Blue Skies From Rain Part 5 - Chapter 25
They were standing kitty corner from C&C Towing, located on the south side of Joliet, waiting for it to close. It was a dull yellow building surrounded on three sides by a high wooden fence, and there was a chain-link gate with a padlock. Through the gate, Sam could see that there were a bunch of cars and trucks and pieces of machinery, though he didn’t know which car was Dean’s. Beyond the roofline of the building, Sam could see the curve of the highway and the cars on the overpass, though the neighborhood where they were was quiet and still. Through the ridge of trees, the sun was getting lower, sending streams of light through the clouds that looked like they might want to rain, but didn’t quite have it in them.
Sam still felt astonished that Dean was planning to walk right through the gate to get his car. “Are you sure about this?” Stealing clothes was one thing, but this was another.
“It’s not a police station,” said Dean, low, as he kept his eyes on the building. “And they probably don’t think anyone would dare.”
A damp wind picked up and tossed leaves and scraps in the gutter, and pretty soon, a man dressed in mechanic’s overalls came out the front door of the building and locked it behind him. Then he got in his truck and drove away.
“Now,” said Dean. They walked across the road in a way that seemed overly obvious to Sam, but that Dean assured him only felt that way. To anyone looking, they would appear confident and that they belonged. Dean walked right up to the gate and tested the large round padlock with his fingers. It was rusted a little where the loop of the lock circled through the gate, but it held, clanging loudly as Dean tugged.
Dean made a noise in his throat, like he wasn’t surprised, and then he took out a paperclip. It might have been his last one, Sam didn’t know, but it was still interesting to watch him unfold it, his tongue sticking out between his teeth as he did this, like if he didn’t hold his mouth a certain way, it wouldn’t work right. Then he set to messing with the padlock. His movements weren’t smooth, but Sam was sure that Dean had done something like this dozens, maybe hundreds of times. Picking locks was part of who Dean was. Like the stealing, it was a part of him. Sam wanted Dean, so he knew he would have to accept the lock picking. Maybe it was a little like falling in love with Robin Hood. But did that make him Maid Marion? Or maybe Will Scarlett. Yes, that worked better.
With a large, hollow click the padlock came undone, and Dean unhooked it, letting it hang on one of the links in the gate.
He turned to Sam, and held out his hand, the tips of his fingers on Sam’s stomach.
“I’m going to go in. You close the gate behind me. When I come out with the car, open the gate, swing it closed behind me, and lock it. That way, it’ll look like no one’s been here.”
The subterfuge of normalcy made sense, though it was somewhat unsettling for Sam to realize how much it made sense, how familiar it was. But then, if he’d been with Dean in the past, and Dean had done this sort of thing before, which he obviously had, then Sam must have too.
He nodded his understanding and as he closed the gate he watched through the links as Dean walked through the yard, looking about him, casually, almost as if he were walking through a field, and there was no one watching. Or like he had walked down the corridors of the hospital, owning the space he was in, measuring it for conquest. This made Sam smile. He loved the sauntering swing of Dean’s hip, especially in blue jeans; he could watch Dean walk all day.
Dean disappeared around the corner of the building, where the back lot extended beyond view. There was a click and then a metallic thud, and then a low growl. For a moment, Sam thought that it was thunder, rolling and shuddering through the ground into his feet. A faint smell of oil sifted through the damp air.
From around the corner, Sam watched the leading edges of something dark and shiny approach, bits of it glinting, and when it fully turned the corner, Sam’s jaw dropped. That was Dean’s car? It was a freaking battleship, was what it was. It was wide and long and dense, from the sharp tips all the way back to the taillights. The whole of the front was chrome grillwork, and the sides of it were sleek and black as sin. It came to a stop in front of Sam, just on the other side of the gate, like a beast waiting to be released.
It was the car. Not just any car, but the car he’d seen in his memories from before, black and gleaming and sassy, ready to roll away to the far horizon under its own steam if it had a mind to. He’d ridden hundreds of times in this car. He knew this car, he just never realized it belonged to Dean. He realized his brother must have had a car, too, and taken Sam for rides in it, but what did it look like? He didn’t know. This was the only car he could remember.
Through the windshield, Dean made a motion with his hand and Sam realized that he was standing there with his hands just hanging there, gawping, not doing what he was supposed to do. He swung the gate wide, and the car slid through them; Sam was standing close enough that the car brushed his thigh. Then he hurried to close the gate and secure the padlock. The car rumbled deep in its throat as it waited for Sam.
