Fic: Pleiades. SPN. Sam/Dean. PG-13 1/3
Ok, here it is, the thing I've been angsting over the last week. Still not sure about it but I don't think brooding over it wwill improve it. So, yeah... enjoy.
Title: Pleiades 1/3
Author: felisblanco
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Word count: ca. 14500 (all parts together)
Rating: PG-13, I guess
Summary: The boys perform a spell that has disastrous effects, throwing Sam into a world of darkness.
Warnings: None except the Wincest part. Mentions of Faith, Bloody Mary and Something Wicked.
A/N: Beta’d by the lovely hellziggy. Also see some explanation after the third and final part.
For a moment there was complete silence, the white smoke surrounding them giving him an eerie feeling of solitude. Then a soft breeze brushed the veil away and he turned around to find Dean grinning with triumphant glee some feet away.
“Beat that, you ugly sonofabitch!”
Sam's laugh choked on a cough when he inhaled the last trace of smoke “Yeah.” The smoke stung his eyes and he blinked to clear them. “Didn't think it would blow up like that.” The crater in front of them was about six feet in diameter, leaves and dust still falling slowly to its bottom two feet below.
“Fucking Hiroshima, baby!”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dean. That's exactly what this was.” He gathered the scattered remains of the smashed jar, not wanting the symbol-adorned shards to fall into some kid's hands. Who knew what powers they still held? His head was starting to hurt and he rubbed his temples in irritation. “Congratulation, you're Little Boy.”
Dean frowned. “Dude, what's your problem?”
“Nothing.” Sam swung the heavy duffel bag over his shoulder, flinching when the strap scraped over the bruise on his back. Fucking demon slamming him into that tree. “Let's just get out of here. The smoke is making me nauseous.”
Dean gave him a thoughtful look but then he shrugged and hoisted his own bag and they headed back through the woods. It was starting to get dark and Sam kept stubbing his toes on roots and getting slapped in his face with branches. The fact that Dean seemed able to avoid all obstacles, sauntering between the now black tree trunks with as much ease as if he'd been strolling down Hollywood Boulevard, only irritated him further.
“Where's the damn road?”
“It's right ahead.” Dean glanced over his shoulder. “Sam, you alright?”
“Yeah. Just... fucking trees.” He swore as another branch hit his already aching head. “Shit!”
“That's what you get for being a freaking giant,” Dean snorted and kept walking, throwing glances over his shoulder now and then. When Sam tripped over still another root and completely lost his balance Dean swung around and just managed to catch him before he crashed into a tree trunk.
“Whoa, watch out. You're stumbling like an overgrown toddler, Sammy. Of course, you are one...”
“It's dark! Can't see a damn thing.” Sam tried to twist out of Dean's grip around his arm but it only tightened.
“It's not that dark.” Dean grabbed his brother's chin and forced Sam to look at him. “Dude, your eyes are way dilated.” He held up his hand. “How many fingers have I got?”
Sam squinted, which only made his headache worsen. “Three?”
Dean dropped his hand. “Ok, we've got a problem. The smoke must have doped up your eyeballs or something.”
His stomach did a twist but he ignored it. “Dean, I'm sure it's nothing. Just need some sleep, man. My head is killing me. Maybe that's why.”
Dean studied him for a moment then nodded. “Ok. But if you're not better tomorrow I’m taking you in.”
“Sure, whatever.” Sam rubbed at his eyes and squeezed them tight shut a few times before squinting into the woods. “Which way are we going again?”
Dean seemed to hesitate but then he reached out and took Sam’s hand, sliding his fingers along the palm before tightening them around the back. “Here. Follow me.”
Dean's palm felt warm, his fingers strong and rough, as he lead Sam through the trees and towards the road. Sam suddenly had a memory flash of a much younger Dean holding Sam's small hand, rubbing his fingers soothingly as he lead him through another forest at another time, long long ago. Their father stalking ahead, angry and silent. The smell of burnt flesh and fur clinging to Sam’s nostrils. Werewolf. Iowa. Ten years old and too sleepy and frightened to keep his eyes open. Their father's voice urging them to hurry up and Dean's voice whispering, “We're almost there, Sammy. Just hang on.” He'd just closed his eyes and let himself be led through the dark, trusting his big brother to get him home safely.
Sam’s head suddenly started spinning and he had to ask Dean to stop while he blinked repeatedly, breathing deeply in the smell of pine trees and wet leaves through his nose as he clutched Dean's hand in his. He felt weak and pathetic, clinging to his big brother's hand like he was still that small boy and he was almost glad he couldn't see more than a shadow of the exasperated look he was sure Dean had on his face.
“You ok there, Sammy? Not gonna puke or anything, are you?” The voice was calm, but Sam was sure he could detect a hint of irritation underneath.
“No.”
He clenched his jaw and nudged Dean to continue, clawing for hold when his sweaty fingers momentarily slipped out of Dean's grasp. Dean paused then laced their fingers together for a better hold. This time he tugged Sam more gently along, muttering reassurance of “Just a bit further” and “We're almost there.”
The forest seemed to be moving, branches and tree trunks heading for them and then swaying away at the last moment and Sam could feel his heartbeat picking up as worry and nervousness twirled in his stomach. What if there really was something wrong with him?
The trees finally gave way to open range and he breathed out in relief when the ground underneath his feet changed from knobbly roots to relatively smooth gravel. Dean still didn't let go off his hand until they arrived at the car, opening the door before stepping aside.
“Here we are.”
His fingers slipped away and Sam fought the urge to catch them again, even as he hated himself for being such a baby. Christ, get a hold of yourself, you goddamn pussy. It’s just a bit of darkness.
“You ok?”
“No.” Sam folded his long body into the car then waited until Dean had walked around it and slid in on the other side before adding, “You sure it's not dark?”
“I'm sure. Twilight, but not dark.” With a frown Dean grabbed Sam's chin again, turning his head and staring into his eyes. “You seeing any white spots or anything?”
“No. But things are... moving.”
The frown deepened as Dean let go of Sam to turn around and stick the key into the ignition. “Moving?”
“Yes. Shit.” Sam closed his eyes and leaned back. “I feel like I'm on a goddamn high. The whole world is spinning.”
“Dude, we should have you checked out. Seriously.”
He shook his head, which only served to worsen his headache. “It's probably just the dust from the damn blast. We put some weird stuff in that jar. Besides, we're like in the middle of nowhere, Dean. There's no hospital for miles, you know that.”
“Yeah, but...”
“I'd rather just sleep, ok?”
Dean sighed and started the car. “Ok, ok. But if you start bleeding from your eyeballs again, Sam, I'm driving you those damn miles, even if I have to knock you over the head and tie you up to get you there.”
