s shoulder to cup the side of his face and draw him in closer as he licks his lower lip. Sam leans into the kiss and slides his hand into Dean’s hair, lowering him back down to lie on the bed and moving his hips against his brother’s. Dean gasps as their cocks touch and Sam barely holds back a whimper.
Dean thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard when Sam moans and thrusts his hips forward again. “Sammy, Sammy, I need you in me,” Dean gasps out.
Sam doesn’t reply, he just reaches over the side of the bed and scrabbles around in his duffle for something. He pulls out a condom and a tube of lube. Dean watches him as he pulls them across, transferring the lube into his left hand and then going to do... something... with the condom.
Dean never finds out what he was going to do with it because he catches his wrist. “No.”
Sam just stares at him and knows that anything between them now is just wrong, so he drops it off the side of the bed, hoping it lands in his bag, then leans down to kiss Dean again, sliding his tongue into his big brother’s mouth and just feeling for a moment. Then - and Dean doesn’t know when he used the lube bottle - he slides his hand down Dean’s body and slips a finger into him.
Dean arches into the touch, grips Sam’s arms and lets out a little gasp. It all feels so good. He thinks there should be wrongness to it, but there’s none. He just stares up at Sam, who gazes back down at him, obviously thinking the very same things, as he slides another finger into Dean and finds his prostate. Dean whimpers and his eyes close.
“Look at me,” Sam begs. “Please.”
Dean forces his eyes to open and looks up at Sam, who reaches out, wraps his fingers around Dean’s cock and strokes it, gently. Dean slams a hand over Sam’s and shakes his head. “Want you in me when I come.”
Sam closes his eyes, nods, and then looks back at Dean as he adds a third finger, leaning down to kiss him again. Dean leans up into the kiss, bites on Sam’s lower lip and sighs with loss when Sam removes his fingers from him. But then there’s the feeling of something large and blunt at his entrance and Sam pulls back to meet his eyes as he rearranges them, Dean’s legs off to one side, and slides in, slowly.
Sam doesn’t move for a moment, instead he leans over, kisses Dean softly then whispers words in his ear, “Always you, no one else. Never anyone else.”
And Dean thinks he might just die here. Die happy and content with his brother seated deep within him. He doesn’t think that would be that bad. He thinks it would be pretty good.
Then Sam wraps a hand around him, moves inside and colours explode across his vision and he’s never felt this alive before.
Sam moves slowly, kisses him as he does so, slides his tongue over Dean’s lips and own tongue. Dean gasps into Sam’s mouth, moans with every movement and grips Sam’s shoulder. “Sammy, Sammy,” he says. He trails his other hand down his own body and wraps it around Sam’s, both of them stroking him as Sam moves.
“Dean.” Sam’s movements get faster, harder, more needy. Dean just groans and takes everything Sam gives him, keeping their strokes in time with Sam’s moves within him. “Let go,” Sam begs.
Dean grunts, comes over Sam’s stomach and his own chest, waves of indescribable feeling washing through him. It feels so good because it’s him and Sam and they’re one, like he always wanted.
Sam buries his face in Dean’s neck, breathes raggedly and desperately, whimpers Dean’s name, whispers things Dean can’t understand. He suspects the word ‘love’ of slipping from Sammy’s lips but he isn’t sure. Then Sam makes a tiny sound in Dean’s ear, a shiver running down his body as he comes deep inside his big brother.
He doesn’t move. He just lies there on top of Dean, who wraps his arms around him and holds him tight. Sam move himself around, but doesn’t slip out of Dean, he just puts his arm across Dean’s middle, slides an arm under his neck and pulls him in as close as he can get.
2008, May.
When Dean goes to hell, he takes the memory of their perfect year together with him.
Okay so it wasn’t perfect. It was filled with desperation to save him, but it was, in Dean’s mind, perfect, because they were together, just like they’d always been meant to be.
2008, October.
When Dean comes back from hell, after everything he’s seen and been through and experienced. All the torture and pain. He thinks it was worth it. Because of Sammy. Maybe also because it gave him the brains to realise he needed to kiss, touch, hold Sam now, rather than later, and to take the time they had left.
When Dean comes back from hell, though, it’s as if that year never happened.
