PixCT: 02.04
It's that time again...
Fic
Slash (Dean/Sam)
Adult
~3100 words
- - - - -
A combination of fic, pic, and cock, and that's really all there is to it.
All About Cock Thursday
So Far
September 07-September 08
September 08-September 09
DruCT: 09.17
DruCT: 09.24
DruCT: 10.01
DruCT: 10.08
DruCT: 10.15
DruCT: 10.22
DruCT: 10.29
DruCT: 11.05
DruCT: 11.12
DruCT: 11.19
DruCT: 01.21
PixCT: 01.21
DruCT: 01.28
PixCT: 01.28
- - - - -
Today
DruCT: 02.04
My fic:
Slash (Wincest: Dean/Sam) oneshot
Adult rating
~3100 words
- - - - -
Pix’s Pic Pick
It was always lilies.
It didn’t matter what Dean planted. He planted marigolds, and lilies bloomed. He planted tulips and daffodils, morning glories and zinnias, and the next morning, there were only lilies. Sunflowers grew into six feet high lilies and roses became lilies with thorns.
Out of spite, he once planted vegetables, choosing tiny carrot seeds, smooth corn seeds and flat pumpkin seeds, while the man at the store at looked at him curiously. That had been an interesting experiment. The carrot tops were lily petals, the corn silk was lily anthers and the pumpkins were the shades of the lilies themselves. But, that had been the end of fighting it, as Dean looked down at his garden with its soft bursts of colors. Defeated, he picked up a pink pumpkin with small brown spots and hoped that Sam wouldn’t make any smartass comments about it over dinner.
Dean thought it had something to do with Castiel’s friend-if that was even the correct word-named Lily. He hadn’t meant to make fun of her, but really, a girl named Lily hanging around with a guy named Castiel who had brothers named Raphael and Gabriel, Lucifer and Michael? Sounds like somebody was the odd duck out.
So Dean blamed her for turning everything he planted into lilies of one shape or another. He figured that maybe he’d talk to Castiel about it later, but for the time being, he decided it wasn’t that big of a deal. After all, bright red peas still tasted like peas and orange lima beans-grown specifically for Sam and his crazy need for puke-inducing vegetables-still tasted like pasty shit.
In the late afternoon, once the sun was no longer high in the sky, Dean went out to the garden to weed around the plants. On his hands and knees, he worked for hours beneath the thick, green trees. He plucked even the smallest weeds, carefully keeping the dirt around the plants clean, except where the grass came up to the edge of the flowerbeds. While crouched low to the flowers, he cupped their heads in his hands, staring at them almost in awe because he still couldn’t believe that after everything, this was home.
When he stood to his feet, the sun was already sinking into the horizon. He looked down for a final glance at the lilies, even though he knew they would be safe for the night. When he awoke in the morning, they would still be here. They would still be waiting for him.
The house he shared with Sam was built on top of a hill so that the gardens surrounded the area below. To the south side of the house, though, a small trail led out to a crystal lake with a pier that jutted out and allowed for long hours of fishing when the days were right.
Dean paused as he walked up the hill from the gardens, considering a quick trip down to the lake. Maybe even to spend the night there, sleeping on the pier underneath the stars and watching the fireflies skim the water.
But, he quickly decided, that such a time would be something better shared with Sam. Something where they could swim naked in the water and then collapse onto the pier, dripping and laughing. It would lead to sex then, because there wasn’t any reason it shouldn’t lead to sex, as far as the both of them were concerned. But, afterwards, when they had had their fill and their cocks were soft again, they could lie on their backs and look up at the stars. Sam would know every constellation above and every mythological story behind them, and Dean would fall asleep like that, his head on Sam’s chest and Sam’s voice, smooth and low, coming forth.
So, yes, the idea of being able to have that moment with Sam was enough to keep Dean walking up the hill and into the house. Inside, the house was quiet and cool, the last bit of deep orange sunset light coming in through the windows. It was a strange sort of quiet, one that Dean still hadn’t gotten used to in all their time here. To help with the quiet, Sam had once suggested they should get a pet.
