Fic: Five times... 5. November 2006 - Salvation in Your Breath
Title: Five Times Dean Was Saved. And One Time He Wasn't. Part 5
Author: felisblanco
Fandom: SPN
Characters/Pairing: Dean/Sam
Word Count: 2331
5. November 2006 - Salvation in Your Breath
Every morning when Dean wakes up there are about five seconds that he doesn’t remember. Where everything is still alright. He can hear Sam snoring softly in the other bed, there are rays of sun sneaking through splits in the curtains and his body is lax from sleep.
And then it hits him.
Dad is dead. He and Sam are orphans. And it’s all his fault. His fault. His fucking fault.
And to think that is the smallest of his problems.
Every single morning this is what happens. Stages of utter panic; tense muscles, frantic heartbeat, feeling like he’s suffocating. Smothered with despair so paralyzing that he can’t imagine ever being able to get out of bed. Wanting nothing more than to just close his eyes and sleep until he withers away.
Then Sam starts to wake up and Dean forces himself to calm down, to shut it all in and hide it all away. By the time Sam has the sleep rubbed out of his eyes Dean is lying with his own shut tight, breathing deeply and evenly, seeming dead to the world.
Every single morning. He just has to get through it and then he will be all right for the rest of the day. He will be all right. He will be all right. He will…
His heart contracts in his chest, seeming to stop for a moment before speeding up until every muscle in his body goes rigid and he feels like he can’t breathe. God, it hurts. It hurts so bad he would cry if he could but he can’t. He can’t. He can’t give in and he can’t break down and he can’t…
He can’t do this! He can’t do this! He can’t do this!
Dad, please! Help me!
Sam rolls over on the other bed, one hand coming up to rub over his sleepy face and Dean freezes then slams his eyes shut. He listens to Sam grunt and yawn, then there’s silence for a second before Sam sits up, long legs swinging over the edge of the bed.
Dean doesn’t move, eyes still closed, the effort of keeping his breathing even making him dizzy.
After a while Sam stands up and stretches, then shuffles into the bathroom, half shutting the door behind him. Dean lies still, heart in his throat, listening to his brother yawning and clearing his throat, then slamming the toilet open, humming softly as he pees. Calm. Content.
Dean doesn’t doubt for a moment that Sam is grieving just as much as he is but it’s different for him. Maybe because he and their dad hadn’t been as close these last years. Maybe because Sam’s not burdened with any secrets whispered in his ear. Maybe because he’s not the one who practically killed the man.
Maybe because he’s not the one betraying every ounce of trust their father ever lay on him.
I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, dad. I never meant for it to happen. Not with him. Not him. I swear. Please, God, just make it stop.
He lies still as Sam showers and gets dressed, feigning sleep until the door closes behind his brother, off to fetch the obligatory coffee he believes is the only thing that’s able to wake Dean up in the morning.
Only when the sound of Sam’s footsteps fade away can Dean let out the breath he’s been holding. It’s loud and sounds more like a sob than a sigh and he rolls over on his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. Stop it. Get a grip. Sam will be back soon and he shouldn’t have to see him like this. He’s got to be strong. Got to keep his cool.
Breathe, breathe. Come on, you pathetic shit. What the fuck is wrong with you?
Sweat runs down his back, pooling at the base of his spine. He shivers and it turns into a vicious tremble that he can’t stop, no matter how hard he tries. His breath quickens, shallow gasps that make his lungs ache and his heart slam against his ribs.
Calm down. Calm down. Fucking breathe!
Everything seems to go dark, time and space sliding away, and the pain squeezes his chest like an ice-cold fist. Fuck. It’s never been this bad before. What the fuck is going on?
Shit. Shitshitshit. It’s his heart, it has to be. He’s having another heart attack. Fucking quack healer. Fucking lying Reaper. He’s gonna die for real this time and Sam will walk in here and find him and he’ll be dead, really dead and Sam’ll be all alone and he doesn’t know, he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know because Dean hasn’t found the courage to tell him. About the secret, about…
Couldn’t tell him… tell him that… tell him…
Oh God, Sammy. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
“Dean? Dean! What’s wrong? Dean!”