They’re back to two queens and awkwardness and if their hands brush as they walk, Sam seems to jerk away. Dean just takes the contact he can get and holds on tight to it.
The apocalypse is falling down upon them and Dean doesn’t think he has the time to get Sam to talk to him. Sam. Not Sammy, because Sammy is gone, he thinks. Sammy died with him but Castiel didn’t raise him from perdition.
So Dean decides to take what he can get - hugs, brushes of hands, claps on shoulders - and wait until after the apocalypse - if they survive - to get the Sammy who tied him to his bed and threatened him with a cockring, a smirk gracing his lips, back.
2009, November.
The apocalypse is over and they won.
Dean thinks he should feel happier about this, but he doesn’t. He just sees Sam sat in the corner of their hotel room looking like he’s lost a piece of himself somewhere along the way. Somewhere in between Ruby and the demon blood.
“Is there anything you can do for him?” Dean asks, quietly. He can sense his arrival now, so he knows he’s stood behind him.
Castiel steps forward to stand beside Dean. “I could wipe his memories. Make him think he’s someone like Sam Wesson.” He looks at Dean. “But I don't think either of you would want that.”
Dean looks at him. “Do it.”
“No.” Castiel meets his eyes. “He’d just end up back in this life, remembering.”
Dean feels tired. “Then what?”
“Dean, only one thing can heal your brother now,” Castiel says. For a moment, Dean thinks he means death. But then the look in his eye tells him he doesn’t. It was like the look in his eye when he told him about the archangels watching over Chuck. Slightly disobedient. Meaningful.
“Me,” Dean says, quietly. He looks at Sam again, sat in the corner. “But, Cas, what-” He turns but Castiel is gone again, in a flutter of angelic wings. Dean sighs and looks at Sam. He takes a few steps towards him and Sam looks up from his desk.
“Dean? I didn’t hear you come back.”
“I was quiet,” Dean says. He sits down on the bed and stares at his brother. “Can we talk?”
Sam looks up from the book he’s reading. “Uh... sure.”
Dean pats the bed beside him and, curious, Sam stands up, walks across, and sits next to him, careful to keep a good foot between them unoccupied.
“So...” Sam says.
“When the apocalypse was coming,” Dean says, “I told myself I wouldn't have this discussion with you unless we won.”
Sam blinks. “We won.”
“We did.” Dean sighs. “And now, as prize, we get a chick-flick moment.”
Sam looks confused. “Dude, make sense.”
Dean inhales. “Before I went to hell... that year was... the best of my life, Sammy.”
Sam doesn’t meet his eyes. “Same.”
“What happened?” Dean asks, quietly. “When I came back...”
“I didn’t think you’d want to go back to hell.”
“Eh?” It’s Dean’s turn to be confused.
“Incest, Dean. Incestuous sodomy. I seem to remember reading somewhere that sends you to hell.”
“Sammy, we saved the world,” Dean says, with a smile. “I think heaven owes us one.”
Sam shrugs. “You saved the world, Dean. I dunno about me.”
Dean reaches out, now, grabs Sam by the hair and turns him to look at him. “Without you, I wouldn't have had a reason to save the world.”
“Yeah, you would. You would have saved the world with or without me.”
Dean stares at him. “You actually believe that?” he breathes. “You actually believe there is anything worth saving in this world, to me, except you?”
Sam stares into his eyes, his shining green. And god, hadn't Dean missed that green? He had missed that green so much. And he looks so small and young again. Like Sammy. Sam just shrugs.
Dean sighs at him, rests their foreheads together. “Sammy,” he breathes. “You’re such a dumb bitch.”
“Jerk,” Sam replies, a small smile gracing his lips.
“So, are we good?” Dean asks.
Sam nods. Dean moves and he pulls back a bit. “We still can’t.”
Dean leans in, kisses him, slowly. “Give me a good reason why we can’t do this.”
“Hell.”
“Bring it on,” Dean says, with a smile. “Again. At least, this time, you’ll be there with me.”
Sam smiles at him and kisses back, then he pulls away again. “You’re only saying that ‘cause you think you have a free ticket to heaven via Castiel.”
Dean smirks. “Maybe,” he admits. “But I’m taking you with me.”
Sam just grins and kisses him again.
~Fin~