Take the Long Way Home
Take the Long Way Home
Chapter 2
Chapter Wordcount: 3576
Sam was staring blankly at his laptop screen when Dean came in, sliding a pizza box onto the table, six pack of beer clanking down beside it.
“What’s up?”
Sam just shook his head, gaze flitting to Dean before going back to the laptop screen.
“Just thinking,” he mumbled.
“Dude, I hate when you go all introspective.”
Sam looked up more out of surprise at Dean using the word ‘introspective’ than the fact that he was really paying any attention.
“Why don’t you go...extrospective?” Dean said, waving his hand across the table as he sat down across from him.
“Extro...that’s not even a word,” he said, eyes slightly squinted but his lips tugged up into a half smirk.
Dean just shrugged, waving his hand in dismissal. “Whatever, so whatchya thinking about?” he asked, kicking his boots up on the empty chair and cracking open a beer.
Sam watched him for another minute before looking away again.
“Just...everything,” he finally sighed.
Dean nodded, lips pursed.
“So what do you like better? Cheddar or Swiss?”
“What?” Sam asked, eyes shooting back to Dean.
“Well you said you were thinking about ‘everything.’”
Sam shook his head, chuckling softly.
“Just...us. Mom, Dad, bringing you back, my freakin’ demon blood, just...everything,” he mumbled.
“Hey, c’mon man, we said we were gonna take it easy a couple months,” Dean said, putting his feet back on the floor.
“I know, I just...” he sighed, getting up and lacing his fingers through his hair, turning away from Dean.
“I dunno man, it just catches up with me sometimes. I mean...when you were, when...” he inhaled again, “I was so scared man,” he whispered, finally turning back around so Dean could see him. “I was so scared I wouldn’t be able to get you back,” he said softly, everything he had kept bottled up fizzing over and sending a rogue tear to slip down his face. “God,” he sighed, slamming his back against the wall and letting himself slide down into a pile on the floor. “I didn’t wanna do it alone...I couldn’t.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Dean said, voice soft and controlled as he came over and squatted down next to him.
“I’m right here,” he murmured. “You brought me back, I’m right here Sammy, not goin’ anywhere,” he said softly, reaching out to lay his hand tentatively on Sam’s shoulder.
“I know,” he inhaled, leaning his head back against the wall. “I just...every morning when I wake up I still panic for a split second...afraid you’re not going to be in that bed,” he whispered, finally looking over at Dean.
Dean swallowed hard under the scrutiny, shifting so his ankles and thighs weren’t burning from the strain.
“As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t hate you.”
Dean looked back up, brow creased in confusion.
“For making the deal. I woulda done anything to...” Sam trailed off.
“I wanna thank you for that,” Dean rumbled, voice thick with emotion. “For getting me out.”
Sam huffed out a laugh, reaching up to scrub his hands over his face, erasing the sticky tracks his tears had left behind. “You sold your soul for me, you kinda don’t need to thank me.”
“Maybe I want to.”
Sam looked back up at Dean, eyes still warm and itchy.
“When I was down there,” Dean swallowed, looking away for a second. “They uh...they have ways of making you forget...”
Sam shifted, pulling himself away from the wall a couple inches.
“And even when I couldn’t remember my own name,” Dean said, forcing a smirk, “I held onto you,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I just...I held onto you Sammy.”
Dean had told him before, little things about what he could remember, claimed most of it was lost in a fuzzy post-traumatic lockbox in his head. Sam had never really been sure whether Dean was telling the truth or whether he was keeping it hidden for Sam’s sake.
“You...you remember?” he whispered, “Dean, you said...”
“I’m fine,” he grinned, the smirk not quite so forced. “It’s fine Sam, I’m fine, I just...I’m just saying,” he said, casual shrug of his shoulder. “If it wasn’t for you...I wouldn’t have made it out intact, whether you brought me back or not.”
“Dean...” Sam whispered, voice getting clogged in his throat and his eyes burning again.
“Hey,” Dean soothed, broad palm sliding over Sam’s shoulder blade to pull him towards him, “C’mere.”
It was like twenty years had just been washed away with his tears and Sam was a kid again, burying his fingers in his big brother’s shirt when it all seemed to be too much to handle.
“Dean...” he whispered, unsure as to why he even said his name, arm wrapping around Dean’s shoulder, the cotton of his shirt curling around his fingers, when he fisted it in his hand.
