Fic: Where we belong
Posting this over the weekend, hoping it'll go by unnoticed.
Title: Where we belong
Author: joans23
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Words: 1,600
Summary: They've made it this far and they've still got each other, but now what?
Notes: Written for whenthewarsover. So much thanks to the lovely blincolin for a some intensive beta work. Any remaining mistakes are because of my goddamn stubbornness. Title and cut from Bryan Adams.
Sam believes in fairy tales.
Dean should know, he read most of them to him when he was growing up. Snow White and Cinderella and all those other fucked-up chicks who believed the key to happiness was finding your one true love. And then, the deal breaker, the big fat lie at the end that made bile rise in his throat until he could barely breathe. They lived happily ever after. Bullshit. Dean knew better.
He'd found his true love. It was the key to a lot of things, that much is true, but happiness sure as hell isn't one of them. And now ... now they've managed to make it through to the end with ever after stretched out ahead of them, as far and wide as the horizon speeding past their windows.
Dean doesn't lift his foot from the gas pedal, but risks a quick sideways glance over at Sam before snapping his eyes back onto the road. He doesn't know where they're going, just that Sam told him to drive. Dean doesn't know what's supposed to happen next, what to do. He just wants to keep on driving like this, with Sam occupying the seat next to him, going after the next bad thing that needs killing. Maybe stopping for pie along the way. God knows there's still enough bad things out there to keep them busy until bad luck or old age take them. The world not ending didn't change that. God knows.
He runs through the list of his favourite pies in his head, wondering what he'll order first. Cherry, apple or pumpkin, or pecan thick with the sweetest caramel and a crust sugary enough to crunch between his teeth. He hasn't had pecan pie since ... he can't even remember. He'll stuff Sam's mouth full of it, feeding him forkful after forkful until he can hardly chew and then, when he's laughing wide and carefree, he'll kiss his brother and lick every last crumb from his lips. He can almost taste it.
Dean looks over at Sam again, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face as he opens his mouth to ask Sammy if he's hungry yet. The words die on his lips, the promise of heavenly sweetness vanishing from his tongue. Sam is turned ever so slightly away from him, staring down into the footwell and Dean notices that his hair is too long again and curling into his eyes. His hands, clenched into loose fists, rest carefully on his thighs. Sam is all tense muscle held deceptively still and loose. Dean doesn't need to be a psychic to see the barely contained violence still running through him like water held captive inside a rock. He's pulling it into himself deeper and deeper, letting it drain the life from him until it'll freeze and tear him apart.
"Sam," Dean says, calling Sam back to him, needing his brother to look at him and be Sam again.
"Yeah?" Sam says, distant. Dean doesn't answer, just lets the silence stretch out into the gathering dusk until Sam swings his eyes up to meet his.
"We pulling into that motel coming up on the left?" Dean asks.
Sam nods, curling one end of his mouth up into a little smile as shadows fall into the shallow dimple in his cheek. They know each other too well. Sam shifts his attention down to Dean's hand on the gearstick and Dean feels that familiar warmth settle low in his belly.
Dean lets Sam have the first shower, but finishes his quickly when the water runs cold. Sam's already in bed when he steps outside, curled on his side away from Dean, but the sheet behind him is turned down. Dean drops his towel in a wet heap, curling up against him, perfectly fitting into the spaces where Sam ends. Sam's hair is still damp beneath Dean's lips as he plants a kiss against the back of his neck. He lifts his arm and lets Dean slip his beneath it, pulling Sam tighter against him with his hand over Sam's heart.
Dean wakes up on his back with Sam draped over his chest. Sam moves when Dean does, kissing him good morning, but his eyes are closed and Dean can still feel him holding back. Sam's afraid that letting go will also pave the way for all that darkness inside of him to run free. Dean can relate. Doesn't mean it doesn't still piss him off though.
Sam pushes the newspaper across the table at him over breakfast, leads circled in red pen hard enough that the page is torn down the middle. Dean knows this isn't what Sam wants, he's doing it only because he thinks it's what Dean wants. Dean lets him, biding his time until Sam either crumbles and tells him or until he can figure it out. He's not a smart man, he knows this, but there's never been anything he hasn't been able to decipher where his brother is concerned.
They vanquish a pair of ghosts that day, a simple salt and burn. If only it could all be that easy. Dean rolls his shoulders, loves the burning ache in his muscles as he swings the shovel over and over. Sam does his part, digging side by side with his brother, almost just like old times. Almost.
It's past midnight when they get back to the motel. They share a shower, washing the graveyard dust from each other's bodies and Dean hisses at the sting of soap getting into the fresh blisters that broke through the softened calluses of his hands. Sam lifts them to his lips, licks at the wounds with the tip of his tongue until Dean wrenches his hand away and presses his lips to Sam's instead.
Dean takes his time in spreading Sam out on the bed, driving him crazy with his fingers, his lips, his tongue until finally, as the sun comes up and light starts streaming in through the windows, he can look into Sam's eyes as he pushes his cock inside him. What he sees there causes his hips to stutter and still for a moment. It's all laid bare for him; what Sam needs, all he's ever needed.
