Supernatural: The Best Is Yet to Be
Title: The Best Is Yet to Be
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean
Genre: So much Schmoop, it’s actually kind of obscene.
Rating: PG-13 for Language and Extremely Graphic Cuddling
Word Count: 1,441
Author’s Note: So, I’m the only person in fandom who loved this episode as much as I did. But I did, so DEAL WITH IT. Knocking out: “cuddling while sick” for schmoop_bingo and hitting the following clichés: “Episode Tags and Missing Scenes,” “Mutation/Physical Transformation,” and “Physical Imperfections.” Written for sparklybee for help_haiti as my third contribution to incestuous fictictactoe, claiming the “Birds of a Feather Flock Together” square. HERE’S TO WINCEST’S INEVITABLE TRIUMPH OVER TWINCEST, FOR TRULY IT IS THE GREATEST INCESTUOUS SHIP OF ALL TIME!! Tag, you’re it, devil bug. ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
Summary: Missing Scene from 05x07 - The Curious Case of Dean Winchester: Sam will always love his brother.
Sam closes the door swiftly behind Bobby and immediately presses his back against it. He looks exhausted, like he’s been hunting all day and is now attempting to hold off a mob of zombies, instead of one old guy in a wheel chair. Dean feels as tired as Sam looks, but that’s a whole other story.
“Good God, I thought he would never leave,” Sam says, still pressed to the motel room entrance.
“I guess he feels guilty since this is sort of all his fault.” Dean punctuates his words with a hacking cough and has to double check to make sure his lungs aren’t on the floor.
“I think he just wanted to talk fishing or something. You know, now that you’re old enough to be his grandfather.”
“Really not so cute right now, Sam.”
Dean pushes the covers down and slips into bed, doing his damnedest to get the lamp off without asking for help. He’s already drifting off a few minutes later when Sam starts pushing at him.
“Ah, my back. Fuck, dude, you have no idea how much that hurts.”
Sam huffs out a laugh. “Well then make room for me, jerk.”
“There’s no room in this bed, Sam.”
“We share smaller beds than this all the time. Besides, you’re tiny now.”
“Yeah, well, everything hurts and I need my space.”
Sam makes a speculative noise and a few seconds later, Dean hears the sound of heavy furniture scraping on the floor.
Dean finally accepts that he isn’t going to get any sleep until Sam calms down, because suddenly everything sounds ten times louder than it should.
“Are you seriously trying to push the beds together like we did when we were horny teenagers?”
“Actually, I was a horny teenager. You were just acting like one.” Sam flashes Dean a mischievous smile and continues his redecorating.
“My question remains unanswered.”
“I mean, I’d think it’s pretty obvious that I am? Though, of course, I’m forgetting…you can’t see very well, can you?”
“I can see just fine,” Dean says sourly.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” Dean squints at Sam across the room. He can’t see Sam’s hands, let alone his fingers, so he flicks his brother off.
“Lucky guess,” says Sam.
Dean snickers. “You know, you don’t have to do that. It won’t kill us to sleep in separate beds for one night.”
Dean hopes that Sam writes the slight tremor in his words off to age, because he doesn’t mean it, not at all. Sleeping curled into Sam is something Dean’s been doing for ten years, it’s the one thing they share-that they’ve always shared-no matter how bad things get, no matter how long it’s been since they fucked or how far apart they’ve grown in the last year. Dean knows his relationship with Sam isn’t what it used to be right now, probably never will be again, but he’s way more terrified of this tired, useless body than he’ll ever admit, and he needs his brother’s warmth and attention.
But Dean’s disgusting, all wrinkled skin and liver spots, and Sam is still Sam, six feet and four inches of muscles and tanned skin and it’s not like Sam wasn’t already supposed to be off-limits to Dean, but this is crossing a whole new set of lines Dean does not want to explore. It’s not fair to Sam to make him touch Dean at all right now and Dean can’t ask for it, can’t even admit he wants it.
“We always sleep together,” Sam says. Dean can hear the frown in his voice.
“Yeah, but I’m 80.”
“And I have gonorrhea-I believe me, I do not have any designs on your dick tonight.”