Sam just flipped him off. “Please keep your dirty fantasies to yourself, bro.”
“You wish,” Dean snorted, the Impala spitting up gravel as he turned it on the narrow road and headed back to the motel.
By the time they got there Sam's headache had turned into a full blasted brain attack and everything was just one big blur. He was shaking, sweat pouring off him in buckets, and stumbling those few steps to their room was almost more than he could manage.
“Whoa!”
Dean grabbed Sam as his knees suddenly gave away, putting his arm around Sam's waist and holding him upright as he fished the keys out of his jeans pocket. When he finally got the door open he steered Sam through it and to one of the beds. After pushing Sam down with a curt “Sit” Dean pulled off Sam’s sneakers and jacket, before lowering him gently down on his back.
Sam groaned and threw one arm over his eyes, the soft light of the room enough to make them throb with pain. He felt oversensitive, each sound Dean made scratching his brain like fingernails on a chalkboard, the musty smell of the room attacking his nostrils. He thought he could taste blood on his tongue.
“Here.”
Sam sat slowly up and Dean shook three pills into his hand which he popped into his mouth before taking the glass of water Dean offered him between his shaking hands, spilling some down the front of his shirt as he drank. He could feel Dean watching him and when he looked up he saw a blurred version of his brother's face gazing down at him. Sam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand then closed his eyes, handing Dean the empty glass as he fell back on the pillows.
“I need to take a shower, Sammy. You cool?”
Sam grunted, waving his hand weakly in a you-go-ahead gesture and after a few moments silence he felt Dean walking away. There was the distinct sound of clothes being removed and thrown on the other bed and then the shower being turned on. Dean had left the door open, as if he didn't quite trust Sam to be alone and the thought made Sam’s stomach twist even tighter. He breathed deeply in through his nose, out through his mouth, trying to relax his tense nerves and calm his clenched guts, but it wasn’t helping much.
This was not good. This was so fucking bad but panicking wouldn’t make it any better. Why this scared him so much, he wasn’t sure. He could remember being afraid of the dark as a kid but he’d overcome his fears years ago. Or rather, a life of hunting in the damn dark had forced him to overcome them. Of course this wasn’t your everyday, or night, darkness. This was you’regoingblindasabatSam! darkness and to tell the truth he thought he was entitled to a little bit of panicking. Or even full-blown terror. Air gulped down his throat in shallow gasps. Fuck.
He tried to remember the yoga breathing techniques Jess had taught him but it was damn hard concentrating on anything as his thoughts crashed around in his aching head. People didn't just turn blind overnight, did they? Did they? And it wasn't just his vision, he felt like he was burning up, his skin and bones becoming hotter by the minute, and on top of that the headache didn't feel right either. He'd had all kinds of headaches, especially lately with the dreams and visions, but this one was different. More… vicious. And it just kept getting worse and worse. Like something was crawling through his brain with claws and teeth. Biting and scratching and... Jesusfuckmakeitstop!
“Sammy? Sam? Hey, come on. Stop it! Stop it, Sam!”
He fought the hands holding him down, keeping him from scratching at the blinding pain piercing his eyes. “Get off me! I need to-” He sobbed as Dean pushed him down, straddling him to keep him from escaping, water dripping from his wet hair and splattering on Sam’s face and chest.
“You need to calm the fuck down. You're scratching your own eyeballs out, Sam.”
He struggled as Dean held him down until the pain slowly died down to a stabbing ache. Sam stopped fighting and lay still, breath heaving, eyes closed tight.
“You done?”
He nodded slowly, wary of the pain flaring up again but it kept quiet, pulsating behind his eyeballs.
Dean hesitated a moment longer then carefully let him go, swinging his right leg over to sit down on the edge before reaching out to feel Sam’s forehead. His palm was wet as well and Sam realized Dean must have jumped right out of the shower. He opened his eyes cautiously against the light, peering out between narrow slits. Dean’s wet chest filled his blurred vision, drops of water glittering where they clung to his tan skin. He smelled of soap and heat. Sam closed his eyes again and breathed out.
“Fuck, you're burning up. That's it, I'm taking you in.”
The bed moved and when Sam opened his eyes Dean had his back turned to him, jeans in his hand. Sam was just about to make some lame naked butt joke to counter the awkward silence when something bright suddenly flashed before his eyes and then everything went completely black.
“Dean?”
Dean sighed wearily as if he expected Sam to argue. “What?”
“No, it’s… What happened? Did you…? Dean, that's not funny!” He jumped as a damp palm was laid on his forehead. “Dean?”
“No, it’s the Easter Bunny.” There was a pause. “Crap. You can't see anything now?”
“Are the lights on?”
Another pause, longer this time.
“Yes.”
“I can't see shit! It's all black!” His voice was shrill, but fuck, he didn't care. “What the hell is happening to me?”
“I don't know. But this ain’t no simple smoke poisoning.” Dean’s fingers came to Sam’s forehead, tipping his face up before pulling his eyelids wide open. “Your eyes have gone milky white. With black spots. Huh. Yeah, that looks like a pattern. Familiar.”
Dean pulled away and Sam could feel panic squeezing his chest. He fumbled into the darkness, searching frantically for something to grab hold of as his breath got faster and shallower. Shit. Breathe, breathe. “Where-where you going? Dean? Dean?”
Dean's hand came back, cupping his face, thumb rubbing over his cheekbone. “Sshh, calm down. Sammy, it’s gonna be ok. Hey! Don’t go all pussy on me, little brother.”
“I can’t… help it. I don’t know… why I’m…” He gasped for air. “So… damn… dark. Dean.”
“I’m here. I'm not going anywhere, Sammy. I'll be right here. Breathe. Come on, Sam. In. Out. Hey. Hey! Stop it!”
There was a rustling sound and then something smelling of peanuts and chocolate covered his nose and mouth.
“Deep breathing, Sammy. Come on. In. Out. In. Out. That’s it.”
His chest felt too small, his lungs seeming unable to expand enough for more than shallow gasps but finally he managed to slow down until he was taking deeper breaths, and the airy lightness disappeared from his head. Dean moved away what Sam guessed was a yellow bag of M&M’s and laid a hand on Sam’s chest, rubbing it slightly.
“Feeling better?”
He swallowed. His throat felt dry. Sticky. “Yeah. Sorry.”
Dean continued rubbing Sam’s chest in slow circles with the heel of his hand. “It’s ok. Damn.” He gave a short dry laugh. “Haven’t had to do that in a long time. Great timing for bringing back the panic attacks, bro.”
“Back?”
