fic: "Evening's Empire" - Sam/Dean - PG
Title: Evening's Empire
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG
Warning: angst, slight stream of conciousness on Sam's part, and some cuddling.
Spoilers: 4.1
Length: 1,283
Summary: Sam can't quite believe that his brother is back.
A/N: This is dedicated to sakura_no_mi , who began her journey into the world of Supernatural at the same time I did. My very first Sam/Dean, my first time writing Sam, and it's all for you, bb.
A/N 2: The title is stolen from "Mr. Tambourine Man" by Bob Dylan. While this is NOT a song!fic, I did use that song, and Dylan's "Not Dark Yet," for inspiration.
Feedback. Yadda yadda. You know the drill.
----
The night Dean came back from Hell was the first night since Sam was eleven years old that the brothers willingly shared a bed together. Before that, they only shared out of habit, and since then only when it was necessary. The night Dean returned it was out of simple need.
Sam sat in a chair at the small table in their motel room. His laptop was opened in front of him, more for appearances than anything else, left idling quietly on its own because Sam was more interested in watching Dean out of the corner of his eye. The way he slightly migrated from the bedroom, to the bathroom, and back again, casually going through his pre-bedtime routine as if he hadn't just spent the last four months literally dead and buried. Sam supposed it was one of those habits, you know? Too ingrained after years of conditioning for a simple bout with death to break?
Dean yawned loudly and startled Sam out of his reverie.
"I'm hittin' the hay, Sammy. I'm fuckin' exhausted," he laughed a little as if something about the idea amused him, and he crawled into bed. "Don't stare at that screen for too long or your eyes'll fall out."
Dean flopped down on his side, shifted a little, then rolled onto his back, and settled. Sam could instantly see him relax and his breathing even out, and soon he heard the soft snore from somewhere under the covers letting him know Dean was finally asleep.
Sam watched him for a few minutes longer. The steady rise and fall of his chest, and the way his leg twitched a little under the covers as he fell deeper into sleep. Sam frowned and bit at the inside of his cheek. There was something...he wasn't sure...
He quickly tore his attention away from his brother and closed his computer, then he stood and quietly made his way through the dark to the bathroom. He flipped the light on, and shut the door behind him.
He went to the sink and leaned against the edge, resting his weight on his hands. He stared idly down at his fingers, watching the color fade from them and then return as he alternately gripped and let go of the cracked porcelain. He stayed like that for a long moment before he slowly raised his gaze to his reflection in the mirror. He thought about those people in movies, how they always stare into the mirror and find some big revelation in the reflection of their eyes. He could never find anything so significant. Maybe he was doing it wrong. Maybe you had to look at just the right angle or time of day. All he ever saw was the same face. Familiar. Nothing particularly interesting or unique. His hair was a little too long, and he could use a shave. There were tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and a faint scar on the right side of his jaw from when he face-planted in the gravel at eight years old, that no one besides himself and maybe Dean knew about. Jess might have noticed, long ago, but he couldn't remember.
There were no messages in the depths of his eyes, just years worth of evidence of a hard life on the road and too little sleep.
He didn't have time for revelations.
He finished brushing his teeth and changing out of his clothes and he flipped off the light and went back into the room. He threw his jeans and t-shirt down on his bag in the floor and then crawled mindlessly into his bed. He lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling, thinking back over the last eight hours.
It had been eight hours. Eight hours since Dean came back. Inexplicably. He was back and Sam couldn't believe it. He hadn't had time to believe it. Just accepted it on good faith that it was true and not just some dream he was going to wake from any moment.
But it was weird, wasn't it? Why now, after so long, and not long enough. Why now? Was there a reason? Maybe there wasn't a reason. Usually there was a reason though. Even the monster under your bed had a reason for being there. Maybe...Sam didn't know. He had his brother back. That should be enough, right?
Right?
Maybe it was the suddenness of it all, everything happening too fast all at once, but Sam felt like he was drowning. He was scared of losing his breath and more scared of losing his brother. Again. For good maybe, next time. And he couldn't handle it. It was too much.
He threw the covers back on his bed, and stood up. He made his way to Dean's bed and carefully slid under the covers next to him. He laid down facing Dean, who had rolled back over onto his side at some point while Sam was in the bathroom.