He hurried to the passenger side and looked through the window that Dean was leaning over to roll down.
“C’mon, Sam, let’s get out of here.”
Sam opened the door, which felt heavy, and slid into the passenger seat. The car smelled a bit dusty, and the windows were streaked and dirty, but that was only because it had been sitting unused the whole time they’d been in the hospital. He shut the door, and locked it. Behind the wheel, Dean was grinning at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way Sam had never seen them.
“This is some car, Dean,” said Sam, smiling back. “Man, you told me about it, but I never knew-what kind of car is it?”
Some of the smile fell from Dean’s face and he turned to look out the window. “It’s an Impala. A 1967 Impala. Our, I mean, my dad gave it to me.”
Dean’s dad was one thing they’d never really talked about, and maybe that was because Dean looked a little fallen and lost when he mentioned him. Sam reached out his hand and touched the dash, wanting to make it better, even just a little bit.
“Seriously, Dean,” he said. “This car. This car is amazing. I can see why you-” Sam stopped wondering if what he wanted to say would make sense. Then he went ahead anyway, Dean always seemed to know what he meant. “It’s very cool. I can see why you love it.”
This worked, at least mostly. The shine came back into Dean’s eyes, and he looked at Sam, a little dimple appearing at the corner of his mouth. He seemed at home as he sat, and a rush of echoes tumbled around the back of Sam’s head, but he shook them away. He didn’t want memories, he wanted now. Dean behind the wheel, and the curve of his smile as the sun cut through the clouds and lit his face.
“Let’s hit the road,” said Dean. He pressed down on the gas to gun the engine. “You hungry?”
“Yes,” said Sam. “Always. But we don’t have any money.” He paused to consider this. “Do we?”
Dean just laughed, moved the gear shift on the steering column, and did a careful three-point turn that headed them back down the road that would take them to the highway. “Hang on,” he said.
When Dean hit the highway and pushed down on the gas, Sam’s head went back with a snap like he was in a rocket ship, When Dean assured him they were only doing the speed limit, Sam shook his head, but he hung on to the door handle and didn’t say anything to make Dean slow down. Instead he rolled his window down and let the wind blow because Dean was happy, and that was what mattered. They kept driving as the sun went down, heading west along the highway, the rumble of the car and the whistle of the wind keeping them company as they drove.
When it got dark, Dean pulled off the highway and into a gas station, where he took care of filling up the tank and washed the windows as the numbers on the gas pump rolled over and over. Sam stood by the car, waiting in the glow of the neon lights of the gas station awning, watching this. He didn’t want to say anything, but they didn’t have money, and there was a very obvious sticker with a picture of the local law, warning about people pumping and driving off without paying. But then, Dean seemed confident, so Sam tried not to worry.
Then Dean clicked off the pump, and shut the fuel tank, and looked at Sam, still smiling, capable and sure. Glowing, and alert, and in charge, like he had been in the hospital. But even more so, now that he was out of there, and had his car. It made the breath catch in Sam’s throat, just to watch him, graceful and alive, like he was. Winking at Sam as he took care of his car.
Dean went around to the passenger side and opened it up, then opened up the glove compartment and took out a small cigar box. As Sam watched, he took out a credit card. Sam knew what it was the second he saw it, and realized a second after that that it was an illegal credit card. He tried not to let his face show his dismay but he knew he was frowning. Unsure at the tumble of a memory, of filling out blank forms, knowing full well and good that the cards were stolen, and that they’d never pay for anything that they bought with them.
Dean tipped his head at Sam, and Sam watched him walk into the station, attempting to comfort himself with the idea that nothing they were stealing was bad, that they needed the gas, that Dean had done this before. That there was a reason for it all, even though he couldn’t understand any of it.
When Dean came back out with the credit card and the yellow slip in his hand, Sam made himself shrug, like it was neither here nor there with him. As they slid into the car, and shut the doors in tandem, Dean shoved the paper into the glove compartment. His shoulder brushed against Sam’s leg as he did this, and as he sat up he gave Sam a pat on the thigh.
“Cheer up,” he said. “We’re going to use it to buy food next.”
As Dean started the engine and steered the car out of the parking lot, Sam’s stomach stood up and grumbled. Surely feeding them with stolen money wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. And they were very hungry.