“Maybe a dog or a cat?” Sam asked. It had been breakfast then with thick, fluffy pancakes, fat strips of hot bacon, bright yellow scrambled eggs, and cold orange juice, completed by a seemingly never-ending bottle of real maple syrup.
“You think I’m a cat person?” Dean shook his head. “No thanks, Sammy. I’m not cleaning out a litter box all the time.”
“Then let’s get a dog.”
Dean chewed on a forkful of the pancakes, swallowed, and said, “No point in getting a dog when we’re leaving all the time.”
Sam smiled, easy and knowing. “No, I’m leaving all the time, if anything. You’re the one who stays here. You can take care of the dog.”
“Well, you know, I just don’t think I’m ready for that kind of committed relationship. Let’s see if I can keep the plants alive. Isn’t that the stuff they teach you in therapy?” Dean asked, having a vague memory of some such system from a long-ago movie.
“You know the plants will live,” Sam pointed out. He took a long drink of the orange juice. “So I don’t consider that a real test at all.”
“Still,” Dean said, finally deciding to be honest with Sam because there wasn’t much need to lie anymore, “I don’t think I’m ready for a pet. Not….yet.”
Sam shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
That had been, what, a week ago, maybe more? It was hard to tell now, time slipping by so fluidly and yet so slowly all the same. The clocks still ticked, seconds falling over one another, but it wasn’t quite the same. It lacked meaning.
In the house, Dean pulled a beer from the refrigerator and decided to take a bag of potato chips with him rather than spend the time to make a BLT sandwich. The sandwich sounded good, sure, but he was rather content with having beer and chips for dinner.
Crossing the kitchen, he went to the living room where he collapsed into his favorite chair, an overstuffed recliner with a footrest. The chair was a ridiculous color of orange and red plaid, something that even made Sam turn his nose up, but goddamn, if it wasn’t the most comfortable chair Dean had ever sat in. From its side pouch, Dean pulled out the TV remote and punched the power button so that the screen in front of him burst to life.
He flipped through the channels, scrolling through old movies and erotic television shows, before finally landing on a movie that he hadn’t watched since he was a teenager. He loved that they didn’t get any news on this TV. It was nice, for once, not to worry and think about what was going on outside of here.
He sighed, settled back into the chair, uncapped his beer and took the clip off the bag of already opened chips. If he fell asleep like this, so be it. Sam wasn’t expected back for a while. No plans for him to come back tonight, and see Dean passed out in his chair like a lush who couldn’t hold his booze.
Sam wasn’t a fan of Dean’s chair, which suited Dean just fine because it meant that he could sit in it all he wanted and not have to worry about fighting Sam for it. Still, even Dean had to agree-however reluctantly-that they would need to redecorate or start decorating, rather, the place.
“I think it could use something,” Sam had said one evening. They had just finished showering a bit ago, coming inside after spending all day outdoors, and a ten minute shower had turned into an hour because Sam had wanted to drop to his knees and push Dean against the shower wall. Not that Dean was going to argue with Sam when he rested a hand at the base of Dean’s cock and curled another over Dean’s hip, and when Sam decided to open his mouth to Dean, to suck him down right there in the shower with the water still coming down on them. No, Dean was not going to argue with that at all.
“Something?” Dean said. His brain was still fuzzy from the blowjob in the shower. Nothing better than surprise sex, he figured.
“I don’t know.” Sam scratched his head. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, and Dean couldn’t think of anything but tearing that towel off, pushing Sam down into the chair and returning the blowjob favor. “Just that, we’ve got this big house now, and the only thing in the living room is that damn chair of yours and a TV.”
“What? You want a chair too?”
“Maybe? What about a couch?”
Dean looked at Sam, wet hair curling behind his ears, the bare skin of his chest, and then glanced to the empty spot on the other side of the TV. He shrugged. “I suppose a couch could work.”
But, they hadn’t gotten a couch. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to. Sam had told Dean more than once that he should go down to the store by himself and pick out a couch. But, Dean argued that, hey, he had his chair. It was Sam who wanted the couch, and Dean wasn’t going to pick out some couch only to have Sam bitch over the pattern and the color and the fabric choice. So, they would have to wait until Sam got time to go to the store with Dean so they could pick out the couch together.