“But…still. I’m gross. I probably smell like cabbage.”
“You’re not gross, and you don’t smell any worse than usual. Which actually doesn’t really say much.” Sam has finally finished getting the beds even and slides in, snaking an arm around Dean’s chest. “We’re both damaged goods tonight, so, you know. Birds of a feather and all that good stuff.”
“Is that an incest joke? Dude, you make way too many incest jokes.”
“Oh, loosen up, gramps. It was pretty funny.”
Dean shivers as Sam presses against him, kisses him lightly on the shoulder.
“Really, man, it’s okay. You don’t have to do that right now.”
“Don’t ever have to. Don’t see why I shouldn’t want to.”
“Why the hell would you want that?” Dean doesn’t want to ask. Doesn’t want to hear Sam not have an answer, or acknowledge the fact that, if they can’t fix this and Dean somehow doesn’t die right away, he’s going to have to watch Sam find someone else, someone his own age. Dean would almost rather his years of poor life decisions catch up to him and send him packing than have to let go of his brother. “Is it ‘cause you’re scared I’m gonna croak tomorrow?”
“No one’s dying tomorrow, Dean, except maybe that Man Witch. I’m going to fix this. Just go to sleep and don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not worried,” Dean insists, and it’s true. That’s not what he’s worried about. Dean knew dying was at risk when he made the bet. Hell, the way things are going lately, it hadn’t really been one of the drawbacks.
Sam’s sitting on his side staring at Dean up close, running his fingers along the creases on his face, and Dean feels ugly enough right now without Sam poking at him like he’s a damned freak show.
“Sam, do you mind not gawking at me like I’m a fucking mummy?”
“Not…Dean, you’re gorgeous.” Sam moves down and kisses him, right on the lips, Dean feels grossed out on his behalf.
“Dude, no I’m not. Are you fucking high or something? Quit touching me.”
“The next time I see you like this, we’ll be old men.” Sam smiles his biggest smile and his fingers push through Dean’s hair.
“As if we’re making it this long.” Sam doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t agree. Usually, Sam will concede Dean’s point when he says shit like that, but right now his brother’s in some weird fantasy land and he’s not letting Dean take the stars out of his eyes.
“You’re gonna be a pain in the ass and I’m finally going to take care of you for a change. I like knowing what you’ll look like. It’s something to look forward to.”
“You get excited about really creepy things, Sammy,” Dean says, swallowing hard.
“As if you wouldn’t be doing the same thing in my shoes.”
Dean stops to think about it. He imagines Sam at 80, a shock of white hair, still stubbornly long and in his eyes, regardless of the patches where it’s missing. Dean thinks he’ll make a game out of trying to find dimples under all the wrinkles and…Sam will be beautiful, because seeing Sam like that will mean Dean did it-the one thing Dean’s cared about in his entire life: carrying Sam to that point, safe with a lifetime behind him, having squeezed every inch of life out of his body.
Dean is in love with the thought of it and he tries to shake it away. He never let himself imagine anything like that before. He knows he’ll be dead by then, whether Sam makes it or not, but now he’s hurting to see Sam grow old. He looks closely at his brother and can spot the toddler he’d taught the alphabet to a lifetime ago-Dean wants to know that in fifty years, the well-built hunter lying next to him will still be visible under laugh lines and stiff limbs.
“Nah, I’d be out looking for a twenty year old with double Ds if I got a get-out-of-jail-free card like this.”
Sam draws away, Dean can see how hurt he is and, it’s kind of weird, having Sam buy his bullshit like that. Sam usually knows better.
“You fucker. You think that’s what I’m going to do. You’re trying to tell me it’s okay if you’re still old tomorrow to, what? Find a fucking girlfriend?”
Dean winces. “It’s okay if you do, Sam. I’ll…I mean, I’ll get it.”
“Shut the fuck up and go to sleep before you give yourself a stroke. Or before I give you one.”
Sam tries to turn his back to Dean, but Dean grabs his arm, securing it in place, and curls into his brother’s body, the way he always does.
“Take care of me?”