The rubbing stopped. “I swear, your memory is like a sieve, Sam. Or have you just gotten so good at blocking out your life before college?” The sigh sounded more tired than irritated. “Yeah, back. After the Shtriga you used to get these all the time, almost every night. We had to keep a light on so you wouldn’t freak out. Hyperventilating, crying, sometimes lashing out. Punched me quite a few times.” He chuckled softly. “It got better after a few weeks but you still had them every now and then for years, especially during winter blackouts. You had some serious issues with darkness, Sammy. Still do, it appears.”
“Shit.”
He did remember being scared to fall asleep and Dean crawling into bed with him to hold him. He did remember crying. A lot. Until his chest ached and his head felt like it was gonna pop off his neck. Dean’s voice whispering soothing words into his ear, his grip getting tighter as Sam slipped away into what he’d thought was sleep. Maybe he’d just never realized what was happening.
“For years? How long?”
“Uhm, until you were nine, ten, something like that. You don’t remember?”
“No. How did it stop?”
“Dad gave you the .45”
“Oh.” That he did remember. It was one of those things he’d tagged as yet another proof of how fucked up his childhood had been. He was right, but not exactly in the way he’d thought. “Guess I found my inner child.” He laughed, but it was a shrill and desperate sound and he cut it off before it turned into something worse.
“Sam, I know it’s scary but you need to keep your shit together, ok? Don’t freak out on me.” The gentleness in Dean's voice should have calmed him down but instead it only made his heart jump and his stomach start knotting up again.
“Ok. Ok. Just don't... Don't leave.” Knowing he sounded like a total wuss was still better than the thought of being left alone in the darkness.
“I won't. I promise. I need to do some research so just close your eyes and try and get some sleep, ok?” Dean pushed Sam's sweat damp hair away from his eyes. “That blank stare is freaking me the fuck out. You look like a frickin' zombie.”
Sam managed a shaky laugh. “Sure. Yeah, I'll try that.” Not that it made any difference to him whether he kept them open or not but he let his eyelids drop and Dean gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder before standing up. The familiar sounds of Dean moving around lulled Sam into a sense of calm, slowing down his frantic thoughts until eventually that along with the fever and the triple dose of painkillers shoved him into dreamland.
Throughout the night (or was it day again?) he slipped in and out of consciousness, his sleep marred by the usual nightmares, his waking moments soothed by the familiar sounds of research. Dean's frustrated sighs, the shuffling of worn pages being turned, the clicking of the keyboard. A few times he woke up gasping, clawing as pain speared his brain and eyes. Each time Dean jumped over and held him down until the agony subsided, then brought him a cold cloth for his forehead and sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Sam's back until he fell asleep again.
--------------------------------------------
“Sam? Sammy, wake up.”
Dean was nudging Sam gently and it took him a few moments to realize why everything was so dark but once it hit him he could feel the panic gripping him again. His heart sped up and he stiffened. Fuck, no. He wasn't going to let this break him. It was easier to fight now he knew what was happening and after a few deep breaths he could already feel the panic subsiding. Dean’s hand rested on his arm, waiting patiently until he blinked his eyes open and turned his head, staring in the direction of the voice.
“I’m… I’m awake. What is it?”
Dean squeezed his arm lightly before letting go, the bed next to Sam’s creaking as he sat back. “I think I've got it. Two of the ingredients we used in that spell? Mixed together and then burned, the smoke can cast The Curse of Pleiades, The Seven Sisters, which causes blindness and violent fevers.” Dean paused. “Among other things. Sound familiar?”
“Painfully.” Sam sat slowly up, fighting the nausea as the whole world threatened to overturn. The sheet stuck to his sweat-slick body and he moved to push it away only to realize he had nothing on but his boxers, which were twisted and damp and he bet they smelled. Dean must have helped him out of his dirty and sweaty clothes sometime during the night although Sam couldn't remember it. He pulled the sheet slowly back over his lap, concentrating again on what Dean had just said.
“Yeah, and I was closer to the blast, inhaled a lungful of that shit.” He swallowed. “Is it...? Can we reverse it?” He hated the way his voice trembled.
“Don’t be a fricking idiot, Sammy. ’Course we can. I just haven’t found out how yet. I need to...” Dean coughed and Sam flinched at the exhaustion in his voice. “... check some things out. Make some calls. There's an article...” He coughed again, swearing under his breath.
“Dean, it's alright. Take a break. Get some sleep.”
“I need to find... I don't have time for sleep, Sam. I need to find this damn cure and...”
“I can hear how tired you are, Dean. Bet you can hardly see the screen anymore.”
There was silence and then Dean's voice came back, sounding oddly faint. “This ain’t exactly my gig, bro, all this damn Googling. Could really use your geek skills right about now.”
“Hey, still a geek. Just a blind one.”
Dean hissed in his breath. “Don't- Don't fucking joke about that.”
There was a loud bang that made Sam jump and he swung his legs over the edge, the sheet slipping from his waist as he stood up and took a step forward. “Dean?”
“Just... You're gonna be fine.”
The voice was muffled and when Sam reached out, his fingers caught in Dean's hair. He was sitting on the bed, head down, and Sam could envision him slumped and resting his head in his hands in exhaustion.
“I won’t let it… I'll find some way to reverse this, ok?” Dean's voice was hardly above a whisper as if he was trying to convince himself rather than his brother. “Whatever it takes.”
“Dean, it's ok.” Sam ran his hand over Dean's head and down his neck to his left shoulder, letting it rest there. “I know. I trust you.”
Dean shook his head. “Much good that’s done you. Fuck. I should have thrown that stupid jar. I should have checked what possible effects it could have before...”
“Dean, stop. It's not your fault.” Dean’s obvious worry was making his stomach twist. “Come on, Dean. Will you please look at me?”
Dean gave a short hysteric laugh. “How do you know I'm not?”
“Blind, not deaf. Dean, you need sleep. What time is it anyway?”
“Don't know. Noon?”
“Jesus, Dean. Get your ass into bed now.”
“But...”
Something Dean had said earlier suddenly resurfaced Sam's brain and he frowned. “You said other things. What other things can it cause?”
The silence was frightening.
“Just... some stuff.”
“Dean, what other things?”
“It's not important. You got a mild dose so I'm sure...”
“Dean. Cut the crap and just tell me.”
He could feel the muscles in Dean's shoulders rippling under his palm.
“Possible facial disfigurement, like from small pox. Or just, you know, small pox. Which is always fun.” Dean cleared his throat. “Up to seven years of bad luck and accidents, one for each of the sisters.”
There was a low smacking sound and Sam just knew Dean was pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows in a typical Dean 'duh' expression.