There's pie for breakfast and they grin at each other over the black coffee they use to wash down double helpings of Berried Treasure Pie with whipped cream. They go back to the room to fuck again, Dean moaning as Sam bends him over the foot of the bed, before they hit the road.
Dean knows where they're going now.
If Sam notices them steadily working their way north, he doesn't mention it. Dean tries not to make it too obvious, goes sideways sometimes and even a little backwards, safely hiding behind the guise of working jobs. And if Dean happens to rob a few banks while he's got Sam holed up in yet another library doing unnecessary research, that's his business.
Sam still follows where Dean leads, letting Dean take care of him without question. He smiles more readily though, looks at Dean more, lets him in.
Dean finally slows down when they hit Blissfield, Michigan. He knows a guy who can take care of the paperwork; Dean remembers helping Dad get rid of a nasty poltergeist that nearly killed his daughter. He raises an eyebrow at the bag of cash Dean dumps onto his desk, but he's still too grateful for everything they did to ask any questions. It takes a couple of days to get it all into place, but they arrived just in time for the annual River Raisin Festival and Dean keeps Sam busy with carnival rides, travelling between the beer tent and the tractor pull and blowing him around every semi-darkened corner.
When he gets Pete's voice message saying that they're all set, Dean leaves Sam at the motel to pack up and takes the scenic route down to the car dealership. The Impala purrs beneath his hands, glides where he steers her and silently accepts his goodbye. Parking her in the lot and handing the keys over stabs through his heart like a blunt silver stake, but where they're going, she can no longer take them.
There's no more hiding when he comes to a screeching stop in the almost empty parking lot, Sam's eyes grown wide at the sight of in the black SUV. Before he can ask, Dean holds up a hand.
"Trust me?" he says and Sam doesn't have to answer with my life. It's there in the sure nod of his head.
They finish loading their stuff into the back and then it's a couple of hours drive before they cross the border into Canada. Dean carelessly throws the fake I.D.'s that get them across out of the window, not looking or caring where they fall. They reach the foot of Heart Mountain with plenty of daylight to spare, but even with the SUV's four wheel drive, it's a hard climb through the valley's tangle of trees, living and dead. The sun is rapidly descending as they're forced to park the car and cross the last five hundred yards on foot.
Dean stops in front of a sturdy log cabin, breath coming too fast in thick white plumes as he lets the duffel drop from his shoulder.
"What's this?" Sam asks softly, stepping up next to him.
"It's ours," Dean answers, just as softly. He hears his brother laugh, throaty and free, and Dean thinks maybe he can start believing in fairy tales too.
~Happily Ever After.
Title: Where we belong
Author: joans23
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Words: 1,600
Summary: They've made it this far and they've still got each other, but now what?
Notes: Written for whenthewarsover. So much thanks to the lovely blincolin for a some intensive beta work. Any remaining mistakes are because of my goddamn stubbornness. Title and cut from Bryan Adams.
Sam believes in fairy tales.
Dean should know, he read most of them to him when he was growing up. Snow White and Cinderella and all those other fucked-up chicks who believed the key to happiness was finding your one true love. And then, the deal breaker, the big fat lie at the end that made bile rise in his throat until he could barely breathe. They lived happily ever after. Bullshit. Dean knew better.
He'd found his true love. It was the key to a lot of things, that much is true, but happiness sure as hell isn't one of them. And now ... now they've managed to make it through to the end with ever after stretched out ahead of them, as far and wide as the horizon speeding past their windows.
Dean doesn't lift his foot from the gas pedal, but risks a quick sideways glance over at Sam before snapping his eyes back onto the road. He doesn't know where they're going, just that Sam told him to drive. Dean doesn't know what's supposed to happen next, what to do. He just wants to keep on driving like this, with Sam occupying the seat next to him, going after the next bad thing that needs killing. Maybe stopping for pie along the way. God knows there's still enough bad things out there to keep them busy until bad luck or old age take them. The world not ending didn't change that. God knows.
He runs through the list of his favourite pies in his head, wondering what he'll order first. Cherry, apple or pumpkin, or pecan thick with the sweetest caramel and a crust sugary enough to crunch between his teeth. He hasn't had pecan pie since ... he can't even remember. He'll stuff Sam's mouth full of it, feeding him forkful after forkful until he can hardly chew and then, when he's laughing wide and carefree, he'll kiss his brother and lick every last crumb from his lips. He can almost taste it.
Dean looks over at Sam again, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face as he opens his mouth to ask Sammy if he's hungry yet. The words die on his lips, the promise of heavenly sweetness vanishing from his tongue. Sam is turned ever so slightly away from him, staring down into the footwell and Dean notices that his hair is too long again and curling into his eyes. His hands, clenched into loose fists, rest carefully on his thighs. Sam is all tense muscle held deceptively still and loose. Dean doesn't need to be a psychic to see the barely contained violence still running through him like water held captive inside a rock. He's pulling it into himself deeper and deeper, letting it drain the life from him until it'll freeze and tear him apart.
"Sam," Dean says, calling Sam back to him, needing his brother to look at him and be Sam again.