Taking another handful of potato chips, Dean laughed to himself. Picking out a couch together. Whoever would have thought one of their biggest problems in life would be finding the time to choose a damn couch? Still, he wasn’t about to start complaining.
He fell asleep halfway through the movie and awoke to the bright sound of a sitcom theme song. He sighed, rubbed his eyes and rose to his feet. Probably should sleep in the bed after all, if he was really this tired. In the kitchen, he shook out the beer bottle into the sink to empty out any lingering drops and tossed the glass bottle into the box that Sam had set aside for recyclables. Then, he rolled the top of the chip bag down and replaced the clip before putting the bag back into their pantry closet.
With a yawn, he turned to walk up the stairs to their shared bedroom. Out of all the rooms in the house, the bedroom was the most furnished, the one that they spent the most time working on and the one they spent the most time playing in. It was an expansive room with a large bed covered in mounds of pillows and warm blankets that always smelled like they had been hanging outside on the laundry line all day, saturated with the crisp, fresh scent of the outdoors. On the opposite side of the room, a picture window overlooked the gardens and the lake, and Dean knew that if he went to the window now, he would be able to see the patches of lilies in the quickly approaching darkness.
But, instead, he toed off his boots and pulled off his clothes, tossing them into a pile in the corner. If Sam had been there, Dean would have put everything into the laundry baskets-one for darks and one for lights-but since Sam wasn’t there, onto the floor they went. In just his underwear, Dean climbed into bed, taking the side closest to the window as he always did, whether or not Sam was sleeping beside him.
The bed was awesome, through and through. Big, thick mattress perfect for thrusting against each other and a strong oak headboard that Sam had grabbed on more than one occasion when Dean was fucking into him from behind and all the blankets they could tangle themselves in when they wanted nothing more than to touch and kiss, soft and quiet. Honestly, if Dean had been forced to choose, he probably would have chosen the bed over his chair. The bed was just that great.
The bed was also where he kept some of his best memories of Sam and him. Like, the night when he had been sleeping, Sam curled behind him with his big arm flopped over Dean’s chest, and Sam had said, “Dean?”
Dean had murmured because he’d been on the edge of sleep, that sweetness just out of reach now, and he might have even cursed at Sam for wanting to talk now.
“Dean?” Sam said again, squeezed Dean’s hand where he held it. “Dean? You awake?”
Dean groaned, shifted and said, “I am now.”
“Can we talk about something?”
He wanted to look at a clock, but they hadn’t yet bought one to sit beside the bed, and his wristwatch had fallen away somewhere in the night. So, he sighed and rolled over to face Sam, who was looking down at him with big eyes in the dark room.
“Can we make this quick?” Dean grumbled.
“I’m thinking about going back,” Sam said.
“What do you mean? ‘Going back’?” Dean rubbed at his eyes and yawned.
Sam sighed. “I was talking to Castiel the other day, and he suggested this…I guess it’s like a program…for people who…want more.”
“I didn’t realize you and Cas were friends now.”
“Well, it’s just he said he can help me out on these…missions…”
“You’re leaving?”
“No, no, not forever. Just for a few days or so.”
“I don’t understand. Dammit. It’s the middle of the night, Sam. Speak a little clearer, all right? My brain’s not as fast as yours sometimes.” Another yawn.
“Look, okay, since we got here, things are great, all right? And I love it here, I do, but I just think that maybe…I want to try going back, going on these missions Castiel was talking about.”
“So, they’re going to make you an angel?”
“No, I don’t think it works like that. I mean, I don’t think it does, but I know we’re, I guess, more special than most of the other souls here.”
“Of course we are,” Dean said, slightly cocky despite his fatigue. They were the ones who had fought off the apocalypse, weren’t they?
“I think it’s something to do with our whole ‘meatsuits for the archangels’ thing, to be honest,” Sam said. “But, look, that’s not the point. I guess, sometimes, Castiel said, souls can go back to Earth and, well, help out down there.”