He’s being turned over and his hands that were clutching the sheets skitter to his chest, scratching, pressing. Sam is looming over him like a dark shadow against the light and suddenly Dean wants nothing more than to see his face, see his eyes, but it’s all a blur and he can’t… he can’t… Sam!
“Dean, what? What?” Sam’s hands flutter over Dean’s chest before pulling at his cramped fingers. “Your heart? You think it’s your heart? No. No, it can’t be.”
Think I’m imagining this? Think I’m fucking playing here?
Dean’s hands are being pried away from his chest and down to his sides. Then Sam’s soft hair is brushing his chin and Sam’s chilled ear burns Dean’s skin as it presses down above his heart. Dean fights to get his hands free, needing to touch Sam, to wrap his arms around his little brother and hold him there, feeling him as he himself slips away.
“Dean, you’ve got to breathe. I don’t think it’s your heart. It’s beating fast but it’s a strong beat. You’re not having a heart attack. You hear me, Dean? You’re panicking, you need to calm down.”
Calm down? Calm down!?! You try and calm down when you’re fucking dying, Sam!
His inhales are down to almost non-existent, just hiccupping in tiny particles of air that slip out again before being of any use. He can hear Sam talking to him, sounding far away even if he can feel those big hands running up his chest and then they’re enveloping his face, Sam’s warm breath brushing his lips.
“In-out. Come on, Dean. Breathe. In-out. In-out.”
I can’t! I can’t!
Suddenly Sam’s lips are there, pressing down on his, blowing air slowly into his mouth before pulling away, allowing him to exhale. His lips tingle and the shock stops his breathing altogether for a moment and he goes completely still, blinking up at his brother. Then he’s gasping, swallowing air that tastes of vanilla latte and winter. Sam nods, relief evident in his eyes.
“Come on, Dean. Breathe with me.”
This time when Sam’s lips touch Dean’s he sucks the air right out of Sam’s mouth. It’s warm and sweet and he doesn’t want to let it go, wants to keep it in his chest, close to his own cold heart. But Sam is looking at him with those big eyes, wide and glittering, mouth twisted in fear, holding his breath like he’s waiting for Dean to return it. It jumps out of him in a cough and Sam’s mouth is instantly there, renewing his oxygen. This time it goes down more easily and when Dean exhales he can feel the burn slowly leaving his lungs. One more time and then Sam pulls back, nodding at Dean in encouragement.
“Come on, just like that. You’re doing great.”
He should be happy but he doesn’t want to be doing great. He wants to be breathing Sam’s air, not this stale air that smells of mildew and panic. Wants to taste Sam’s coffee on his breath and share the warmth from his lips. Wants Sam’s fingers pressing against his jugular until their heartbeats match. Wants to feel him alive and warm and here.
“Good. Good. Do you feel dizzy? Need to throw up? Need anything?”
Yes. No. No.
He nods and shakes his head, hoping he’s getting the answers right. Sam is watching him with a look that shows he’s about half a breath away from crying so Dean uncurls his fist from Sam’s jacket and reaches up to cup Sam’s face.
“I’m… ok. Sammy.”
Sam’s breath hitches and he looks briefly away before fixing his gaze once again on Dean, nodding as if now when the danger is over he can’t retrieve his voice. They keep still, Sam’s hands still cradling Dean’s face, Dean’s palm resting on Sam’s cheek. Dean’s thumb instinctively moves across those high cheekbones, caressing the smooth skin like he did when Sammy was a little kid, fighting so hard to be strong, to not cry no matter how scared he was. Dean’s own fear is gone, his whole attention fixated on Sam and how to repair the damage he’s done to his brother’s faith.
He feels like they’d been struggling forever but the chill December cold still clinging to Sam’s skin tells Dean it’s only been minutes. Sam swallows, his lower lip trembling, and then he closes his eyes, turns his head and presses his lips into Dean’s palm.