Dean drove next to a fast-food place, and they went through the drive-through where Dean ordered two of everything. They were in a hurry, but it didn’t matter that Sam didn’t get to choose exactly what he wanted. The smell of food in the crackling brown bags made Sam feel he was drooling like a dog, and he laughed at Dean guiding the car with one leg as he arranged a cheeseburger in one hand and his coke between his legs. Then he was able to steer with one hand, taking them under the highway and along a two lane road that headed into the darkness.
Sam didn’t know where they were going or why, but he didn’t really care. The sun had gone down, and amidst the blackness of the fields and the sky, he was with Dean. Dean hadn’t left him, hadn’t shrugged him off or gotten irritated, or just left him on the roadside to return to his old life. No, he was taking Sam with him. And as Sam ate his stolen cheeseburger and stolen fries, and took large, throat burning gulps of his stolen soda, he knew he wanted to be with Dean, so he would just have to deal with the rest of it.
*
They drove through the night and along the back roads, and got as far as the edges of Quincy, when Dean knew that his vision was getting too blurry to be safe. He’d been dreaming and planning for this moment for a month, him and Sam and the Impala and the open road.
But now he was so tired he could collapse just by thinking about sleeping. Plus there was no sign of Henriksen or road blocks or anything, so they could stop for a bit.
Dean knew he shouldn’t get pissed that this Sam didn’t know the Impala was their home, didn’t know how far she’d carried them, how loyal. How she was, sometimes, the only thing he could count on. Besides, Sam seemed to like Dean’s baby now, instead of turning up his nose, as he sometimes did. No, he’d glowed and cooed over her, petting the dash, full of admiration. It made a nice change, so maybe Dean could let it go that Sam didn’t remember her.
“There’s a motel,” said Sam, pointing. “How are we going to pay for it?”
Dean tried to smile, but only yawned large enough to crack his jaw. He pulled into the parking lot. It was just one of those regular places, could have been any of thousands across the country; mom and pop places that sometimes he felt badly about using a stolen credit card on. But not tonight. He needed a full night’s sleep and then in the morning, he would figure out what to do about Sam. Because now, they were out of the hospital, and his excuses were all gone. Once he and Sam were free, that’d been the deal.
He got them a room with two doubles, and figured on using them both, hoping Sam was going to understand that it really had to stop. Here in the real world, they were hunters, and they were brothers. Dean just didn’t know how to tell him.
*
Sam watched with wide eyes as Dean used yet another stolen credit card for the clerk at the desk to run through before he gave them the keys to a room. Just how many credit cards did Dean have? Dean hadn’t let him look in the box, nor in the trunk when they went to get their gear. Turned out, Sam had a duffle of clothes that Dean said were his.
While he waited for Dean to lock the trunk beneath the lights of the parking lot, he looked at the duffle straps in his hands. They weren’t in the least familiar, not even the little ragged edge to one of the handles that looked like it had been worried with a fingernail, over and over.
“C’mon, Sam,” said Dean. He swung his duffle over one shoulder as though it weighed nothing, and reached out to pat Sam on the arm. It was more of a slam than a pat, but the contact of Dean’s hand made him feel more normal. He was able to follow Dean like this was ordinary, going through the doorway to a strange room, right on Dean’s heels.
He watched Dean take over one of the huge beds, and there were two of them, which seemed an amazing piece of wealth. He was startled to find that this was the room in his memory, or one just like it. He remembered thinking about rooms like this one, the set of beds, the odd-colored carpet, him and his brother living in a series of them, like they had no fixed address. Now he thought that maybe this memory was of him and Dean, on one of those mysterious errands for Dean’s dad that Dean would never give him the details for.
He let himself get distracted from this by the fact that the room was ridiculously large, and that there were real curtains on the windows and no bars. There was even a door to the bathroom, a real door, and although he realized this was what was normal, more normal than the hospital, it seemed strange that this whole place was just for him and Dean. He put his duffle on the bed and watched Dean make himself at home, taking off his jacket, sitting down to take off his boots, and finally, with his sock feet still on the floor, laying back on the bed, letting out a huge sigh, as though he’d arrived at his final destination and never need move again.
“Dean,” said Sam, not sure what he wanted.
“Yeah?” asked Dean. His eyes were closed, but he lifted his chin. “You hungry?”
“Maybe,” said Sam, and although he knew what Dean meant, he felt he might want something else. Something you definitely couldn’t get at a fast food restaurant.