“Like a guardian angel deal?”
“Something like that, I guess.”
Dean sighed and considered what Sam was asking him. Here they were, in Heaven or some personalized version of it following their deaths after the apocalypse, and Sam wanted to go back to Earth again to serve as a kind of supernatural messenger from above.
Finally, Dean said, “Look, Sam, if you’re asking me for permission, forget it. I think we’ve come far enough for you to be able to do what you want in, well, life…if that’s what we can call this.”
Sam smiled. “You sure?”
“As sure as I’m going to get. You said you’re coming back, right? None of this reincarnation bullshit, and I don’t see you for a hundred years, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll come back. Few days, a week, maybe, and I’ll be back.”
“All right, well,” Dean said and yawned again, “I suppose I can work with that.”
The next morning, Sam talked with Castiel and another angel whose name Dean didn’t catch, and Sam left for his first trip shortly thereafter. He came and went frequently, taking these trips down to Earth, and when he returned, he always had stories for Dean. Stories about how Bobby was doing since his legs had healed or how Missouri had won some cooking contest in the community. Stories about how the newspapers no longer talked about the suspicious signs that had followed the apocalypse and how the numbers of demons were becoming less and less.
It made Sam happy doing it, Dean knew that. Some sort of kick out of being able to save people and help people, even though they never knew Sam’s name, couldn’t even see him sometimes. Just a breeze through their life that might push their child out of the way of a speeding car, send those cancerous cells into remission, or help a lost dog find his way home. Big things, little things, Sam did them all at one time or another.
Dean figured that he’d join Sam soon enough, but for the time being, he was content in his life. Sleeping in late, delicious midday breakfasts, gardening and fishing and going down to the stores in the neighborhood, stupid things like mowing the lawn and painting the house and puttering around the house, followed by dinner with food that never went bad and a TV that only played the shows he wanted to watch.
That night, Dean fell asleep easily, tired from his day outside in the gardens, and he awoke to the press of lips against the back of his neck and a voice whispering his name.
He rolled over and saw Sam kneeling above him.
“You’re back early,” Dean said, resting his hands on Sam’s thighs that were on either side of his waist.
Sam smiled. He looked beautiful like that, the golden rays of morning sunshine covering him, and a bright flush to his cheeks. “Got done sooner than expected.”
Dean murmured unintelligibly and reached up to pulled Sam down on top of him. “C’mon, let’s go back to sleep.”
Sam chuckled, that sweet sound bubbling forth. “You want to sleep now?”
“Sex later, Sammy. I want my sleep now.”
But, Sam laughed, the kind that caused him to throw his head back with amusement, and he cupped Dean’s face in his hands and kissed him, on the lips, on the neck and ears and everywhere possible, until all thoughts of sleep were forgotten. As Dean let himself be lifted, carried in Sam’s hold, he noticed the small vase sitting on the bedside table. In the crystal vase, caught in the soft light, a perfect pink lily greeted the morning.
End
Fic
- - - - -
A combination of fic, pic, and cock, and that's really all there is to it.
All About Cock Thursday
So Far
September 07-September 08
September 08-September 09
DruCT: 09.17
DruCT: 09.24
DruCT: 10.01
DruCT: 10.08
DruCT: 10.15
DruCT: 10.22
DruCT: 10.29
DruCT: 11.05
DruCT: 11.12
DruCT: 11.19
DruCT: 01.21
PixCT: 01.21
DruCT: 01.28
PixCT: 01.28
- - - - -
Today
DruCT: 02.04
My fic:
Slash (Wincest: Dean/Sam) oneshot
Adult rating
~3100 words
- - - - -
Pix’s Pic Pick
It was always lilies.
It didn’t matter what Dean planted. He planted marigolds, and lilies bloomed. He planted tulips and daffodils, morning glories and zinnias, and the next morning, there were only lilies. Sunflowers grew into six feet high lilies and roses became lilies with thorns.