Dean sucks in his breath, staring up at Sam in shock. Sam doesn’t move except to lean further into Dean’s touch, his breath slipping out of his nostrils to slide warm between Dean’s fingers.
“Sammy…”
He meant it as a question but it comes out as a moan and Sam’s fingers curl, brushing Dean’s ears. He shivers, not daring to move. This isn’t what it seems, what he wants it to be. It’s just Sam, scared and vulnerable, needing to assure himself that he’s not losing yet another person from his life. Dean is the last one, the only one.
Dean is his big brother. His brother. Oh God.
He closes his eyes for a moment, saving the look on Sam’s face and the feel of the warm hands on his face in his memory. It’s all he’s gonna get, but it’s enough. It will be enough.
When he opens his eyes again it’s just in time to see Sam turn back to face him, wet eyelashes blinking a few times before he’s cleared his eyes enough to focus on Dean again. He licks his lips, pink tongue slipping over dry skin.
“Dean?” Sam’s voice holds fear and uncertainty and something Dean can’t quite put his finger on.
“Yeah, Sammy.”
He gives Sam a shaky smile and is just about to tell him it was nothing. That everything’s fine and it was just a bad dream that took him by surprise. The lies are ready on his tongue but when he opens his mouth Sam’s lips silence him.
He freezes for a second but what his mind won’t grasp his body is quick to catch up on and before he knows what’s happening he’s parted his lips and Sam’s tongue slips inside. With Sam’s big hands still holding his head and Sam’s nose breathing against his, his hip pressed against Dean’s side… Dean feels wrapped up in Sam and it’s the safest he’s felt in a long time.
He should pull back, he should push Sam away, but this is everything he’s dreamed of and feared and he will gladly face the devil again and for a thousand years for just one moment of this.
Sam’s left hand slides into Dean’s hair, his right elbow pressing into the mattress on Dean’s other side as he moves his long body over until he’s lying half beside Dean, half on top of him. His weight feels solid and safe, holding Dean in place when he knows he should be jumping up and running away.
Because this is everything Dean’s devoted his life to keeping his brother safe from. Every evil thought, every sin, every demon a human heart can hold. Every promise he ever made to his father, every prayer he ever whispered in his mother’s memory, all of them broken and defiled. And still he can’t stop.
His hands run up Sam’s back, slipping under his t-shirt and shirt and hoodie and jacket, worshipping the warmth of Sam’s skin. It’s not desire, not lust. It was never really about that anyway. It’s about Sam and everything he is, everything Dean’s always dreamed he’d be.
When Sam finally pulls back Dean feels a moment of panic but Sam just looks at him, blinking in what seems to be surprise and daze. Then he ducks his head, a deep red blush painting his cheeks before looking up again, smiling shyly.
“Was it this?”
Dean swallows. “What?”
“That made you panic. Was it this?”
Dean hesitates, their dad’s words echoing in his head, but then he nods. Despite everything else, this has always been it. “Yeah. Yeah, Sammy.”
Sam’s smile is bright enough to chase all the other fears away anyway.
He slips one hand from Sam’s back and reaches up again, this time brushing his thumb over Sam’s kiss-swollen lips. “How did you…?”
“I didn’t. Just thought I’d waited long enough.” Sam grins. “For being such a ladies man you sure take your time seducing a guy, Dean.”
“That’s not…!” He doesn’t know whether to laugh or scowl. “This is not the same! Sam…”
“I know.” Sam’s face turns serious. “But I’m all right, Dean. This? Is not your fault. It’s not your burden to bear. Ok?”
“Sam. We shouldn’t… we can’t… Oh God.” He feels his breath quickening again but then Sam’s tongue is in his mouth and it just… stops.
He’s terrified and flailing and the whole world seems to be crumbling under his feet but it’s all getting pushed away by the warmth of Sam and the taste of Sam and the smell of Sam and really that is all he needs right now.