“I got ya man,” Dean murmured, letting Sam bury his face in the crook of his neck. “I’m right here, you’re here, we’re alright,” he whispered, tumbled run-on of words whose only purpose was to soothe and comfort.
Dean held Sam like that, tucked up against him until long after he had stopped crying. Sam’s knee was digging into his thigh and the tears and snot that were smeared across his neck was pretty gross but having Sam close to him, feeling the steady expansion and collapse of his ribs under his hands, felt better than he would ever admit to.
And Dean figured, after everything they had been through, Hell and back literally, then the world could shove it, the Winchesters were due some chick flick moments damnit.
He had let himself open a little bit after he came back, cracked open doors that he had kept bolted and chained closed most of his life. Knew Sam needed it just as much as he did. And Dean wouldn’t deny, well, he might not admit it out loud, but he wouldn’t deny it to himself, that having that with Sam had helped, had felt nice, for lack of a better term.
He hadn’t realized just how long it had been since the wide hero-worshiping eyes of a twelve year old had seemed to turn to angry and accusing almost overnight when Sam had hit puberty and started pushing back against their life. How the space between them had turned from sidewalk into an interstate that Dean didn’t dare cross in fear of becoming a bloody smear under the wheels of Sam’s temper.
And finally, it felt like the traffic had slowed and he could make it across the asphalt to the green on the other side. He found himself not wanting to go back to the desolate, lonely desert he had been stranded in.
Sam’s breathing had finally returned to normal and Dean shifted, letting the wall take the brunt of their weight.
Sam laughed softly, pulling back just enough to where his face wasn’t smashed against Dean, but lingered in the protective circle of his arms.
“Kinda sucks...us being so ridiculously co-dependent,” he smirked, eyes crossing slightly at how close he was to Dean.
Dean chuckled too, light soft rumble in his chest and he shrugged one shoulder, feeling the muscle bunch and shift against Sam’s.
“Yeah...but I kinda don’t mind,” he grinned.
“Yeah...me either,” Sam finally whispered.
Dean stared at Sam, mesmerized by the way his blue-green eyes had taken on a grey cast, eyelids still rimmed in red.
“You wanna go out?” he finally asked softly, swallowing thickly around the words, around the way Sam was still staring back at him.
Sam shook his head slowly, glancing down for a split second before meeting Dean’s eyes again, sitting back just enough to make his hand slide around Dean’s side to rest on his stomach.
“Not really.”
Dean nodded, looking across the room, shaken by the gravity of the situation finally setting in, his own palm on Sam’s lower back, thumb sweeping back and forth in a slow nervous twitch.
“How ‘bout we dig into that pizza and find a movie on TV to watch?” Sam asked softly, slow grin clashing against his still puffy eyes as he glanced at Dean through his bangs.
“Yeah,” he whispered, “Sounds good.”
They shared Dean’s bed, the only place in the brilliantly arranged room that you could sit and watch TV without getting a crick in your neck.
The pizza box was empty, set precariously half on the table between the beds. A half eaten crust and a plastic cup full of marinara sauce that tipped over and spilled across the cardboard was all that was left.
Dean had tossed his empty beer can somewhere in the vicinity of the trashcan but Sam had a sneaking suspicion it actually ended up under the desk.
They were both propped up against the headboard, some horrid upholstered thing. The only thing going for it was the fact that it had enough padding to make it comfortable.
Dean had the blanket twisted around his legs, covering him from hip to ankle with his feet sticking out the side, Sam’s long legs, bent and tenting the thin fabric beside him.
Dean groaned, reaching behind his head to punch at his pillow before scooting down, one arm thrown behind his head the other lain across his stomach.
“Dude, you coulda told me you wanted to go to sleep,” Sam said, already reaching for the remote and turning the volume down, grinning at Dean when he cracked his eye open.
“S’alright, you can stay up if you want.”
“Naw, I think I’ll turn in too,” Sam said, sliding his legs over the side of the bed.
He was stopped short when Dean’s hand locked around his wrist.
“Stay here,” he whispered and Sam stared at him, not entirely convinced he heard him right.
“What?” he squawked, wincing at how his voice broke and expecting Dean to call him on it.
“Bed’s already warm,” he mumbled, finally releasing his grip from Sam’s wrist.
“Dean...” Sam started, pausing when he wasn’t sure how he had intended to finish the statement.
“Just...this way, you’ll know I’m right here when you wake up,” he said softly, staring at the TV before looking back up at Sam.
Sam stared at him, completely caught off guard. Half because of the fact that Dean had brought it back up and half because of what he was suggesting.