“Well yeah, sure. Stumbling around, blind like bats. Got to result in a broken neck or two. Which brings us to…” deep breath. “… the usual horrible death, if the curse is allowed to run its course.” The sound of Dean swallowing was hardly audible above Sam’s own loud heartbeat. “Well, that’s not gonna happen so we can forget about that.” Dean paused. “Yeah, and then there’s...”
He coughed but differently this time. It sounded like he was.... smiling? A small shake of his shoulder's made Sam frown.
“What? And then there’s what, Dean?”
“And...” This time he could clearly hear the grin in Dean's voice. “...then there’s the possible side effect of ‘extreme homosexual lust’.”
Sam snapped his hand away. “What!?!”
“But look, your face looks alright. No uglier than usual. So I'm sure...”
Sam couldn't help laughing but it came out more like a nervous giggle. “It turns people gay?”
“Now 'turn' indicates that you weren't before and, Samantha, I gotta tell you...”
“Dean? So not funny. You...”
Sam blinked. The black void he was in seemed to be turning, twisting and looping until he wouldn't have known which way was what if he hadn't had his feet on the ground. Where they wouldn't stay for much longer if he didn't sit down right the fuck now. He retreated a few steps until the back of his knees hit the bed and then he sank down.
“Sammy?”
“I'm ok. Just... dizzy. Everything's spinning.”
His head felt too heavy to hold upright and he toppled over onto the pillows, shivering as sweat sprung out on his skin. “It's cold.” He fumbled around, weakly reaching for the discarded sheets, but was unable to find the right end as the twisted material kept getting tangled in his legs. “Fuck. I can't even...” He swallowed in angry frustration, hating the shiver in his voice. “Wonder how long it will take me to break my fucking neck.”
“Stop it, Sammy. Not gonna break your damn neck, are you? Like I would let you off that easily.” The sheets were tugged gently from his fist. “Here, let me.”
The bed dipped as Dean sat down beside Sam and pulled the sheet and blanket over him, tugging them around Sam like he used to do when they were kids. Sam reached back, fumbling for Dean's hand in the dark. “Thanks. Thank you.”
“No problem.”
Dean squeezed his fingers and shifted on the bed until he was sitting propped up, his other hand reaching out, resting hesitantly on Sam’s head for a moment before running soothing fingers through Sam’s sweat-tangled hair. The gentle movement and comfortable silence had its effect, making Sam relax and shut out the panicked thoughts threatening to drown his mind, and he could feel himself being slowly lulled to sleep.
He’d missed this, this closeness they used to have. It brought him back ten, fifteen years, cuddling in his brother’s lap on a lumpy hotel bed, the taste of Count Chocula and ice cream in his mouth and the subdued sound of Sunday morning cartoons playing in his ears. Dean shaking with quiet laughter and hushing Sam every time he got too loud. “Sshh, Sammy. Don’t wake up dad.” Pulling the blanket closer around them, his hand unconsciously settling on Sam’s nape, fingers fiddling with his hair. More than often he’d fallen asleep like that, waking up again to the smell of coffee and the rustling of a newspaper as their father sat down to scan the headlines for signs of paranormal activities.
Suddenly the bed dipped as Dean made to move away. Sam couldn't hide the tension that instantly grabbed him, his fingers curling around Dean's hand and at once the movement stopped.
“I could...” Dean paused then took a deep breath. “Maybe I should sleep over here. Got the other bed covered in research anyway.”
Sam swallowed, feeling small and stupid, but it still didn't keep him from nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”
“Ok. Just gonna get out of these jeans and brush my teeth and I’ll be right back.”
The bed dipped again, Dean's hand slipping from his fingers and he was left staring into the dark, trying to keep himself calm by listening to the routine sounds of his brother preparing for bed. He'd heard them a million times before but he'd never paid attention to them, not really.
Clothes being removed and laid out on a chair, ready in case they had to be grabbed quickly. Bare feet making hardly any sound at all as they crossed the floor. Water running and the sound of teeth being brushed. Rinsing, spitting. Drinking. Tap turned off. A slight pause and then the door was closed. Toilet lid lifted. Sam blushed as the muffled sound of pee rushing into the bowl reached him. It felt like he was eavesdropping and he suddenly had an image of Dean standing with closed eyes, dick in his hand, a look of relieved pleasure on his face as the pressure eased from his bladder.
A soft groan could be heard from behind the locked door and Sam rolled over on his other side, reciting Latin under his breath as he tried to give his brother at least a shot at privacy. When Dean returned and slipped under the covers, yawning loudly, his skin was slightly chilled and he smelled of Colgate and soap. There was a grunt and some shuffling as Dean puffed up the pillows and tried to get comfortable and then he lay still, breathing softly against Sam's neck.
“Just don't hump my leg, ok?”
Sam chuckled, grateful for Dean's attempt at humor despite the fact that Sam's whole world had just gone black and what if he never got better and Christ, fucking smallpox? Not to mention... yeah, well.
He bit his lip to keep from smiling, turned over on his back and nudged Dean playfully. “I don't know, man. Gay or not, how am I supposed to know you from a girl when it's so dark?”
He yelped when Dean's elbow stabbed his ribs. “Dude, if you don't know the difference you shouldn't be doing anything in the first place.”
“What difference?” Sam groped around, trying to keep back the grin as Dean squirmed and swore under his tickling fingers. “I can't feel any difference. Ok, not much in the boobs department but...”
His wrists were seized and pinned at the headboard, Dean's panting breath brushing his face. “Sam, I don't care how blind you are, if you don't lie still and shut the fuck up I'll fucking tie you up and gag you.”
“Again with the dirty fantasies, bro. Which one of us was supposed to turn gay again?”
He laughed as Dean let him go with a frustrated growl. They lay still panting for a while and then Sam rolled over on his side, slinging an arm over Dean's waist and burying his face in his neck, like he used to do when they were kids. “Wish I could see you.”
Dean tensed briefly but then he went slack again, his fingers returning to run soothingly through Sam's hair. “To be sure I'm not a girl?”
Sam shook his head, his nose bumping into Dean's ear. “To be sure that... To be sure.”
Dean's hand stilled before slowly resuming his stroking. “Yeah. Me too, Sammy. Me too.”
Sleep was crawling into Sam's bones, making him feel heavy and sluggish. He started to withdraw his arm, mumbling a “Sorry” as he knew it was probably suffocating Dean with its weight but Dean stopped him by laying warm fingers on his wrist, then slipping them into Sam's palm with a reassuring pressure. “It's all right.”
For some reason that made his eyes water and he squeezed them shut, hoping Dean didn't notice as he shifted a bit closer. “Night, Dean.”
Dean huffed. “It's about one pm. Not exactly night.”
“I wouldn't know.”
Silence.