Concluded in 6. December 2006 - Casting the First Stone
Author: felisblanco
Fandom: SPN
Characters/Pairing: Dean/Sam
Word Count: 2331
5. November 2006 - Salvation in Your Breath
Every morning when Dean wakes up there are about five seconds that he doesn’t remember. Where everything is still alright. He can hear Sam snoring softly in the other bed, there are rays of sun sneaking through splits in the curtains and his body is lax from sleep.
And then it hits him.
Dad is dead. He and Sam are orphans. And it’s all his fault. His fault. His fucking fault.
And to think that is the smallest of his problems.
Every single morning this is what happens. Stages of utter panic; tense muscles, frantic heartbeat, feeling like he’s suffocating. Smothered with despair so paralyzing that he can’t imagine ever being able to get out of bed. Wanting nothing more than to just close his eyes and sleep until he withers away.
Then Sam starts to wake up and Dean forces himself to calm down, to shut it all in and hide it all away. By the time Sam has the sleep rubbed out of his eyes Dean is lying with his own shut tight, breathing deeply and evenly, seeming dead to the world.
Every single morning. He just has to get through it and then he will be all right for the rest of the day. He will be all right. He will be all right. He will…
His heart contracts in his chest, seeming to stop for a moment before speeding up until every muscle in his body goes rigid and he feels like he can’t breathe. God, it hurts. It hurts so bad he would cry if he could but he can’t. He can’t. He can’t give in and he can’t break down and he can’t…
He can’t do this! He can’t do this! He can’t do this!
Dad, please! Help me!
Sam rolls over on the other bed, one hand coming up to rub over his sleepy face and Dean freezes then slams his eyes shut. He listens to Sam grunt and yawn, then there’s silence for a second before Sam sits up, long legs swinging over the edge of the bed.
Dean doesn’t move, eyes still closed, the effort of keeping his breathing even making him dizzy.
After a while Sam stands up and stretches, then shuffles into the bathroom, half shutting the door behind him. Dean lies still, heart in his throat, listening to his brother yawning and clearing his throat, then slamming the toilet open, humming softly as he pees. Calm. Content.
Dean doesn’t doubt for a moment that Sam is grieving just as much as he is but it’s different for him. Maybe because he and their dad hadn’t been as close these last years. Maybe because Sam’s not burdened with any secrets whispered in his ear. Maybe because he’s not the one who practically killed the man.
Maybe because he’s not the one betraying every ounce of trust their father ever lay on him.
I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, dad. I never meant for it to happen. Not with him. Not him. I swear. Please, God, just make it stop.
He lies still as Sam showers and gets dressed, feigning sleep until the door closes behind his brother, off to fetch the obligatory coffee he believes is the only thing that’s able to wake Dean up in the morning.
Only when the sound of Sam’s footsteps fade away can Dean let out the breath he’s been holding. It’s loud and sounds more like a sob than a sigh and he rolls over on his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. Stop it. Get a grip. Sam will be back soon and he shouldn’t have to see him like this. He’s got to be strong. Got to keep his cool.
Breathe, breathe. Come on, you pathetic shit. What the fuck is wrong with you?
Sweat runs down his back, pooling at the base of his spine. He shivers and it turns into a vicious tremble that he can’t stop, no matter how hard he tries. His breath quickens, shallow gasps that make his lungs ache and his heart slam against his ribs.
Calm down. Calm down. Fucking breathe!
Everything seems to go dark, time and space sliding away, and the pain squeezes his chest like an ice-cold fist. Fuck. It’s never been this bad before. What the fuck is going on?
Shit. Shitshitshit. It’s his heart, it has to be. He’s having another heart attack. Fucking quack healer. Fucking lying Reaper. He’s gonna die for real this time and Sam will walk in here and find him and he’ll be dead, really dead and Sam’ll be all alone and he doesn’t know, he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know because Dean hasn’t found the courage to tell him. About the secret, about…
Couldn’t tell him… tell him that… tell him…
Oh God, Sammy. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
“Dean? Dean! What’s wrong? Dean!”