“Not like we haven’t shared a bed before,” Dean grinned, flipping the switch from concerned and sympathetic to sarcastic and laid back in the blink of an eye.
“When we were kids!” Sam grinned.
Dean shrugged again, throwing his arm back behind his head.
“You’re serious?” Sam finally asked, when Dean was still watching him expectantly, lips tugged up into a grin.
“Why not?” he said softly.
And even if Sam had been able to come up with an excuse he didn’t plan on using it.
He reached over and clicked the lamp off between the beds and eased himself under the covers, body tense with nerves. Dean was right, it’s not like they hadn’t done this before, but something was different, he could feel it, dancing under his skin like static and pulsing in time with the beat of his heart.
He felt Dean shift behind him, felt his body heat settle across his back like a physical blanket and felt Dean’s hand settle in the dip of the bed, knuckles bumping against his spine.
Sam inhaled deep and shifted back just barely, feeling the hard press of Dean’s fingers along his back.
“You try hogging the bed and I end up on the floor you’ll regret it, trust me,” he said softly, forcing the joking lilt into his tone.
Dean chuckled behind him and he could feel the whuff of his breath across the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine.
He froze when Dean wrapped an arm around his waist and yanked him back across the last couple inches between them until his back was pressed against Dean’s chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing pressing against his back.
He felt Dean’s nose settle somewhere around the crook of his shoulder, could feel him breathe against him and unconsciously fell into the same rhythmic pattern.
“Used to do this when you were a kid,” he mumbled.
Sam concentrated on keeping his breathing level for a moment before he answered.
“I remember,” he said quietly, thinking of the long nights when their Dad was who knows where and the shadows fell just a little too long across the bedroom walls. Or there was a raccoon outside that made just a little too much noise, the tree out back that creaked a little too ominously or just when the dark seemed too all consuming.
Dean had let him crawl into bed with him then too. Never asked, never made fun, just held his sheets back until Sam had slotted himself into Dean’s space and only relaxed when Dean wrapped a protective arm around him.
“No,” Dean slurred, “Bef’re then, when you were little,” he sighed. “After Mom.”
Sam paused at that, waited for Dean to continue.
“You used to cry and cry, nothing Dad could do would get you to stop. I’d crawl into your crib and you’d go right to sleep,” he whispered.
“You remember that?” Sam asked, rolling onto his back so he could see Dean’s eyes, his hand coming to rest next to Dean’s on his stomach.
“Not really, it’s more like a shadow of a memory. But Dad wrote about it, in his journal...you didn’t know?”
“No, I never...I mean, I’m sure I read ‘em at some point in time, I just sort of left ‘em alone. They were his personal entries.”
Dean shrugged, looking down at the black field of Sam’s t-shirt where their hands sat in sharp contrast.
“Guess even then I knew I was safe with you,” he whispered, smiling softly when Dean’s eyes shot back to his.
Dean’s eyes bounced back and forth between his, colors lost in the darkness, only a faint outline visible from the anemic neon sign outside.
“You need a haircut,” he murmured, reaching up to tug on a wave of hair falling into Sam’s eyes, grinning when Sam scoffed at him.
“You could do it.”
Dean barked out a laugh, bringing it back down to the held back chuckle, tying to keep quiet in the dark even if there was no need.
“Last time I cut your hair I put a bowl on your head dude,” he grinned.
Sam shrugged, shoulder pushing against Dean’s with the movement, “I’m pretty sure you’ve progressed from that,” he grinned.
Dean rolled his eyes and relaxed back onto his pillow, on his back but with his body tilted ever so slightly towards Sam.
They laid in silence and after warring with himself Sam shifted, letting his head fall onto Dean’s shoulder under the guise of getting comfortable.
He let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding when Dean shifted, lifting his arm so Sam could settle against his side.
“I’ll make you a deal...” Dean said quietly, piercing through the dark.
“I don’t like deals,” Sam said petulantly.
Dean chuckled, the rumble in his chest going straight through Sam’s back and shoulder.
“When we’re...when we’re home...”
Sam craned his neck to look up at him, eyebrows drawn in confusion.
“Well, you know, in a motel room,” Dean corrected, waving a hand in the dark. “Or even the Impala...and it’s, it’s just us...” he paused and Sam could see the glimmer of spit as his tongue snaked out to wet his bottom lip. “No walls,” he finally said quietly, “Between us.”
Sam shifted onto his side, looking up at Dean.