Sam rests his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and doesn’t let go of him all night.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean
Genre: So much Schmoop, it’s actually kind of obscene.
Rating: PG-13 for Language and Extremely Graphic Cuddling
Word Count: 1,441
Author’s Note: So, I’m the only person in fandom who loved this episode as much as I did. But I did, so DEAL WITH IT. Knocking out: “cuddling while sick” for schmoop_bingo and hitting the following clichés: “Episode Tags and Missing Scenes,” “Mutation/Physical Transformation,” and “Physical Imperfections.” Written for sparklybee for help_haiti as my third contribution to incestuous fictictactoe, claiming the “Birds of a Feather Flock Together” square. HERE’S TO WINCEST’S INEVITABLE TRIUMPH OVER TWINCEST, FOR TRULY IT IS THE GREATEST INCESTUOUS SHIP OF ALL TIME!! Tag, you’re it, devil bug. ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
Summary: Missing Scene from 05x07 - The Curious Case of Dean Winchester: Sam will always love his brother.
Sam closes the door swiftly behind Bobby and immediately presses his back against it. He looks exhausted, like he’s been hunting all day and is now attempting to hold off a mob of zombies, instead of one old guy in a wheel chair. Dean feels as tired as Sam looks, but that’s a whole other story.
“Good God, I thought he would never leave,” Sam says, still pressed to the motel room entrance.
“I guess he feels guilty since this is sort of all his fault.” Dean punctuates his words with a hacking cough and has to double check to make sure his lungs aren’t on the floor.
“I think he just wanted to talk fishing or something. You know, now that you’re old enough to be his grandfather.”
“Really not so cute right now, Sam.”
Dean pushes the covers down and slips into bed, doing his damnedest to get the lamp off without asking for help. He’s already drifting off a few minutes later when Sam starts pushing at him.
“Ah, my back. Fuck, dude, you have no idea how much that hurts.”
Sam huffs out a laugh. “Well then make room for me, jerk.”
“There’s no room in this bed, Sam.”
“We share smaller beds than this all the time. Besides, you’re tiny now.”
“Yeah, well, everything hurts and I need my space.”
Sam makes a speculative noise and a few seconds later, Dean hears the sound of heavy furniture scraping on the floor.
Dean finally accepts that he isn’t going to get any sleep until Sam calms down, because suddenly everything sounds ten times louder than it should.
“Are you seriously trying to push the beds together like we did when we were horny teenagers?”
“Actually, I was a horny teenager. You were just acting like one.” Sam flashes Dean a mischievous smile and continues his redecorating.
“My question remains unanswered.”
“I mean, I’d think it’s pretty obvious that I am? Though, of course, I’m forgetting…you can’t see very well, can you?”
“I can see just fine,” Dean says sourly.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” Dean squints at Sam across the room. He can’t see Sam’s hands, let alone his fingers, so he flicks his brother off.
“Lucky guess,” says Sam.
Dean snickers. “You know, you don’t have to do that. It won’t kill us to sleep in separate beds for one night.”
Dean hopes that Sam writes the slight tremor in his words off to age, because he doesn’t mean it, not at all. Sleeping curled into Sam is something Dean’s been doing for ten years, it’s the one thing they share-that they’ve always shared-no matter how bad things get, no matter how long it’s been since they fucked or how far apart they’ve grown in the last year. Dean knows his relationship with Sam isn’t what it used to be right now, probably never will be again, but he’s way more terrified of this tired, useless body than he’ll ever admit, and he needs his brother’s warmth and attention.
But Dean’s disgusting, all wrinkled skin and liver spots, and Sam is still Sam, six feet and four inches of muscles and tanned skin and it’s not like Sam wasn’t already supposed to be off-limits to Dean, but this is crossing a whole new set of lines Dean does not want to explore. It’s not fair to Sam to make him touch Dean at all right now and Dean can’t ask for it, can’t even admit he wants it.
“We always sleep together,” Sam says. Dean can hear the frown in his voice.
“Yeah, but I’m 80.”
“And I have gonorrhea-I believe me, I do not have any designs on your dick tonight.”
