Away to Darker Dreams, Part Nine (end)
That night, it's too warm for the bed comforter, for sleep clothes, so they curl around each other naked, just one thin sheet over their bodies. Dean rests a hand on the swell of Sam's hip, soft and angular. Sam wiggles closer, nuzzling his face against Dean's chest. Sam is burning hot, his temples and the base of his neck covered with little droplets of sweat.
"You friggin' furnace," Dean grumbles, and Sam laughs quietly, slipping one of his legs in between Dean's. It's mostly soft--Sam had been clean shaven when Dean found him, all over his entire body, and his hair was taking awhile to grow back, in stubbly little patches below his navel and across his legs.
Dean hums, petting Sam's skin. Sam shivers underneath his calloused touch, shuffling and reaching up until his lips are even with Dean's. They share a short, sloppy kiss, with tongues and spit. Dean pulls back, reaching up and pushing a lock of Sam's hair behind his hair. He smiles at Sam, and Sam smiles back, his eyes half-shut like a content cat.
Sam falls asleep right then and there, in front of Dean's face, his features without his usually chronic worry lines, his cupid's bow lips parted slightly.
Dean is happy to take it slow with Sam, to truly get to know him. It's gonna be different this time around, he can feel it. They'll meet up with Dad and Dad and Sam won't fight, they'll be a family. Sam will have control over himself, and as a perfect team, they'll take down the yellow-eyed bastard.
Something flips uneasily in his stomach, but he ignores it. He's allowed some fucking optimism every once in awhile. He doesn't want to think about Dad in a hospital or Sam being taken, dying in some no-name town. He doesn’t let his morbid imagination run rampant. Sure, the demon used to have an advantage over them, and power, too, but Dean's got Sam.
And that's all it ever takes to save the day.
Before the sun even rises, they rub lazily against one another, in no hurry. All they know is the feeling of each other's skin, of the other's smell, the other's voice when they moan and pant. Sam is trusting, Sam looks so young with his wide, heated eyes, and Dean refrains from taking like he wants to, from taking it too far. They have so many things they need to recover from, to talk about.
So they lay flushed, warm and safe, cocks rubbing in the most delicious way, and come in time with one another, breathing deep in the blue morning, listening to the bark of a dog outside and the sounds of the world waking up.
Dean cleans them up with a wash cloth while Sam lays there, sated, a dimpled grin stuck to his face. Dean kisses each dimple and they only grow. Sam opens his eyes and his smile dims, just a little. Dean can see the worry in his eyes, and he understands. Neither of them know what the next couple of days hold. They could fight monsters, demons, or other people, and the only preparation they've got is an ex-Marine's training and a psychic's teachings.
Sam and Dean practice with Missouri, each honing their separate skills. They go to an ammunitions store and re-stock on everything, packing the Impala's trunk full of supplies. Dean mows Missouri's lawn and Sam does her dishes, and she calls them good boys and feeds them hearty meals. The days seem to zoom by, and they're all thinking the same thoughts, never voicing them. Sam waits uneasily for a vision, spending extra time meditating each day as a precautionary measure.
"What are we gonna do when we find Dad?" Sam asks Dean.
Sam's sitting on the bed, researching the disappearances in California on a shiny new laptop. Dean's on the floor, sharpening a knife with a little whetstone. He looks up at Sam and shrugs. "Dad'll tell us about his leads and we'll go after the demon," he says.
"You sound so sure," Sam says, "but we don't even really know anything. We're just going on what Missouri told us and my visions."
Dean wipes the blade with a cloth. "Dad's been hunting this thing our entire lives. He'll have a plan, and if he doesn't, we'll just make one, Sam. With Caleb and Pastor Jim and Uncle Bobby."
"Okay." That seems to satisfy Sam, at least fractionally. "What will we do about us?"
Dean puts down the knife. "About us?" he echoes.
Sam nods, worrying his lip between his teeth. "When we're with Dad, you know we can't... act like this."
"Making out and rubbing it out?" Dean asks, quirking an eyebrow, watching Sam glare back at him.
"No, I meant that we can't speak English or walk on two legs," Sam snarks back. "Yes, I meant that."
Dean shrugs again, watching Sam's face sour further. "We'll just deal with it."
"What if he finds out?"
"Sam," Dean sighs, shaking his head. "Will you drop it?"
"I just... I'm not as gung-ho about all of this as you are. I just have this bad feeling in the pit of my stomach that I can't shake."
Usually, Dean's first reaction would be to tell Sam that it's just his stomach acting up, but now, knowing Sam, "having a feeling" about something could be a legitimate worry.
Sam doesn't need to know that, though. "We'll take the hits as they come," Dean says, keeping his voice even and confident. "You know we've gotta do something about this, Sammy. And we will."
"I know." Sam's voice is soft. "I just... I want to get to trust you more, like this, you know? How will we get to do that together if Dad watches us? What if we have to stop for good?"
Dean shakes his head, smiling.
Sam huffs. "Something funny?"
"No, dude, I just... he's not gonna be breathing down our necks, you know? Even when we leave, even when we're back to the road life, we'll have time. I promise. I'll..." Dean clears his throat, looking away. He draws up all his courage, ignores the part of him that wants to keep his feelings curled close to his chest, away from Sam's eyes. That wouldn't work, anyway. Sam's got x-ray vision when it comes to Dean.
"I'll make time for us," Dean finishes, and Sam doesn’t even wait, just comes over and gives him one of those sappy, squeezy hugs, and Dean's grateful that he can hide his stinging eyes in Sam's body, in Sam's shoulder that isn't just bone and taut skin anymore, he's got muscle, he's turning into that man Dean had dreamed about on the way to Palo Alto. They hold on, saving the moment. Dean doesn’t know when they’ll have another one like it.
Maybe they won't find Dad right away, or find the demon, but fuck, he found Sam. And not right away, not when Sam was out on that street corner. He's really found Sam now, and Sam's a little different, Sam's grown up, but he's also exactly how Dean remembers. He's coming back into his own skin.
Sam pulls back first. “Dean, I…” he swallows.
Dean doesn’t know whether to leave it at that or push. “Yeah?” he says, his mouth making the decision for him.
“I know I acted like an asshole at the beginning,” he starts, holding up a hand when Dean opens his mouth. “I kept trying so damn hard to push you away, but you stayed. You always stayed. Even when I was scared and I thought my curse would rub off on you. Without you, I… I don’t know where I’d be right now. At the bottom of a ditch, maybe? Nowhere good. So I’ve never really said it before, and I’m not good at talking about it, but uh, that life was hard and shitty and you saved me. I never did thank you for that.”
Dean waves him off, and he feels pressure in his throat and in his tear ducts. “Anytime, Sammy. You’d do the same for me. I don’t blame you for a second, you know that?”
“Well,” Sam says, giving Dean a reserved smile, “thank you.”
“You too, Sammy, you too,” Dean says, and he watches Sam’s eyes light up with understanding. It’s as close as he’ll ever get to saying it. Sam nods and grins at him with shiny eyes, always so beautiful, even when he’s coming apart.
Yeah, Dean thinks, believing it more and more with each passing second, we have time.
Less than eight hours later, Sam wakes with a scream and sees blood and corpses. After the vision passes, and Sam’s limp and still after the agony he saw, Dean gets a text. He pulls out his phone, his arm trembling, Sam lying across his lap, the Impala’s engine roaring underneath his body.
It's coordinates.
Fin
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