“You mean that?” he asked quietly.
Dean met his eyes in silence for a moment.
“Yeah,” he finally whispered.
Sam swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and had to look away, watching the glow of headlights through the curtains as they swept across the road.
All he could hear was the swish of tires across wet pavement, the slow drizzle of rain still pattering outside and the quiet rattle as the weak air conditioner struggled to keep the room comfortable.
Dean finally grunted and his arm tightened around Sam’s shoulders, pulling him back towards his chest.
Sam went willingly, body fitting up against Dean’s, blanket crumpled around their stomachs and he fell asleep to the beat of Dean’s heart.
The next night, when Sam came out of the shower, some 500-odd miles and a half a state later, he felt all the easy comfort between them slide away in a sudden rush of wanting to strangle Dean.
He had apparently went and got dinner for them while Sam was in the shower, which was fine, but his bed was strewn with styrofoam containers of barbeque ribs, baked beans and southern biscuits.
Even that wasn’t the problem, the problem was that Dean had already dug into his portion and the evidence was left all over the bed. Biscuit crumbs were collected in little pools in the folds of the comforter, the spoon he had used to scoop out the baked beans was sitting on the comforter, brown sauce gluing the fabric to it, wet sweating Pepsi bottle sitting in a damp circle on the white sheet and he was pretty sure it was a smear of barbeque sauce and grease that was up on the pillow.
“Goddamnit Dean, if you wanna make a friggin’ mess then make it on your own bed!” he yelled, throwing his wet towel down on the carpet wishing it would make more of an impact than its muted whump.
Dean’s eyes went wide as he pulled them away from the TV and turned to look at Sam.
“What?”
“What?!” Sam plowed on, waving a hand over the disaster area of the second bed. “You know there’s a perfectly good table over there you didn’t have to go and turn my bed into a buffet counter!”
“Your bed?” Dean repeated in confusion, brow drawing down as he looked over at the food spread out. Finally his eyes snapped back to Sam’s, “I thought...I mean, I assumed that you...we...” he stumbled, eyes falling to the other half of the bed that he had left open.
Suddenly Sam deflated, finally noticing the slight hurt glaze to Dean’s eyes, the way he was shifting nervously on his half of the bed, and steadfastly refusing to meet Sam’s eyes.
“Wait...you mean...”
“Well that’s what I thought,” Dean said, “Look, sorry, I’ll take that bed, I didn’t know you...”
“I thought that’s why you got a double,” Sam mumbled, cutting him off before Dean could slide his legs over the side of the bed.
Dean froze and looked up at him.
“Double’s cheaper Sam.”
Sam hung his head and laughed softly
“Sorry...I just...” he sighed, “Sorry,” he mumbled, picking up the take home box with his portion of ribs in it and collapsed on the bed next to Dean, grinning at him when he turned to see Dean staring at him like he had grown another head.
Finally Dean grinned back, flicking Sam on the forehead and settled back against his pillows, shoulder to shoulder while they watched TV.
By the end of the month the only reason they were still getting a double was because they were cheaper.
Dean no longer went pale and fidgety under the suspicious looks of the motel clerks when they’d both walk in the door. Sam wasn’t sure if it was because of the case they had taken, Dean finally becoming comfortable with the subject or whether it was how comfortable they had both become with each other.
When they were out, eating, researching, hunting, it was still as it always was. And maybe if they were just a tad more in tune with each other, communicated a tad more silently and brushed shoulders or bumped hands a tad more frequently, neither one of them really cared.
Dean still flirted his ass off, Sam still shook his head and laughed in quiet exasperation, sitting quietly whenever Dean went to the bathroom and the waitress happened to go missing at the same time.
But at night they slipped into the same bed, slipped into each other’s arms like there was nothing to it. And maybe it should have alarmed them, how easily they fit together, how safe and warm and right it felt being able to have that with each other.
But given their lives, everything they had gone though from the time they were too little to talk, from death and back, Sam couldn’t find it in himself to care. Dean had always been the focal point in his life, he knew the reverse was true for Dean.
Hunting had always been their lives, even when Sam went to Stanford, it was like a shadow following him around. He’d never admit how easy it had been to fall back into it after he hit the road with Dean again, would never admit how good it felt to have that with Dean again. And now it just felt like everything had fallen in place. Their Dad might have died in the fight, but they had finally killed the demon that had haunted them their entire lives. They had both fought, and won, against death and feeling Dean’s solid warmth behind him at night...it felt like coming home.