“It's a lousy day anyway. Grey skies and rain. You're not missing anything.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
They both ignored the sounds of happy birds chirping outside the window.
Continued in part 2
Title: Pleiades 1/3
Author: felisblanco
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Word count: ca. 14500 (all parts together)
Rating: PG-13, I guess
Summary: The boys perform a spell that has disastrous effects, throwing Sam into a world of darkness.
Warnings: None except the Wincest part. Mentions of Faith, Bloody Mary and Something Wicked.
A/N: Beta’d by the lovely hellziggy. Also see some explanation after the third and final part.
For a moment there was complete silence, the white smoke surrounding them giving him an eerie feeling of solitude. Then a soft breeze brushed the veil away and he turned around to find Dean grinning with triumphant glee some feet away.
“Beat that, you ugly sonofabitch!”
Sam's laugh choked on a cough when he inhaled the last trace of smoke “Yeah.” The smoke stung his eyes and he blinked to clear them. “Didn't think it would blow up like that.” The crater in front of them was about six feet in diameter, leaves and dust still falling slowly to its bottom two feet below.
“Fucking Hiroshima, baby!”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dean. That's exactly what this was.” He gathered the scattered remains of the smashed jar, not wanting the symbol-adorned shards to fall into some kid's hands. Who knew what powers they still held? His head was starting to hurt and he rubbed his temples in irritation. “Congratulation, you're Little Boy.”
Dean frowned. “Dude, what's your problem?”
“Nothing.” Sam swung the heavy duffel bag over his shoulder, flinching when the strap scraped over the bruise on his back. Fucking demon slamming him into that tree. “Let's just get out of here. The smoke is making me nauseous.”
Dean gave him a thoughtful look but then he shrugged and hoisted his own bag and they headed back through the woods. It was starting to get dark and Sam kept stubbing his toes on roots and getting slapped in his face with branches. The fact that Dean seemed able to avoid all obstacles, sauntering between the now black tree trunks with as much ease as if he'd been strolling down Hollywood Boulevard, only irritated him further.
“Where's the damn road?”
“It's right ahead.” Dean glanced over his shoulder. “Sam, you alright?”
“Yeah. Just... fucking trees.” He swore as another branch hit his already aching head. “Shit!”
“That's what you get for being a freaking giant,” Dean snorted and kept walking, throwing glances over his shoulder now and then. When Sam tripped over still another root and completely lost his balance Dean swung around and just managed to catch him before he crashed into a tree trunk.
“Whoa, watch out. You're stumbling like an overgrown toddler, Sammy. Of course, you are one...”
“It's dark! Can't see a damn thing.” Sam tried to twist out of Dean's grip around his arm but it only tightened.
“It's not that dark.” Dean grabbed his brother's chin and forced Sam to look at him. “Dude, your eyes are way dilated.” He held up his hand. “How many fingers have I got?”
Sam squinted, which only made his headache worsen. “Three?”
Dean dropped his hand. “Ok, we've got a problem. The smoke must have doped up your eyeballs or something.”
His stomach did a twist but he ignored it. “Dean, I'm sure it's nothing. Just need some sleep, man. My head is killing me. Maybe that's why.”
Dean studied him for a moment then nodded. “Ok. But if you're not better tomorrow I’m taking you in.”
“Sure, whatever.” Sam rubbed at his eyes and squeezed them tight shut a few times before squinting into the woods. “Which way are we going again?”
Dean seemed to hesitate but then he reached out and took Sam’s hand, sliding his fingers along the palm before tightening them around the back. “Here. Follow me.”
Dean's palm felt warm, his fingers strong and rough, as he lead Sam through the trees and towards the road. Sam suddenly had a memory flash of a much younger Dean holding Sam's small hand, rubbing his fingers soothingly as he lead him through another forest at another time, long long ago. Their father stalking ahead, angry and silent. The smell of burnt flesh and fur clinging to Sam’s nostrils. Werewolf. Iowa. Ten years old and too sleepy and frightened to keep his eyes open. Their father's voice urging them to hurry up and Dean's voice whispering, “We're almost there, Sammy. Just hang on.” He'd just closed his eyes and let himself be led through the dark, trusting his big brother to get him home safely.
Sam’s head suddenly started spinning and he had to ask Dean to stop while he blinked repeatedly, breathing deeply in the smell of pine trees and wet leaves through his nose as he clutched Dean's hand in his. He felt weak and pathetic, clinging to his big brother's hand like he was still that small boy and he was almost glad he couldn't see more than a shadow of the exasperated look he was sure Dean had on his face.
“You ok there, Sammy? Not gonna puke or anything, are you?” The voice was calm, but Sam was sure he could detect a hint of irritation underneath.
“No.”
He clenched his jaw and nudged Dean to continue, clawing for hold when his sweaty fingers momentarily slipped out of Dean's grasp. Dean paused then laced their fingers together for a better hold. This time he tugged Sam more gently along, muttering reassurance of “Just a bit further” and “We're almost there.”
The forest seemed to be moving, branches and tree trunks heading for them and then swaying away at the last moment and Sam could feel his heartbeat picking up as worry and nervousness twirled in his stomach. What if there really was something wrong with him?
The trees finally gave way to open range and he breathed out in relief when the ground underneath his feet changed from knobbly roots to relatively smooth gravel. Dean still didn't let go off his hand until they arrived at the car, opening the door before stepping aside.
“Here we are.”
His fingers slipped away and Sam fought the urge to catch them again, even as he hated himself for being such a baby. Christ, get a hold of yourself, you goddamn pussy. It’s just a bit of darkness.
“You ok?”
“No.” Sam folded his long body into the car then waited until Dean had walked around it and slid in on the other side before adding, “You sure it's not dark?”
“I'm sure. Twilight, but not dark.” With a frown Dean grabbed Sam's chin again, turning his head and staring into his eyes. “You seeing any white spots or anything?”
“No. But things are... moving.”
The frown deepened as Dean let go of Sam to turn around and stick the key into the ignition. “Moving?”
“Yes. Shit.” Sam closed his eyes and leaned back. “I feel like I'm on a goddamn high. The whole world is spinning.”
“Dude, we should have you checked out. Seriously.”
He shook his head, which only served to worsen his headache. “It's probably just the dust from the damn blast. We put some weird stuff in that jar. Besides, we're like in the middle of nowhere, Dean. There's no hospital for miles, you know that.”
“Yeah, but...”
“I'd rather just sleep, ok?”
Dean sighed and started the car. “Ok, ok. But if you start bleeding from your eyeballs again, Sam, I'm driving you those damn miles, even if I have to knock you over the head and tie you up to get you there.”
Sam just flipped him off. “Please keep your dirty fantasies to yourself, bro.”