He’s being turned over and his hands that were clutching the sheets skitter to his chest, scratching, pressing. Sam is looming over him like a dark shadow against the light and suddenly Dean wants nothing more than to see his face, see his eyes, but it’s all a blur and he can’t… he can’t… Sam!
“Dean, what? What?” Sam’s hands flutter over Dean’s chest before pulling at his cramped fingers. “Your heart? You think it’s your heart? No. No, it can’t be.”
Think I’m imagining this? Think I’m fucking playing here?
Dean’s hands are being pried away from his chest and down to his sides. Then Sam’s soft hair is brushing his chin and Sam’s chilled ear burns Dean’s skin as it presses down above his heart. Dean fights to get his hands free, needing to touch Sam, to wrap his arms around his little brother and hold him there, feeling him as he himself slips away.
“Dean, you’ve got to breathe. I don’t think it’s your heart. It’s beating fast but it’s a strong beat. You’re not having a heart attack. You hear me, Dean? You’re panicking, you need to calm down.”
Calm down? Calm down!?! You try and calm down when you’re fucking dying, Sam!
His inhales are down to almost non-existent, just hiccupping in tiny particles of air that slip out again before being of any use. He can hear Sam talking to him, sounding far away even if he can feel those big hands running up his chest and then they’re enveloping his face, Sam’s warm breath brushing his lips.
“In-out. Come on, Dean. Breathe. In-out. In-out.”
I can’t! I can’t!
Suddenly Sam’s lips are there, pressing down on his, blowing air slowly into his mouth before pulling away, allowing him to exhale. His lips tingle and the shock stops his breathing altogether for a moment and he goes completely still, blinking up at his brother. Then he’s gasping, swallowing air that tastes of vanilla latte and winter. Sam nods, relief evident in his eyes.
“Come on, Dean. Breathe with me.”
This time when Sam’s lips touch Dean’s he sucks the air right out of Sam’s mouth. It’s warm and sweet and he doesn’t want to let it go, wants to keep it in his chest, close to his own cold heart. But Sam is looking at him with those big eyes, wide and glittering, mouth twisted in fear, holding his breath like he’s waiting for Dean to return it. It jumps out of him in a cough and Sam’s mouth is instantly there, renewing his oxygen. This time it goes down more easily and when Dean exhales he can feel the burn slowly leaving his lungs. One more time and then Sam pulls back, nodding at Dean in encouragement.
“Come on, just like that. You’re doing great.”
He should be happy but he doesn’t want to be doing great. He wants to be breathing Sam’s air, not this stale air that smells of mildew and panic. Wants to taste Sam’s coffee on his breath and share the warmth from his lips. Wants Sam’s fingers pressing against his jugular until their heartbeats match. Wants to feel him alive and warm and here.
“Good. Good. Do you feel dizzy? Need to throw up? Need anything?”
Yes. No. No.
He nods and shakes his head, hoping he’s getting the answers right. Sam is watching him with a look that shows he’s about half a breath away from crying so Dean uncurls his fist from Sam’s jacket and reaches up to cup Sam’s face.
“I’m… ok. Sammy.”
Sam’s breath hitches and he looks briefly away before fixing his gaze once again on Dean, nodding as if now when the danger is over he can’t retrieve his voice. They keep still, Sam’s hands still cradling Dean’s face, Dean’s palm resting on Sam’s cheek. Dean’s thumb instinctively moves across those high cheekbones, caressing the smooth skin like he did when Sammy was a little kid, fighting so hard to be strong, to not cry no matter how scared he was. Dean’s own fear is gone, his whole attention fixated on Sam and how to repair the damage he’s done to his brother’s faith.
He feels like they’d been struggling forever but the chill December cold still clinging to Sam’s skin tells Dean it’s only been minutes. Sam swallows, his lower lip trembling, and then he closes his eyes, turns his head and presses his lips into Dean’s palm.