Dean made a low sound in his throat, like he was trying to concentrate. But he seemed distracted by something else, because the same frown was appearing between his eyebrows that had been showing up while they’d driven, even though Dean had been smiling, loving to drive, it seemed, with the windows down, wind on his skin and his music blaring. Sam had opened up his mouth to ask what kind of music it was and Dean had said something about shotgun and cake hole and then laughed to himself, but Sam didn’t care that maybe Dean was slamming him only he didn’t know how. He liked watching Dean’s mouth when he laughed.
He looked at the bathroom door, and then walked over to switch on the light and look inside. The room was huge and shiny, not at all what he’d been thinking. And then he saw the shower, and the thick towels on the rack, and the pair of little soaps. Cups wrapped in plastic. It was a palace compared to the hospital.
When he turned around, Dean was sitting up on one elbow. “What?”
“It’s huge,” said Sam. He thought about Dean driving all day, the warmth alternating with the chill as it swirled through the open windows, the dust of the road, the humidity building until now the edges of the sky outside had started to foam with clouds that wanted to rain. Then he knew what he wanted. Remembered what Dean had promised.
“Hey,” he said, pointing at the bathroom. “I’ll bet these places have all the hot water in the world. You know?”
“Not after you get done with it,” said Dean. He looked like he was smiling at some private joke and just about ready to lie back down.
Sam stopped him by walking over to bump his knee against Dean’s knee.
“Let’s take a shower,” he said.
“What?” Dean kept his eyes closed.
“You and me.” Sam reached down to pat Dean’s thigh. “Shower. I’ll bet it’s different than a bath, all that water coming down.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Dean. He sat up now, his elbows on his knees, looking up at Sam. “You bet it’s different than a bath, but you don’t know?”
Sam shrugged. He took off his jacket and then sat on the other bed and took his boots off like Dean had and then peeled off his socks. Wiggled his toes against the carpet. “It’s in my head somewhere,” he said. “I don’t remember ever taking a shower, but I know it’s different. Go figure.”
“Huh,” was all Dean had to say. The worry frown was back between his eyebrows.
“So let’s take one and see.”
“Uh, Sam, you go ahead, I don’t need-”
Sam stopped him by getting up and moving close. For a second, Dean drew back and then he seemed to remember it was Sam.
“You promised,” said Sam. “When we got to the motel, and here we are.”
Dean’s mouth worked, his eyebrows scrunched together, scowling. He couldn’t back out, he wouldn’t, Sam knew, but for some reason it was bothering him. “When did I say this?” asked Dean.
“In the barn,” said Sam, able to answer promptly. “You didn’t want hay everywhere, but here we are and no hay.” He spread his hands to demonstrate the complete and total lack of hay.
“I didn’t promise a shower,” said Dean, his jaw tightening.
For a second, Sam thought that maybe Dean didn’t want this at all, him and Sam being together, that Sam was forcing him into it, like he’d forced him before, back at the hospital. And although Dean was willing to do what he said he would do, he might really not want to. If so, the shower would just be too much. The last thing Sam wanted was to make Dean do anything; all he wanted was to be with Dean, however Dean wanted it.
Sam was just about to open his mouth to say okay, to back off, to take a shower by himself, when Dean’s mouth worked as he looked up at Sam, something deep in his eyes, a darkness that moved too fast for Sam to figure it out. Then Dean rolled his shoulders back and stood up in one smooth motion, right next to Sam, before Sam had time to blink.
“Okay,” Dean said. “Okay, we can-” He stopped for a moment. His hand came up to cup the back of Sam’s neck, pulling them close till their foreheads touched. He blinked, lashes fanning out across the fair and freckled skin below his eyes, leaving Sam feeling enchanted, wanting to lick them. So he did. Swept his tongue lightly along the soft skin of Dean’s eyelid, and Dean closed his eyes, and let Sam do this, holding still, though his eyelids quivered. Sam’s hands came up to tug on the hem of Dean’s shirt, and he pulled Dean even closer.
“Okay,” said Sam in return. “So let me-” He wanted to say, let me do everything, let me be everything, but Dean was so hesitant, more words like that, all that love stuff, would just send Dean back to the bed, blinking, saying he didn’t want this, and not now, Sam. Like a girl with a headache, putting a guy off and how did Sam know about that? From TV maybe. He’d seen plenty of commercials on the TV in the Day room back at the hospital.
“Let me help you,” he said instead.
When Dean nodded, Sam snuck in a kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth, letting his mouth sweep over the soft skin there, feeling Dean smile a little, his jaw relaxing. He pulled off Dean’s shirt and tossed it on the bed, and started on the button and the zipper of Dean’s pants when Dean batted him away.