“You wish,” Dean snorted, the Impala spitting up gravel as he turned it on the narrow road and headed back to the motel.
By the time they got there Sam's headache had turned into a full blasted brain attack and everything was just one big blur. He was shaking, sweat pouring off him in buckets, and stumbling those few steps to their room was almost more than he could manage.
“Whoa!”
Dean grabbed Sam as his knees suddenly gave away, putting his arm around Sam's waist and holding him upright as he fished the keys out of his jeans pocket. When he finally got the door open he steered Sam through it and to one of the beds. After pushing Sam down with a curt “Sit” Dean pulled off Sam’s sneakers and jacket, before lowering him gently down on his back.
Sam groaned and threw one arm over his eyes, the soft light of the room enough to make them throb with pain. He felt oversensitive, each sound Dean made scratching his brain like fingernails on a chalkboard, the musty smell of the room attacking his nostrils. He thought he could taste blood on his tongue.
“Here.”
Sam sat slowly up and Dean shook three pills into his hand which he popped into his mouth before taking the glass of water Dean offered him between his shaking hands, spilling some down the front of his shirt as he drank. He could feel Dean watching him and when he looked up he saw a blurred version of his brother's face gazing down at him. Sam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand then closed his eyes, handing Dean the empty glass as he fell back on the pillows.
“I need to take a shower, Sammy. You cool?”
Sam grunted, waving his hand weakly in a you-go-ahead gesture and after a few moments silence he felt Dean walking away. There was the distinct sound of clothes being removed and thrown on the other bed and then the shower being turned on. Dean had left the door open, as if he didn't quite trust Sam to be alone and the thought made Sam’s stomach twist even tighter. He breathed deeply in through his nose, out through his mouth, trying to relax his tense nerves and calm his clenched guts, but it wasn’t helping much.
This was not good. This was so fucking bad but panicking wouldn’t make it any better. Why this scared him so much, he wasn’t sure. He could remember being afraid of the dark as a kid but he’d overcome his fears years ago. Or rather, a life of hunting in the damn dark had forced him to overcome them. Of course this wasn’t your everyday, or night, darkness. This was you’regoingblindasabatSam! darkness and to tell the truth he thought he was entitled to a little bit of panicking. Or even full-blown terror. Air gulped down his throat in shallow gasps. Fuck.
He tried to remember the yoga breathing techniques Jess had taught him but it was damn hard concentrating on anything as his thoughts crashed around in his aching head. People didn't just turn blind overnight, did they? Did they? And it wasn't just his vision, he felt like he was burning up, his skin and bones becoming hotter by the minute, and on top of that the headache didn't feel right either. He'd had all kinds of headaches, especially lately with the dreams and visions, but this one was different. More… vicious. And it just kept getting worse and worse. Like something was crawling through his brain with claws and teeth. Biting and scratching and... Jesusfuckmakeitstop!
“Sammy? Sam? Hey, come on. Stop it! Stop it, Sam!”
He fought the hands holding him down, keeping him from scratching at the blinding pain piercing his eyes. “Get off me! I need to-” He sobbed as Dean pushed him down, straddling him to keep him from escaping, water dripping from his wet hair and splattering on Sam’s face and chest.
“You need to calm the fuck down. You're scratching your own eyeballs out, Sam.”
He struggled as Dean held him down until the pain slowly died down to a stabbing ache. Sam stopped fighting and lay still, breath heaving, eyes closed tight.
“You done?”
He nodded slowly, wary of the pain flaring up again but it kept quiet, pulsating behind his eyeballs.
Dean hesitated a moment longer then carefully let him go, swinging his right leg over to sit down on the edge before reaching out to feel Sam’s forehead. His palm was wet as well and Sam realized Dean must have jumped right out of the shower. He opened his eyes cautiously against the light, peering out between narrow slits. Dean’s wet chest filled his blurred vision, drops of water glittering where they clung to his tan skin. He smelled of soap and heat. Sam closed his eyes again and breathed out.
“Fuck, you're burning up. That's it, I'm taking you in.”
The bed moved and when Sam opened his eyes Dean had his back turned to him, jeans in his hand. Sam was just about to make some lame naked butt joke to counter the awkward silence when something bright suddenly flashed before his eyes and then everything went completely black.
“Dean?”
Dean sighed wearily as if he expected Sam to argue. “What?”
“No, it’s… What happened? Did you…? Dean, that's not funny!” He jumped as a damp palm was laid on his forehead. “Dean?”
“No, it’s the Easter Bunny.” There was a pause. “Crap. You can't see anything now?”
“Are the lights on?”
Another pause, longer this time.
“Yes.”
“I can't see shit! It's all black!” His voice was shrill, but fuck, he didn't care. “What the hell is happening to me?”
“I don't know. But this ain’t no simple smoke poisoning.” Dean’s fingers came to Sam’s forehead, tipping his face up before pulling his eyelids wide open. “Your eyes have gone milky white. With black spots. Huh. Yeah, that looks like a pattern. Familiar.”
Dean pulled away and Sam could feel panic squeezing his chest. He fumbled into the darkness, searching frantically for something to grab hold of as his breath got faster and shallower. Shit. Breathe, breathe. “Where-where you going? Dean? Dean?”
Dean's hand came back, cupping his face, thumb rubbing over his cheekbone. “Sshh, calm down. Sammy, it’s gonna be ok. Hey! Don’t go all pussy on me, little brother.”
“I can’t… help it. I don’t know… why I’m…” He gasped for air. “So… damn… dark. Dean.”
“I’m here. I'm not going anywhere, Sammy. I'll be right here. Breathe. Come on, Sam. In. Out. Hey. Hey! Stop it!”
There was a rustling sound and then something smelling of peanuts and chocolate covered his nose and mouth.
“Deep breathing, Sammy. Come on. In. Out. In. Out. That’s it.”
His chest felt too small, his lungs seeming unable to expand enough for more than shallow gasps but finally he managed to slow down until he was taking deeper breaths, and the airy lightness disappeared from his head. Dean moved away what Sam guessed was a yellow bag of M&M’s and laid a hand on Sam’s chest, rubbing it slightly.
“Feeling better?”
He swallowed. His throat felt dry. Sticky. “Yeah. Sorry.”
Dean continued rubbing Sam’s chest in slow circles with the heel of his hand. “It’s ok. Damn.” He gave a short dry laugh. “Haven’t had to do that in a long time. Great timing for bringing back the panic attacks, bro.”
“Back?”