Previous: Chapter One | Next: Chapter Three
Chapter 2
Chapter Wordcount: 3576
Sam was staring blankly at his laptop screen when Dean came in, sliding a pizza box onto the table, six pack of beer clanking down beside it.
“What’s up?”
Sam just shook his head, gaze flitting to Dean before going back to the laptop screen.
“Just thinking,” he mumbled.
“Dude, I hate when you go all introspective.”
Sam looked up more out of surprise at Dean using the word ‘introspective’ than the fact that he was really paying any attention.
“Why don’t you go...extrospective?” Dean said, waving his hand across the table as he sat down across from him.
“Extro...that’s not even a word,” he said, eyes slightly squinted but his lips tugged up into a half smirk.
Dean just shrugged, waving his hand in dismissal. “Whatever, so whatchya thinking about?” he asked, kicking his boots up on the empty chair and cracking open a beer.
Sam watched him for another minute before looking away again.
“Just...everything,” he finally sighed.
Dean nodded, lips pursed.
“So what do you like better? Cheddar or Swiss?”
“What?” Sam asked, eyes shooting back to Dean.
“Well you said you were thinking about ‘everything.’”
Sam shook his head, chuckling softly.
“Just...us. Mom, Dad, bringing you back, my freakin’ demon blood, just...everything,” he mumbled.
“Hey, c’mon man, we said we were gonna take it easy a couple months,” Dean said, putting his feet back on the floor.
“I know, I just...” he sighed, getting up and lacing his fingers through his hair, turning away from Dean.
“I dunno man, it just catches up with me sometimes. I mean...when you were, when...” he inhaled again, “I was so scared man,” he whispered, finally turning back around so Dean could see him. “I was so scared I wouldn’t be able to get you back,” he said softly, everything he had kept bottled up fizzing over and sending a rogue tear to slip down his face. “God,” he sighed, slamming his back against the wall and letting himself slide down into a pile on the floor. “I didn’t wanna do it alone...I couldn’t.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Dean said, voice soft and controlled as he came over and squatted down next to him.
“I’m right here,” he murmured. “You brought me back, I’m right here Sammy, not goin’ anywhere,” he said softly, reaching out to lay his hand tentatively on Sam’s shoulder.
“I know,” he inhaled, leaning his head back against the wall. “I just...every morning when I wake up I still panic for a split second...afraid you’re not going to be in that bed,” he whispered, finally looking over at Dean.
Dean swallowed hard under the scrutiny, shifting so his ankles and thighs weren’t burning from the strain.
“As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t hate you.”
Dean looked back up, brow creased in confusion.
“For making the deal. I woulda done anything to...” Sam trailed off.
“I wanna thank you for that,” Dean rumbled, voice thick with emotion. “For getting me out.”
Sam huffed out a laugh, reaching up to scrub his hands over his face, erasing the sticky tracks his tears had left behind. “You sold your soul for me, you kinda don’t need to thank me.”
“Maybe I want to.”
Sam looked back up at Dean, eyes still warm and itchy.
“When I was down there,” Dean swallowed, looking away for a second. “They uh...they have ways of making you forget...”
Sam shifted, pulling himself away from the wall a couple inches.
“And even when I couldn’t remember my own name,” Dean said, forcing a smirk, “I held onto you,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I just...I held onto you Sammy.”
Dean had told him before, little things about what he could remember, claimed most of it was lost in a fuzzy post-traumatic lockbox in his head. Sam had never really been sure whether Dean was telling the truth or whether he was keeping it hidden for Sam’s sake.
“You...you remember?” he whispered, “Dean, you said...”
“I’m fine,” he grinned, the smirk not quite so forced. “It’s fine Sam, I’m fine, I just...I’m just saying,” he said, casual shrug of his shoulder. “If it wasn’t for you...I wouldn’t have made it out intact, whether you brought me back or not.”
“Dean...” Sam whispered, voice getting clogged in his throat and his eyes burning again.
“Hey,” Dean soothed, broad palm sliding over Sam’s shoulder blade to pull him towards him, “C’mere.”
It was like twenty years had just been washed away with his tears and Sam was a kid again, burying his fingers in his big brother’s shirt when it all seemed to be too much to handle.
“Dean...” he whispered, unsure as to why he even said his name, arm wrapping around Dean’s shoulder, the cotton of his shirt curling around his fingers, when he fisted it in his hand.