Sam lay there, studying his brother, his normally hard features softened in sleep. He was beautiful. Sam took a deep breath and let it out heavily through his nose.
"What're you doin'," Dean slurred sleepily, and Sam jump a little in surprise.
Sam bit his lip and frowned. He didn't know what to say. He wasn't even sure why he'd gotten into bed with Dean, other than he needed to. He had his brother back, but...did he really? Was Dean really back?
Sam suddenly realized he was crying. He sniffed a little and tried to speak but all that came out was a small, helpless sound that made Dean open his eyes and look at Sam with something resembling concern in the faint moonlight shining through the curtains on the window. He frowned, and Sam sniffed again.
Dean wordlessly reached out, and Sam didn't even question it. He just scooted in closer to his brother, fitting himself against Dean's chest until their noses were almost touching. Dean's arms wrapped around him, warm and heavy with sleep, and Sam slid his arms around Dean, pressing his palms flat to Dean's back, feeling Dean's body expand under his soft, worn t-shirt with every breath he took. Dean's hand carded through Sam's hair at the nape of his neck, lazily twisting the long strands through his fingers as he sighed and closed his eyes again.
Sam slid his leg between Dean's, their legs tangling together under the sheets, and he settled into the warmth of his brother. The one important thing left in his world. Taken from him, and then given back for no good reason, but good enough that Sam didn't have the heart to question it too closely.
He inhaled deeply. Breathing in Dean's scent. Leather and soap. No change. He smelled the same. An earthy, lived-in smell that was Dean. Sam pressed closer, nuzzling against Dean's cheek. Dean made a soft noise in his sleep, but made no move to protest, so Sam pressed on. He ran his nose slowly over Dean's cheek and down along his nose, breathing as deep as he could, holding the scent inside him like a drug; a deep hit of his brother, curling inside his lungs and reminding him who he was. Sam scooted down slightly and tipped Dean's head back a little so he could bury his nose in that soft, warm spot where Dean's neck met his jaw. He stayed there, wrapped around his brother, breathing him in, the life and warmth of him, alive and real and here.
Sam fell asleep knowing that whatever happened Dean had come back to him, if only in his dreams.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG
Warning: angst, slight stream of conciousness on Sam's part, and some cuddling.
Spoilers: 4.1
Length: 1,283
Summary: Sam can't quite believe that his brother is back.
A/N: This is dedicated to sakura_no_mi , who began her journey into the world of Supernatural at the same time I did. My very first Sam/Dean, my first time writing Sam, and it's all for you, bb.
A/N 2: The title is stolen from "Mr. Tambourine Man" by Bob Dylan. While this is NOT a song!fic, I did use that song, and Dylan's "Not Dark Yet," for inspiration.
Feedback. Yadda yadda. You know the drill.
----
The night Dean came back from Hell was the first night since Sam was eleven years old that the brothers willingly shared a bed together. Before that, they only shared out of habit, and since then only when it was necessary. The night Dean returned it was out of simple need.
Sam sat in a chair at the small table in their motel room. His laptop was opened in front of him, more for appearances than anything else, left idling quietly on its own because Sam was more interested in watching Dean out of the corner of his eye. The way he slightly migrated from the bedroom, to the bathroom, and back again, casually going through his pre-bedtime routine as if he hadn't just spent the last four months literally dead and buried. Sam supposed it was one of those habits, you know? Too ingrained after years of conditioning for a simple bout with death to break?
Dean yawned loudly and startled Sam out of his reverie.
"I'm hittin' the hay, Sammy. I'm fuckin' exhausted," he laughed a little as if something about the idea amused him, and he crawled into bed. "Don't stare at that screen for too long or your eyes'll fall out."
Dean flopped down on his side, shifted a little, then rolled onto his back, and settled. Sam could instantly see him relax and his breathing even out, and soon he heard the soft snore from somewhere under the covers letting him know Dean was finally asleep.
Sam watched him for a few minutes longer. The steady rise and fall of his chest, and the way his leg twitched a little under the covers as he fell deeper into sleep. Sam frowned and bit at the inside of his cheek. There was something...he wasn't sure...
He quickly tore his attention away from his brother and closed his computer, then he stood and quietly made his way through the dark to the bathroom. He flipped the light on, and shut the door behind him.