The rubbing stopped. “I swear, your memory is like a sieve, Sam. Or have you just gotten so good at blocking out your life before college?” The sigh sounded more tired than irritated. “Yeah, back. After the Shtriga you used to get these all the time, almost every night. We had to keep a light on so you wouldn’t freak out. Hyperventilating, crying, sometimes lashing out. Punched me quite a few times.” He chuckled softly. “It got better after a few weeks but you still had them every now and then for years, especially during winter blackouts. You had some serious issues with darkness, Sammy. Still do, it appears.”
“Shit.”
He did remember being scared to fall asleep and Dean crawling into bed with him to hold him. He did remember crying. A lot. Until his chest ached and his head felt like it was gonna pop off his neck. Dean’s voice whispering soothing words into his ear, his grip getting tighter as Sam slipped away into what he’d thought was sleep. Maybe he’d just never realized what was happening.
“For years? How long?”
“Uhm, until you were nine, ten, something like that. You don’t remember?”
“No. How did it stop?”
“Dad gave you the .45”
“Oh.” That he did remember. It was one of those things he’d tagged as yet another proof of how fucked up his childhood had been. He was right, but not exactly in the way he’d thought. “Guess I found my inner child.” He laughed, but it was a shrill and desperate sound and he cut it off before it turned into something worse.
“Sam, I know it’s scary but you need to keep your shit together, ok? Don’t freak out on me.” The gentleness in Dean's voice should have calmed him down but instead it only made his heart jump and his stomach start knotting up again.
“Ok. Ok. Just don't... Don't leave.” Knowing he sounded like a total wuss was still better than the thought of being left alone in the darkness.
“I won't. I promise. I need to do some research so just close your eyes and try and get some sleep, ok?” Dean pushed Sam's sweat damp hair away from his eyes. “That blank stare is freaking me the fuck out. You look like a frickin' zombie.”
Sam managed a shaky laugh. “Sure. Yeah, I'll try that.” Not that it made any difference to him whether he kept them open or not but he let his eyelids drop and Dean gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder before standing up. The familiar sounds of Dean moving around lulled Sam into a sense of calm, slowing down his frantic thoughts until eventually that along with the fever and the triple dose of painkillers shoved him into dreamland.
Throughout the night (or was it day again?) he slipped in and out of consciousness, his sleep marred by the usual nightmares, his waking moments soothed by the familiar sounds of research. Dean's frustrated sighs, the shuffling of worn pages being turned, the clicking of the keyboard. A few times he woke up gasping, clawing as pain speared his brain and eyes. Each time Dean jumped over and held him down until the agony subsided, then brought him a cold cloth for his forehead and sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Sam's back until he fell asleep again.
--------------------------------------------
“Sam? Sammy, wake up.”
Dean was nudging Sam gently and it took him a few moments to realize why everything was so dark but once it hit him he could feel the panic gripping him again. His heart sped up and he stiffened. Fuck, no. He wasn't going to let this break him. It was easier to fight now he knew what was happening and after a few deep breaths he could already feel the panic subsiding. Dean’s hand rested on his arm, waiting patiently until he blinked his eyes open and turned his head, staring in the direction of the voice.
“I’m… I’m awake. What is it?”
Dean squeezed his arm lightly before letting go, the bed next to Sam’s creaking as he sat back. “I think I've got it. Two of the ingredients we used in that spell? Mixed together and then burned, the smoke can cast The Curse of Pleiades, The Seven Sisters, which causes blindness and violent fevers.” Dean paused. “Among other things. Sound familiar?”
“Painfully.” Sam sat slowly up, fighting the nausea as the whole world threatened to overturn. The sheet stuck to his sweat-slick body and he moved to push it away only to realize he had nothing on but his boxers, which were twisted and damp and he bet they smelled. Dean must have helped him out of his dirty and sweaty clothes sometime during the night although Sam couldn't remember it. He pulled the sheet slowly back over his lap, concentrating again on what Dean had just said.
“Yeah, and I was closer to the blast, inhaled a lungful of that shit.” He swallowed. “Is it...? Can we reverse it?” He hated the way his voice trembled.
“Don’t be a fricking idiot, Sammy. ’Course we can. I just haven’t found out how yet. I need to...” Dean coughed and Sam flinched at the exhaustion in his voice. “... check some things out. Make some calls. There's an article...” He coughed again, swearing under his breath.
“Dean, it's alright. Take a break. Get some sleep.”
“I need to find... I don't have time for sleep, Sam. I need to find this damn cure and...”
“I can hear how tired you are, Dean. Bet you can hardly see the screen anymore.”
There was silence and then Dean's voice came back, sounding oddly faint. “This ain’t exactly my gig, bro, all this damn Googling. Could really use your geek skills right about now.”
“Hey, still a geek. Just a blind one.”
Dean hissed in his breath. “Don't- Don't fucking joke about that.”
There was a loud bang that made Sam jump and he swung his legs over the edge, the sheet slipping from his waist as he stood up and took a step forward. “Dean?”
“Just... You're gonna be fine.”
The voice was muffled and when Sam reached out, his fingers caught in Dean's hair. He was sitting on the bed, head down, and Sam could envision him slumped and resting his head in his hands in exhaustion.
“I won’t let it… I'll find some way to reverse this, ok?” Dean's voice was hardly above a whisper as if he was trying to convince himself rather than his brother. “Whatever it takes.”
“Dean, it's ok.” Sam ran his hand over Dean's head and down his neck to his left shoulder, letting it rest there. “I know. I trust you.”
Dean shook his head. “Much good that’s done you. Fuck. I should have thrown that stupid jar. I should have checked what possible effects it could have before...”
“Dean, stop. It's not your fault.” Dean’s obvious worry was making his stomach twist. “Come on, Dean. Will you please look at me?”
Dean gave a short hysteric laugh. “How do you know I'm not?”
“Blind, not deaf. Dean, you need sleep. What time is it anyway?”
“Don't know. Noon?”
“Jesus, Dean. Get your ass into bed now.”
“But...”
Something Dean had said earlier suddenly resurfaced Sam's brain and he frowned. “You said other things. What other things can it cause?”
The silence was frightening.
“Just... some stuff.”
“Dean, what other things?”
“It's not important. You got a mild dose so I'm sure...”
“Dean. Cut the crap and just tell me.”
He could feel the muscles in Dean's shoulders rippling under his palm.
“Possible facial disfigurement, like from small pox. Or just, you know, small pox. Which is always fun.” Dean cleared his throat. “Up to seven years of bad luck and accidents, one for each of the sisters.”
There was a low smacking sound and Sam just knew Dean was pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows in a typical Dean 'duh' expression.
“Well yeah, sure. Stumbling around, blind like bats. Got to result in a broken neck or two. Which brings us to…” deep breath. “… the usual horrible death, if the curse is allowed to run its course.” The sound of Dean swallowing was hardly audible above Sam’s own loud heartbeat. “Well, that’s not gonna happen so we can forget about that.” Dean paused. “Yeah, and then there’s...”