“I got ya man,” Dean murmured, letting Sam bury his face in the crook of his neck. “I’m right here, you’re here, we’re alright,” he whispered, tumbled run-on of words whose only purpose was to soothe and comfort.
Dean held Sam like that, tucked up against him until long after he had stopped crying. Sam’s knee was digging into his thigh and the tears and snot that were smeared across his neck was pretty gross but having Sam close to him, feeling the steady expansion and collapse of his ribs under his hands, felt better than he would ever admit to.
And Dean figured, after everything they had been through, Hell and back literally, then the world could shove it, the Winchesters were due some chick flick moments damnit.
He had let himself open a little bit after he came back, cracked open doors that he had kept bolted and chained closed most of his life. Knew Sam needed it just as much as he did. And Dean wouldn’t deny, well, he might not admit it out loud, but he wouldn’t deny it to himself, that having that with Sam had helped, had felt nice, for lack of a better term.
He hadn’t realized just how long it had been since the wide hero-worshiping eyes of a twelve year old had seemed to turn to angry and accusing almost overnight when Sam had hit puberty and started pushing back against their life. How the space between them had turned from sidewalk into an interstate that Dean didn’t dare cross in fear of becoming a bloody smear under the wheels of Sam’s temper.
And finally, it felt like the traffic had slowed and he could make it across the asphalt to the green on the other side. He found himself not wanting to go back to the desolate, lonely desert he had been stranded in.
Sam’s breathing had finally returned to normal and Dean shifted, letting the wall take the brunt of their weight.
Sam laughed softly, pulling back just enough to where his face wasn’t smashed against Dean, but lingered in the protective circle of his arms.
“Kinda sucks...us being so ridiculously co-dependent,” he smirked, eyes crossing slightly at how close he was to Dean.
Dean chuckled too, light soft rumble in his chest and he shrugged one shoulder, feeling the muscle bunch and shift against Sam’s.
“Yeah...but I kinda don’t mind,” he grinned.
“Yeah...me either,” Sam finally whispered.
Dean stared at Sam, mesmerized by the way his blue-green eyes had taken on a grey cast, eyelids still rimmed in red.
“You wanna go out?” he finally asked softly, swallowing thickly around the words, around the way Sam was still staring back at him.
Sam shook his head slowly, glancing down for a split second before meeting Dean’s eyes again, sitting back just enough to make his hand slide around Dean’s side to rest on his stomach.
“Not really.”
Dean nodded, looking across the room, shaken by the gravity of the situation finally setting in, his own palm on Sam’s lower back, thumb sweeping back and forth in a slow nervous twitch.
“How ‘bout we dig into that pizza and find a movie on TV to watch?” Sam asked softly, slow grin clashing against his still puffy eyes as he glanced at Dean through his bangs.
“Yeah,” he whispered, “Sounds good.”
They shared Dean’s bed, the only place in the brilliantly arranged room that you could sit and watch TV without getting a crick in your neck.
The pizza box was empty, set precariously half on the table between the beds. A half eaten crust and a plastic cup full of marinara sauce that tipped over and spilled across the cardboard was all that was left.
Dean had tossed his empty beer can somewhere in the vicinity of the trashcan but Sam had a sneaking suspicion it actually ended up under the desk.
They were both propped up against the headboard, some horrid upholstered thing. The only thing going for it was the fact that it had enough padding to make it comfortable.
Dean had the blanket twisted around his legs, covering him from hip to ankle with his feet sticking out the side, Sam’s long legs, bent and tenting the thin fabric beside him.
Dean groaned, reaching behind his head to punch at his pillow before scooting down, one arm thrown behind his head the other lain across his stomach.
“Dude, you coulda told me you wanted to go to sleep,” Sam said, already reaching for the remote and turning the volume down, grinning at Dean when he cracked his eye open.
“S’alright, you can stay up if you want.”
“Naw, I think I’ll turn in too,” Sam said, sliding his legs over the side of the bed.
He was stopped short when Dean’s hand locked around his wrist.
“Stay here,” he whispered and Sam stared at him, not entirely convinced he heard him right.
“What?” he squawked, wincing at how his voice broke and expecting Dean to call him on it.
“Bed’s already warm,” he mumbled, finally releasing his grip from Sam’s wrist.
“Dean...” Sam started, pausing when he wasn’t sure how he had intended to finish the statement.
“Just...this way, you’ll know I’m right here when you wake up,” he said softly, staring at the TV before looking back up at Sam.
Sam stared at him, completely caught off guard. Half because of the fact that Dean had brought it back up and half because of what he was suggesting.