Dean sucks in his breath, staring up at Sam in shock. Sam doesn’t move except to lean further into Dean’s touch, his breath slipping out of his nostrils to slide warm between Dean’s fingers.
“Sammy…”
He meant it as a question but it comes out as a moan and Sam’s fingers curl, brushing Dean’s ears. He shivers, not daring to move. This isn’t what it seems, what he wants it to be. It’s just Sam, scared and vulnerable, needing to assure himself that he’s not losing yet another person from his life. Dean is the last one, the only one.
Dean is his big brother. His brother. Oh God.
He closes his eyes for a moment, saving the look on Sam’s face and the feel of the warm hands on his face in his memory. It’s all he’s gonna get, but it’s enough. It will be enough.
When he opens his eyes again it’s just in time to see Sam turn back to face him, wet eyelashes blinking a few times before he’s cleared his eyes enough to focus on Dean again. He licks his lips, pink tongue slipping over dry skin.
“Dean?” Sam’s voice holds fear and uncertainty and something Dean can’t quite put his finger on.
“Yeah, Sammy.”
He gives Sam a shaky smile and is just about to tell him it was nothing. That everything’s fine and it was just a bad dream that took him by surprise. The lies are ready on his tongue but when he opens his mouth Sam’s lips silence him.
He freezes for a second but what his mind won’t grasp his body is quick to catch up on and before he knows what’s happening he’s parted his lips and Sam’s tongue slips inside. With Sam’s big hands still holding his head and Sam’s nose breathing against his, his hip pressed against Dean’s side… Dean feels wrapped up in Sam and it’s the safest he’s felt in a long time.
He should pull back, he should push Sam away, but this is everything he’s dreamed of and feared and he will gladly face the devil again and for a thousand years for just one moment of this.
Sam’s left hand slides into Dean’s hair, his right elbow pressing into the mattress on Dean’s other side as he moves his long body over until he’s lying half beside Dean, half on top of him. His weight feels solid and safe, holding Dean in place when he knows he should be jumping up and running away.
Because this is everything Dean’s devoted his life to keeping his brother safe from. Every evil thought, every sin, every demon a human heart can hold. Every promise he ever made to his father, every prayer he ever whispered in his mother’s memory, all of them broken and defiled. And still he can’t stop.
His hands run up Sam’s back, slipping under his t-shirt and shirt and hoodie and jacket, worshipping the warmth of Sam’s skin. It’s not desire, not lust. It was never really about that anyway. It’s about Sam and everything he is, everything Dean’s always dreamed he’d be.
When Sam finally pulls back Dean feels a moment of panic but Sam just looks at him, blinking in what seems to be surprise and daze. Then he ducks his head, a deep red blush painting his cheeks before looking up again, smiling shyly.
“Was it this?”
Dean swallows. “What?”
“That made you panic. Was it this?”
Dean hesitates, their dad’s words echoing in his head, but then he nods. Despite everything else, this has always been it. “Yeah. Yeah, Sammy.”
Sam’s smile is bright enough to chase all the other fears away anyway.
He slips one hand from Sam’s back and reaches up again, this time brushing his thumb over Sam’s kiss-swollen lips. “How did you…?”
“I didn’t. Just thought I’d waited long enough.” Sam grins. “For being such a ladies man you sure take your time seducing a guy, Dean.”
“That’s not…!” He doesn’t know whether to laugh or scowl. “This is not the same! Sam…”
“I know.” Sam’s face turns serious. “But I’m all right, Dean. This? Is not your fault. It’s not your burden to bear. Ok?”
“Sam. We shouldn’t… we can’t… Oh God.” He feels his breath quickening again but then Sam’s tongue is in his mouth and it just… stops.
He’s terrified and flailing and the whole world seems to be crumbling under his feet but it’s all getting pushed away by the warmth of Sam and the taste of Sam and the smell of Sam and really that is all he needs right now.
Concluded in 6. December 2006 - Casting the First Stone