“Go-go start the shower or something, yeah?” Dean nudged Sam in the direction of the bathroom, and Sam went, pulling off his shirt as he went. He bent to turn on both knobs, and while the water ran hot, he tested it, and then fiddled with the third knob till it chugged hard and sent the water streaming out of the showerhead with an energy that reminded him why he liked showers so much
Sam stuck his hand in the stream of water, the echo of doing this thing, this very same motion a hundred times before settling into his bones in a comfortable way. His memory was going to come back, and when he was himself again, he would be able to figure out why Dean seemed unhappy, even though this was what they both had worked so hard for. Until then, though, he would touch Dean all over and kiss his skin and make Dean sigh. That would help a little bit.
He went out from the bathroom, undoing his pants. When he looked up, Dean was on the bed, where he’d sat back down to take off his jeans, so Sam went over to help him. He thought he’d look at Dean and see that same, unhappy expression from earlier. But when Sam cast a sideways glance to test, Dean was smiling, soft, eyes starting to spark.
As Sam pulled on Dean’s jeans, Dean leaned back on his elbow, eyes half closing, head tipped back. Sam tossed the jeans to one side, turning his head to make sure they at least landed in a chair. When he looked back, Dean had sat up, and was sitting there in his boxers. His skin was bare to the warm stillness of the room, glowing in the low light, the shadows rippling over his muscles as he slid his hand down his own chest, looking down, his lush mouth pouting as he seemed to contemplate the small thatch of hair along his breastbone.
Then, sensing Sam there, Dean looked up. Sweat glittered along his hairline, his eyes sparked green, and his mouth was open and moist, almost smiling at Sam. He was so beautiful, just sitting there, but he didn’t seem to even know it.
Sam stood up and bent to kiss Dean, on his neck, along his jaw, feeling good in his chest, taking Dean’s face in his hands as he kissed. Finally, his lips touched Dean’s, soaking in the feel of them, sweet and soft, like a dandelion seed.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. And when Dean’s brow wrinkled, confused, Sam tugged on his arm and pulled him to his feet. “Let me show you.”
He stopped at the bathroom door to pull off his jeans and boxers in one motion, holding onto the doorjamb. Dean slipped into the space, and pulled Sam’s hand so it was leaning on him, and pulled off his own boxers, keeping his eyes on Sam’s. Not looking away, or tightening his mouth when Sam swept his eyes along Dean’s length, taking in the line of tan along Dean’s neck and arms, in contrast with the paleness of the rest of him, where his cock curved out from the dark hair between his legs. Length of muscle and curve of bone, he let Sam look. He was there, with Sam, while the steam roiled hot in the room, sending the curtain shifting on plastic rings, sending the fog up the mirror till it was as glazed as the mirror in the hospital was. This was familiar, though the room was warmer, much warmer than it had been there. He tugged Dean to him, their bodies growing damp in the steam, hip to hip, his own cock getting hard against Dean’s thigh.
Dean shifted, and when he did, Sam realized that Dean’s cock was hard too, heavy, branding hot on Sam’s skin. Sam pushed into it. Dipped his head down for a kiss while the water ran into the drain.
“Will we run out of water?” he asked, mouth on Dean.
“No,” said Dean. “Endless supply.”
Dean knew, of course he did. He’d stayed in these places with Sam, but he remembered even if Sam’s memory was imperfect, so Sam trusted him. Still, the sound of water rushing past his ears was a pleasant thunder and he wanted in it, wanted to be skin to skin, wet all over, with Dean. He got into the shower, feeling the hot water pummeling him with tiny dots, bracing his feet against the slippery bottom of the tub. Dean was right behind him, moving, seeming eager as if this had been his idea. Turning his head under the spray, showing Sam how it was done, the water sluicing over his head, soaking his hair dark, his eyes closing.
Then Dean’s whole body stilled. He moved his head slightly out of the stream of water, opening one eye to look at Sam.
“You gonna stare?” he asked. “Or you gonna join me?”
This was familiar, this teasing, the little smirk at the corner of Dean’s mouth. His hands came up to brush at his own chest till Sam pushed them away so that his hands could do that. He stepped closer, bending his neck to taste Dean’s skin with the water rushing over it, swallowing, pushing his chest into Dean’s, his hands settling along Dean’s ribs. Sighing, opening his mouth to take in more. His eyes closed as the water ran over his head, smoothing his hair to his skin, along his temples, where Dean reached up, touching him there, pushing the hair back like Dean liked to do.