“Not like we haven’t shared a bed before,” Dean grinned, flipping the switch from concerned and sympathetic to sarcastic and laid back in the blink of an eye.
“When we were kids!” Sam grinned.
Dean shrugged again, throwing his arm back behind his head.
“You’re serious?” Sam finally asked, when Dean was still watching him expectantly, lips tugged up into a grin.
“Why not?” he said softly.
And even if Sam had been able to come up with an excuse he didn’t plan on using it.
He reached over and clicked the lamp off between the beds and eased himself under the covers, body tense with nerves. Dean was right, it’s not like they hadn’t done this before, but something was different, he could feel it, dancing under his skin like static and pulsing in time with the beat of his heart.
He felt Dean shift behind him, felt his body heat settle across his back like a physical blanket and felt Dean’s hand settle in the dip of the bed, knuckles bumping against his spine.
Sam inhaled deep and shifted back just barely, feeling the hard press of Dean’s fingers along his back.
“You try hogging the bed and I end up on the floor you’ll regret it, trust me,” he said softly, forcing the joking lilt into his tone.
Dean chuckled behind him and he could feel the whuff of his breath across the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine.
He froze when Dean wrapped an arm around his waist and yanked him back across the last couple inches between them until his back was pressed against Dean’s chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing pressing against his back.
He felt Dean’s nose settle somewhere around the crook of his shoulder, could feel him breathe against him and unconsciously fell into the same rhythmic pattern.
“Used to do this when you were a kid,” he mumbled.
Sam concentrated on keeping his breathing level for a moment before he answered.
“I remember,” he said quietly, thinking of the long nights when their Dad was who knows where and the shadows fell just a little too long across the bedroom walls. Or there was a raccoon outside that made just a little too much noise, the tree out back that creaked a little too ominously or just when the dark seemed too all consuming.
Dean had let him crawl into bed with him then too. Never asked, never made fun, just held his sheets back until Sam had slotted himself into Dean’s space and only relaxed when Dean wrapped a protective arm around him.
“No,” Dean slurred, “Bef’re then, when you were little,” he sighed. “After Mom.”
Sam paused at that, waited for Dean to continue.
“You used to cry and cry, nothing Dad could do would get you to stop. I’d crawl into your crib and you’d go right to sleep,” he whispered.
“You remember that?” Sam asked, rolling onto his back so he could see Dean’s eyes, his hand coming to rest next to Dean’s on his stomach.
“Not really, it’s more like a shadow of a memory. But Dad wrote about it, in his journal...you didn’t know?”
“No, I never...I mean, I’m sure I read ‘em at some point in time, I just sort of left ‘em alone. They were his personal entries.”
Dean shrugged, looking down at the black field of Sam’s t-shirt where their hands sat in sharp contrast.
“Guess even then I knew I was safe with you,” he whispered, smiling softly when Dean’s eyes shot back to his.
Dean’s eyes bounced back and forth between his, colors lost in the darkness, only a faint outline visible from the anemic neon sign outside.
“You need a haircut,” he murmured, reaching up to tug on a wave of hair falling into Sam’s eyes, grinning when Sam scoffed at him.
“You could do it.”
Dean barked out a laugh, bringing it back down to the held back chuckle, tying to keep quiet in the dark even if there was no need.
“Last time I cut your hair I put a bowl on your head dude,” he grinned.
Sam shrugged, shoulder pushing against Dean’s with the movement, “I’m pretty sure you’ve progressed from that,” he grinned.
Dean rolled his eyes and relaxed back onto his pillow, on his back but with his body tilted ever so slightly towards Sam.
They laid in silence and after warring with himself Sam shifted, letting his head fall onto Dean’s shoulder under the guise of getting comfortable.
He let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding when Dean shifted, lifting his arm so Sam could settle against his side.
“I’ll make you a deal...” Dean said quietly, piercing through the dark.
“I don’t like deals,” Sam said petulantly.
Dean chuckled, the rumble in his chest going straight through Sam’s back and shoulder.
“When we’re...when we’re home...”
Sam craned his neck to look up at him, eyebrows drawn in confusion.
“Well, you know, in a motel room,” Dean corrected, waving a hand in the dark. “Or even the Impala...and it’s, it’s just us...” he paused and Sam could see the glimmer of spit as his tongue snaked out to wet his bottom lip. “No walls,” he finally said quietly, “Between us.”
Sam shifted onto his side, looking up at Dean.