"Yeah?" Sam says, distant. Dean doesn't answer, just lets the silence stretch out into the gathering dusk until Sam swings his eyes up to meet his.
"We pulling into that motel coming up on the left?" Dean asks.
Sam nods, curling one end of his mouth up into a little smile as shadows fall into the shallow dimple in his cheek. They know each other too well. Sam shifts his attention down to Dean's hand on the gearstick and Dean feels that familiar warmth settle low in his belly.
Dean lets Sam have the first shower, but finishes his quickly when the water runs cold. Sam's already in bed when he steps outside, curled on his side away from Dean, but the sheet behind him is turned down. Dean drops his towel in a wet heap, curling up against him, perfectly fitting into the spaces where Sam ends. Sam's hair is still damp beneath Dean's lips as he plants a kiss against the back of his neck. He lifts his arm and lets Dean slip his beneath it, pulling Sam tighter against him with his hand over Sam's heart.
Dean wakes up on his back with Sam draped over his chest. Sam moves when Dean does, kissing him good morning, but his eyes are closed and Dean can still feel him holding back. Sam's afraid that letting go will also pave the way for all that darkness inside of him to run free. Dean can relate. Doesn't mean it doesn't still piss him off though.
Sam pushes the newspaper across the table at him over breakfast, leads circled in red pen hard enough that the page is torn down the middle. Dean knows this isn't what Sam wants, he's doing it only because he thinks it's what Dean wants. Dean lets him, biding his time until Sam either crumbles and tells him or until he can figure it out. He's not a smart man, he knows this, but there's never been anything he hasn't been able to decipher where his brother is concerned.
They vanquish a pair of ghosts that day, a simple salt and burn. If only it could all be that easy. Dean rolls his shoulders, loves the burning ache in his muscles as he swings the shovel over and over. Sam does his part, digging side by side with his brother, almost just like old times. Almost.
It's past midnight when they get back to the motel. They share a shower, washing the graveyard dust from each other's bodies and Dean hisses at the sting of soap getting into the fresh blisters that broke through the softened calluses of his hands. Sam lifts them to his lips, licks at the wounds with the tip of his tongue until Dean wrenches his hand away and presses his lips to Sam's instead.
Dean takes his time in spreading Sam out on the bed, driving him crazy with his fingers, his lips, his tongue until finally, as the sun comes up and light starts streaming in through the windows, he can look into Sam's eyes as he pushes his cock inside him. What he sees there causes his hips to stutter and still for a moment. It's all laid bare for him; what Sam needs, all he's ever needed.
There's pie for breakfast and they grin at each other over the black coffee they use to wash down double helpings of Berried Treasure Pie with whipped cream. They go back to the room to fuck again, Dean moaning as Sam bends him over the foot of the bed, before they hit the road.
Dean knows where they're going now.
If Sam notices them steadily working their way north, he doesn't mention it. Dean tries not to make it too obvious, goes sideways sometimes and even a little backwards, safely hiding behind the guise of working jobs. And if Dean happens to rob a few banks while he's got Sam holed up in yet another library doing unnecessary research, that's his business.
Sam still follows where Dean leads, letting Dean take care of him without question. He smiles more readily though, looks at Dean more, lets him in.
Dean finally slows down when they hit Blissfield, Michigan. He knows a guy who can take care of the paperwork; Dean remembers helping Dad get rid of a nasty poltergeist that nearly killed his daughter. He raises an eyebrow at the bag of cash Dean dumps onto his desk, but he's still too grateful for everything they did to ask any questions. It takes a couple of days to get it all into place, but they arrived just in time for the annual River Raisin Festival and Dean keeps Sam busy with carnival rides, travelling between the beer tent and the tractor pull and blowing him around every semi-darkened corner.
When he gets Pete's voice message saying that they're all set, Dean leaves Sam at the motel to pack up and takes the scenic route down to the car dealership. The Impala purrs beneath his hands, glides where he steers her and silently accepts his goodbye. Parking her in the lot and handing the keys over stabs through his heart like a blunt silver stake, but where they're going, she can no longer take them.
There's no more hiding when he comes to a screeching stop in the almost empty parking lot, Sam's eyes grown wide at the sight of in the black SUV. Before he can ask, Dean holds up a hand.
"Trust me?" he says and Sam doesn't have to answer with my life. It's there in the sure nod of his head.
They finish loading their stuff into the back and then it's a couple of hours drive before they cross the border into Canada. Dean carelessly throws the fake I.D.'s that get them across out of the window, not looking or caring where they fall. They reach the foot of Heart Mountain with plenty of daylight to spare, but even with the SUV's four wheel drive, it's a hard climb through the valley's tangle of trees, living and dead. The sun is rapidly descending as they're forced to park the car and cross the last five hundred yards on foot.
Dean stops in front of a sturdy log cabin, breath coming too fast in thick white plumes as he lets the duffel drop from his shoulder.
"What's this?" Sam asks softly, stepping up next to him.
"It's ours," Dean answers, just as softly. He hears his brother laugh, throaty and free, and Dean thinks maybe he can start believing in fairy tales too.
~Happily Ever After.