“Soap?” asked Dean, muffled by the water.
Sam had almost forgotten that, just as he knew he’d almost forgotten his panic early on about even touching the soap. Now he let go of Dean to lean out beyond the shower curtain, fingers reaching for the little bar, grabbing a washcloth from the counter, his fingers ripping off the paper that quickly grew soggy, and he let it fall to the floor because who cared about that.
“They have shampoo, too,” said Dean. “The little bottles?”
Sam put the soap down on the small ledge, and reached again for the golden bottles on the counter by the sink. He opened one, it smelled sweet, and he poured some in his hands and put the bottle down on the edge of the tub. The shampoo was running off his hands, but there was enough to reach up with both of them to wash it into Dean’s hair, pushing the lather in with his fingers, loving the smell of it, mixing with Dean, inhaling it, smiling as Dean closed his eyes, and tilted into Sam’s hands. Yeah, showers were the best. Baths were good, but this, where he could be with Dean, skin bare, running with water, was better.
He scrubbed Dean’s hair, letting his hands linger over the curve of Dean’s scalp. Then he moved Dean’s head under the water to rinse him off, and then, to his surprise, Dean poured some shampoo on his hands and gestured to Sam.
Oh. He hadn’t realized it might go the other way. It could, of course it could, but-
“This shower is for you,” Sam said, coming close so Dean could hear him over the roar of the water.
“The shower is for us,” said Dean. He nodded his head, firm, and gestured with his chin for Sam to settle the heck down. Then he ran his fingers through Sam’s wet hair, moving his fingertips against Sam’s scalp, firm, over and over, running through Sam’s hair until Sam felt himself moaning with it. The soap in the hospital had been like sandpaper, smelling like floor wax in comparison to the perfumed air that drifted through the water, settling on their skins like kisses.
Dean rinsed Sam’s hair and then poured conditioner into his hands, mixing it in to Sam’s hair, so Sam did the same to Dean, liking the feel of how silky Dean’s hair became. Then Dean grabbed up the soap, and, taking a washcloth, washed Sam all over, scrubbing hard along his legs, gentle along the inside of his thighs, teasing.
It was supposed to be for Dean, all of this, so Sam struggled the washcloth and the soap away, and returned the favor, scrubbing all over. He hunkered down on his heels at one point to get to Dean’s legs, letting his tongue reach out to touch the clean, warm tip of Dean’s cock, just for a second, to taste and to tease. Then they rinsed off, and Sam clasped Dean close to his chest, enjoying the thunder of Dean’s heart through his skin, against his ribs, the conditioner sweeping down the back of his neck.
Dean ran his hand through Sam’s hair, as if to check, and then his own, letting the water rinse them off. Then he said, “Okay, out.” Like they were, for a minute, back in the hospital and the lights were soon to go out. Sam turned off the water, and they got out to get dry.
The towels were a nice surprise, thick against Sam’s skin as Dean rubbed him down. They both dripped on the tiled floor but there were enough towels so that Dean threw one down for them to stand on while they dried off. It seemed an incredible luxury, a towel just for that, but then, there were lots of towels. He took a whole towel just for Dean’s hair, rubbing gently, taking his time, tucking behind Dean’s ears to make sure he was dry everywhere, rubbing Dean’s chest and legs, planting kisses wherever he went, until Dean gave a small laugh and pulled Sam to make him stand straight.
He was serious and still for a minute, looking at Sam as the steam died away, sucked away by some fan Sam could hear whirring. Dean’s eyes were green, sending sparks, warm lights that Sam knew were real, Dean wasn’t making himself do this, not any of it.
“This is for us,” said Dean, dipping his head, looking up at Sam through his lashes, saying it slow as if he wanted to make sure Sam was listening. “You and me, tonight. Okay?”
Sam felt his heart pound and something twist its way into his soul; there were words of love and then there was this, this moment, which he wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. Dean deserved to feel this way, the way Sam felt right now; Sam would make sure that he did.
He dragged them out of the bathroom and went to one of the beds to pull back the scratchy counterpane, revealing clean white sheets, and two pillows. An abundance of pillows, since the other bed had two as well, an embarrassment of riches. When Dean looked at him as if to ask him what was wrong, Sam gestured at the pillows. See? Dean nodded. Yes, he saw.
Chapter 25 cont.
Blue Skies From Rain Master Fic Post