“But…still. I’m gross. I probably smell like cabbage.”
“You’re not gross, and you don’t smell any worse than usual. Which actually doesn’t really say much.” Sam has finally finished getting the beds even and slides in, snaking an arm around Dean’s chest. “We’re both damaged goods tonight, so, you know. Birds of a feather and all that good stuff.”
“Is that an incest joke? Dude, you make way too many incest jokes.”
“Oh, loosen up, gramps. It was pretty funny.”
Dean shivers as Sam presses against him, kisses him lightly on the shoulder.
“Really, man, it’s okay. You don’t have to do that right now.”
“Don’t ever have to. Don’t see why I shouldn’t want to.”
“Why the hell would you want that?” Dean doesn’t want to ask. Doesn’t want to hear Sam not have an answer, or acknowledge the fact that, if they can’t fix this and Dean somehow doesn’t die right away, he’s going to have to watch Sam find someone else, someone his own age. Dean would almost rather his years of poor life decisions catch up to him and send him packing than have to let go of his brother. “Is it ‘cause you’re scared I’m gonna croak tomorrow?”
“No one’s dying tomorrow, Dean, except maybe that Man Witch. I’m going to fix this. Just go to sleep and don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not worried,” Dean insists, and it’s true. That’s not what he’s worried about. Dean knew dying was at risk when he made the bet. Hell, the way things are going lately, it hadn’t really been one of the drawbacks.
Sam’s sitting on his side staring at Dean up close, running his fingers along the creases on his face, and Dean feels ugly enough right now without Sam poking at him like he’s a damned freak show.
“Sam, do you mind not gawking at me like I’m a fucking mummy?”
“Not…Dean, you’re gorgeous.” Sam moves down and kisses him, right on the lips, Dean feels grossed out on his behalf.
“Dude, no I’m not. Are you fucking high or something? Quit touching me.”
“The next time I see you like this, we’ll be old men.” Sam smiles his biggest smile and his fingers push through Dean’s hair.
“As if we’re making it this long.” Sam doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t agree. Usually, Sam will concede Dean’s point when he says shit like that, but right now his brother’s in some weird fantasy land and he’s not letting Dean take the stars out of his eyes.
“You’re gonna be a pain in the ass and I’m finally going to take care of you for a change. I like knowing what you’ll look like. It’s something to look forward to.”
“You get excited about really creepy things, Sammy,” Dean says, swallowing hard.
“As if you wouldn’t be doing the same thing in my shoes.”
Dean stops to think about it. He imagines Sam at 80, a shock of white hair, still stubbornly long and in his eyes, regardless of the patches where it’s missing. Dean thinks he’ll make a game out of trying to find dimples under all the wrinkles and…Sam will be beautiful, because seeing Sam like that will mean Dean did it-the one thing Dean’s cared about in his entire life: carrying Sam to that point, safe with a lifetime behind him, having squeezed every inch of life out of his body.
Dean is in love with the thought of it and he tries to shake it away. He never let himself imagine anything like that before. He knows he’ll be dead by then, whether Sam makes it or not, but now he’s hurting to see Sam grow old. He looks closely at his brother and can spot the toddler he’d taught the alphabet to a lifetime ago-Dean wants to know that in fifty years, the well-built hunter lying next to him will still be visible under laugh lines and stiff limbs.
“Nah, I’d be out looking for a twenty year old with double Ds if I got a get-out-of-jail-free card like this.”
Sam draws away, Dean can see how hurt he is and, it’s kind of weird, having Sam buy his bullshit like that. Sam usually knows better.
“You fucker. You think that’s what I’m going to do. You’re trying to tell me it’s okay if you’re still old tomorrow to, what? Find a fucking girlfriend?”
Dean winces. “It’s okay if you do, Sam. I’ll…I mean, I’ll get it.”
“Shut the fuck up and go to sleep before you give yourself a stroke. Or before I give you one.”
Sam tries to turn his back to Dean, but Dean grabs his arm, securing it in place, and curls into his brother’s body, the way he always does.
“Take care of me?”
Sam rests his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and doesn’t let go of him all night.