He coughed but differently this time. It sounded like he was.... smiling? A small shake of his shoulder's made Sam frown.
“What? And then there’s what, Dean?”
“And...” This time he could clearly hear the grin in Dean's voice. “...then there’s the possible side effect of ‘extreme homosexual lust’.”
Sam snapped his hand away. “What!?!”
“But look, your face looks alright. No uglier than usual. So I'm sure...”
Sam couldn't help laughing but it came out more like a nervous giggle. “It turns people gay?”
“Now 'turn' indicates that you weren't before and, Samantha, I gotta tell you...”
“Dean? So not funny. You...”
Sam blinked. The black void he was in seemed to be turning, twisting and looping until he wouldn't have known which way was what if he hadn't had his feet on the ground. Where they wouldn't stay for much longer if he didn't sit down right the fuck now. He retreated a few steps until the back of his knees hit the bed and then he sank down.
“Sammy?”
“I'm ok. Just... dizzy. Everything's spinning.”
His head felt too heavy to hold upright and he toppled over onto the pillows, shivering as sweat sprung out on his skin. “It's cold.” He fumbled around, weakly reaching for the discarded sheets, but was unable to find the right end as the twisted material kept getting tangled in his legs. “Fuck. I can't even...” He swallowed in angry frustration, hating the shiver in his voice. “Wonder how long it will take me to break my fucking neck.”
“Stop it, Sammy. Not gonna break your damn neck, are you? Like I would let you off that easily.” The sheets were tugged gently from his fist. “Here, let me.”
The bed dipped as Dean sat down beside Sam and pulled the sheet and blanket over him, tugging them around Sam like he used to do when they were kids. Sam reached back, fumbling for Dean's hand in the dark. “Thanks. Thank you.”
“No problem.”
Dean squeezed his fingers and shifted on the bed until he was sitting propped up, his other hand reaching out, resting hesitantly on Sam’s head for a moment before running soothing fingers through Sam’s sweat-tangled hair. The gentle movement and comfortable silence had its effect, making Sam relax and shut out the panicked thoughts threatening to drown his mind, and he could feel himself being slowly lulled to sleep.
He’d missed this, this closeness they used to have. It brought him back ten, fifteen years, cuddling in his brother’s lap on a lumpy hotel bed, the taste of Count Chocula and ice cream in his mouth and the subdued sound of Sunday morning cartoons playing in his ears. Dean shaking with quiet laughter and hushing Sam every time he got too loud. “Sshh, Sammy. Don’t wake up dad.” Pulling the blanket closer around them, his hand unconsciously settling on Sam’s nape, fingers fiddling with his hair. More than often he’d fallen asleep like that, waking up again to the smell of coffee and the rustling of a newspaper as their father sat down to scan the headlines for signs of paranormal activities.
Suddenly the bed dipped as Dean made to move away. Sam couldn't hide the tension that instantly grabbed him, his fingers curling around Dean's hand and at once the movement stopped.
“I could...” Dean paused then took a deep breath. “Maybe I should sleep over here. Got the other bed covered in research anyway.”
Sam swallowed, feeling small and stupid, but it still didn't keep him from nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”
“Ok. Just gonna get out of these jeans and brush my teeth and I’ll be right back.”
The bed dipped again, Dean's hand slipping from his fingers and he was left staring into the dark, trying to keep himself calm by listening to the routine sounds of his brother preparing for bed. He'd heard them a million times before but he'd never paid attention to them, not really.
Clothes being removed and laid out on a chair, ready in case they had to be grabbed quickly. Bare feet making hardly any sound at all as they crossed the floor. Water running and the sound of teeth being brushed. Rinsing, spitting. Drinking. Tap turned off. A slight pause and then the door was closed. Toilet lid lifted. Sam blushed as the muffled sound of pee rushing into the bowl reached him. It felt like he was eavesdropping and he suddenly had an image of Dean standing with closed eyes, dick in his hand, a look of relieved pleasure on his face as the pressure eased from his bladder.
A soft groan could be heard from behind the locked door and Sam rolled over on his other side, reciting Latin under his breath as he tried to give his brother at least a shot at privacy. When Dean returned and slipped under the covers, yawning loudly, his skin was slightly chilled and he smelled of Colgate and soap. There was a grunt and some shuffling as Dean puffed up the pillows and tried to get comfortable and then he lay still, breathing softly against Sam's neck.
“Just don't hump my leg, ok?”
Sam chuckled, grateful for Dean's attempt at humor despite the fact that Sam's whole world had just gone black and what if he never got better and Christ, fucking smallpox? Not to mention... yeah, well.
He bit his lip to keep from smiling, turned over on his back and nudged Dean playfully. “I don't know, man. Gay or not, how am I supposed to know you from a girl when it's so dark?”
He yelped when Dean's elbow stabbed his ribs. “Dude, if you don't know the difference you shouldn't be doing anything in the first place.”
“What difference?” Sam groped around, trying to keep back the grin as Dean squirmed and swore under his tickling fingers. “I can't feel any difference. Ok, not much in the boobs department but...”
His wrists were seized and pinned at the headboard, Dean's panting breath brushing his face. “Sam, I don't care how blind you are, if you don't lie still and shut the fuck up I'll fucking tie you up and gag you.”
“Again with the dirty fantasies, bro. Which one of us was supposed to turn gay again?”
He laughed as Dean let him go with a frustrated growl. They lay still panting for a while and then Sam rolled over on his side, slinging an arm over Dean's waist and burying his face in his neck, like he used to do when they were kids. “Wish I could see you.”
Dean tensed briefly but then he went slack again, his fingers returning to run soothingly through Sam's hair. “To be sure I'm not a girl?”
Sam shook his head, his nose bumping into Dean's ear. “To be sure that... To be sure.”
Dean's hand stilled before slowly resuming his stroking. “Yeah. Me too, Sammy. Me too.”
Sleep was crawling into Sam's bones, making him feel heavy and sluggish. He started to withdraw his arm, mumbling a “Sorry” as he knew it was probably suffocating Dean with its weight but Dean stopped him by laying warm fingers on his wrist, then slipping them into Sam's palm with a reassuring pressure. “It's all right.”
For some reason that made his eyes water and he squeezed them shut, hoping Dean didn't notice as he shifted a bit closer. “Night, Dean.”
Dean huffed. “It's about one pm. Not exactly night.”
“I wouldn't know.”
Silence.
“It's a lousy day anyway. Grey skies and rain. You're not missing anything.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
They both ignored the sounds of happy birds chirping outside the window.
Continued in part 2