“You mean that?” he asked quietly.
Dean met his eyes in silence for a moment.
“Yeah,” he finally whispered.
Sam swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and had to look away, watching the glow of headlights through the curtains as they swept across the road.
All he could hear was the swish of tires across wet pavement, the slow drizzle of rain still pattering outside and the quiet rattle as the weak air conditioner struggled to keep the room comfortable.
Dean finally grunted and his arm tightened around Sam’s shoulders, pulling him back towards his chest.
Sam went willingly, body fitting up against Dean’s, blanket crumpled around their stomachs and he fell asleep to the beat of Dean’s heart.
The next night, when Sam came out of the shower, some 500-odd miles and a half a state later, he felt all the easy comfort between them slide away in a sudden rush of wanting to strangle Dean.
He had apparently went and got dinner for them while Sam was in the shower, which was fine, but his bed was strewn with styrofoam containers of barbeque ribs, baked beans and southern biscuits.
Even that wasn’t the problem, the problem was that Dean had already dug into his portion and the evidence was left all over the bed. Biscuit crumbs were collected in little pools in the folds of the comforter, the spoon he had used to scoop out the baked beans was sitting on the comforter, brown sauce gluing the fabric to it, wet sweating Pepsi bottle sitting in a damp circle on the white sheet and he was pretty sure it was a smear of barbeque sauce and grease that was up on the pillow.
“Goddamnit Dean, if you wanna make a friggin’ mess then make it on your own bed!” he yelled, throwing his wet towel down on the carpet wishing it would make more of an impact than its muted whump.
Dean’s eyes went wide as he pulled them away from the TV and turned to look at Sam.
“What?”
“What?!” Sam plowed on, waving a hand over the disaster area of the second bed. “You know there’s a perfectly good table over there you didn’t have to go and turn my bed into a buffet counter!”
“Your bed?” Dean repeated in confusion, brow drawing down as he looked over at the food spread out. Finally his eyes snapped back to Sam’s, “I thought...I mean, I assumed that you...we...” he stumbled, eyes falling to the other half of the bed that he had left open.
Suddenly Sam deflated, finally noticing the slight hurt glaze to Dean’s eyes, the way he was shifting nervously on his half of the bed, and steadfastly refusing to meet Sam’s eyes.
“Wait...you mean...”
“Well that’s what I thought,” Dean said, “Look, sorry, I’ll take that bed, I didn’t know you...”
“I thought that’s why you got a double,” Sam mumbled, cutting him off before Dean could slide his legs over the side of the bed.
Dean froze and looked up at him.
“Double’s cheaper Sam.”
Sam hung his head and laughed softly
“Sorry...I just...” he sighed, “Sorry,” he mumbled, picking up the take home box with his portion of ribs in it and collapsed on the bed next to Dean, grinning at him when he turned to see Dean staring at him like he had grown another head.
Finally Dean grinned back, flicking Sam on the forehead and settled back against his pillows, shoulder to shoulder while they watched TV.
By the end of the month the only reason they were still getting a double was because they were cheaper.
Dean no longer went pale and fidgety under the suspicious looks of the motel clerks when they’d both walk in the door. Sam wasn’t sure if it was because of the case they had taken, Dean finally becoming comfortable with the subject or whether it was how comfortable they had both become with each other.
When they were out, eating, researching, hunting, it was still as it always was. And maybe if they were just a tad more in tune with each other, communicated a tad more silently and brushed shoulders or bumped hands a tad more frequently, neither one of them really cared.
Dean still flirted his ass off, Sam still shook his head and laughed in quiet exasperation, sitting quietly whenever Dean went to the bathroom and the waitress happened to go missing at the same time.
But at night they slipped into the same bed, slipped into each other’s arms like there was nothing to it. And maybe it should have alarmed them, how easily they fit together, how safe and warm and right it felt being able to have that with each other.
But given their lives, everything they had gone though from the time they were too little to talk, from death and back, Sam couldn’t find it in himself to care. Dean had always been the focal point in his life, he knew the reverse was true for Dean.
Hunting had always been their lives, even when Sam went to Stanford, it was like a shadow following him around. He’d never admit how easy it had been to fall back into it after he hit the road with Dean again, would never admit how good it felt to have that with Dean again. And now it just felt like everything had fallen in place. Their Dad might have died in the fight, but they had finally killed the demon that had haunted them their entire lives. They had both fought, and won, against death and feeling Dean’s solid warmth behind him at night...it felt like coming home.
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