He went to the sink and leaned against the edge, resting his weight on his hands. He stared idly down at his fingers, watching the color fade from them and then return as he alternately gripped and let go of the cracked porcelain. He stayed like that for a long moment before he slowly raised his gaze to his reflection in the mirror. He thought about those people in movies, how they always stare into the mirror and find some big revelation in the reflection of their eyes. He could never find anything so significant. Maybe he was doing it wrong. Maybe you had to look at just the right angle or time of day. All he ever saw was the same face. Familiar. Nothing particularly interesting or unique. His hair was a little too long, and he could use a shave. There were tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and a faint scar on the right side of his jaw from when he face-planted in the gravel at eight years old, that no one besides himself and maybe Dean knew about. Jess might have noticed, long ago, but he couldn't remember.
There were no messages in the depths of his eyes, just years worth of evidence of a hard life on the road and too little sleep.
He didn't have time for revelations.
He finished brushing his teeth and changing out of his clothes and he flipped off the light and went back into the room. He threw his jeans and t-shirt down on his bag in the floor and then crawled mindlessly into his bed. He lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling, thinking back over the last eight hours.
It had been eight hours. Eight hours since Dean came back. Inexplicably. He was back and Sam couldn't believe it. He hadn't had time to believe it. Just accepted it on good faith that it was true and not just some dream he was going to wake from any moment.
But it was weird, wasn't it? Why now, after so long, and not long enough. Why now? Was there a reason? Maybe there wasn't a reason. Usually there was a reason though. Even the monster under your bed had a reason for being there. Maybe...Sam didn't know. He had his brother back. That should be enough, right?
Right?
Maybe it was the suddenness of it all, everything happening too fast all at once, but Sam felt like he was drowning. He was scared of losing his breath and more scared of losing his brother. Again. For good maybe, next time. And he couldn't handle it. It was too much.
He threw the covers back on his bed, and stood up. He made his way to Dean's bed and carefully slid under the covers next to him. He laid down facing Dean, who had rolled back over onto his side at some point while Sam was in the bathroom.
Sam lay there, studying his brother, his normally hard features softened in sleep. He was beautiful. Sam took a deep breath and let it out heavily through his nose.
"What're you doin'," Dean slurred sleepily, and Sam jump a little in surprise.
Sam bit his lip and frowned. He didn't know what to say. He wasn't even sure why he'd gotten into bed with Dean, other than he needed to. He had his brother back, but...did he really? Was Dean really back?
Sam suddenly realized he was crying. He sniffed a little and tried to speak but all that came out was a small, helpless sound that made Dean open his eyes and look at Sam with something resembling concern in the faint moonlight shining through the curtains on the window. He frowned, and Sam sniffed again.
Dean wordlessly reached out, and Sam didn't even question it. He just scooted in closer to his brother, fitting himself against Dean's chest until their noses were almost touching. Dean's arms wrapped around him, warm and heavy with sleep, and Sam slid his arms around Dean, pressing his palms flat to Dean's back, feeling Dean's body expand under his soft, worn t-shirt with every breath he took. Dean's hand carded through Sam's hair at the nape of his neck, lazily twisting the long strands through his fingers as he sighed and closed his eyes again.
Sam slid his leg between Dean's, their legs tangling together under the sheets, and he settled into the warmth of his brother. The one important thing left in his world. Taken from him, and then given back for no good reason, but good enough that Sam didn't have the heart to question it too closely.
He inhaled deeply. Breathing in Dean's scent. Leather and soap. No change. He smelled the same. An earthy, lived-in smell that was Dean. Sam pressed closer, nuzzling against Dean's cheek. Dean made a soft noise in his sleep, but made no move to protest, so Sam pressed on. He ran his nose slowly over Dean's cheek and down along his nose, breathing as deep as he could, holding the scent inside him like a drug; a deep hit of his brother, curling inside his lungs and reminding him who he was. Sam scooted down slightly and tipped Dean's head back a little so he could bury his nose in that soft, warm spot where Dean's neck met his jaw. He stayed there, wrapped around his brother, breathing him in, the life and warmth of him, alive and real and here.
Sam fell asleep knowing that whatever happened Dean had come back to him, if only in his dreams.