Out of spite, he once planted vegetables, choosing tiny carrot seeds, smooth corn seeds and flat pumpkin seeds, while the man at the store at looked at him curiously. That had been an interesting experiment. The carrot tops were lily petals, the corn silk was lily anthers and the pumpkins were the shades of the lilies themselves. But, that had been the end of fighting it, as Dean looked down at his garden with its soft bursts of colors. Defeated, he picked up a pink pumpkin with small brown spots and hoped that Sam wouldn’t make any smartass comments about it over dinner.
Dean thought it had something to do with Castiel’s friend-if that was even the correct word-named Lily. He hadn’t meant to make fun of her, but really, a girl named Lily hanging around with a guy named Castiel who had brothers named Raphael and Gabriel, Lucifer and Michael? Sounds like somebody was the odd duck out.
So Dean blamed her for turning everything he planted into lilies of one shape or another. He figured that maybe he’d talk to Castiel about it later, but for the time being, he decided it wasn’t that big of a deal. After all, bright red peas still tasted like peas and orange lima beans-grown specifically for Sam and his crazy need for puke-inducing vegetables-still tasted like pasty shit.
In the late afternoon, once the sun was no longer high in the sky, Dean went out to the garden to weed around the plants. On his hands and knees, he worked for hours beneath the thick, green trees. He plucked even the smallest weeds, carefully keeping the dirt around the plants clean, except where the grass came up to the edge of the flowerbeds. While crouched low to the flowers, he cupped their heads in his hands, staring at them almost in awe because he still couldn’t believe that after everything, this was home.
When he stood to his feet, the sun was already sinking into the horizon. He looked down for a final glance at the lilies, even though he knew they would be safe for the night. When he awoke in the morning, they would still be here. They would still be waiting for him.
The house he shared with Sam was built on top of a hill so that the gardens surrounded the area below. To the south side of the house, though, a small trail led out to a crystal lake with a pier that jutted out and allowed for long hours of fishing when the days were right.
Dean paused as he walked up the hill from the gardens, considering a quick trip down to the lake. Maybe even to spend the night there, sleeping on the pier underneath the stars and watching the fireflies skim the water.
But, he quickly decided, that such a time would be something better shared with Sam. Something where they could swim naked in the water and then collapse onto the pier, dripping and laughing. It would lead to sex then, because there wasn’t any reason it shouldn’t lead to sex, as far as the both of them were concerned. But, afterwards, when they had had their fill and their cocks were soft again, they could lie on their backs and look up at the stars. Sam would know every constellation above and every mythological story behind them, and Dean would fall asleep like that, his head on Sam’s chest and Sam’s voice, smooth and low, coming forth.
So, yes, the idea of being able to have that moment with Sam was enough to keep Dean walking up the hill and into the house. Inside, the house was quiet and cool, the last bit of deep orange sunset light coming in through the windows. It was a strange sort of quiet, one that Dean still hadn’t gotten used to in all their time here. To help with the quiet, Sam had once suggested they should get a pet.
“Maybe a dog or a cat?” Sam asked. It had been breakfast then with thick, fluffy pancakes, fat strips of hot bacon, bright yellow scrambled eggs, and cold orange juice, completed by a seemingly never-ending bottle of real maple syrup.
“You think I’m a cat person?” Dean shook his head. “No thanks, Sammy. I’m not cleaning out a litter box all the time.”
“Then let’s get a dog.”
Dean chewed on a forkful of the pancakes, swallowed, and said, “No point in getting a dog when we’re leaving all the time.”
Sam smiled, easy and knowing. “No, I’m leaving all the time, if anything. You’re the one who stays here. You can take care of the dog.”
“Well, you know, I just don’t think I’m ready for that kind of committed relationship. Let’s see if I can keep the plants alive. Isn’t that the stuff they teach you in therapy?” Dean asked, having a vague memory of some such system from a long-ago movie.
“You know the plants will live,” Sam pointed out. He took a long drink of the orange juice. “So I don’t consider that a real test at all.”
“Still,” Dean said, finally deciding to be honest with Sam because there wasn’t much need to lie anymore, “I don’t think I’m ready for a pet. Not….yet.”
Sam shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
That had been, what, a week ago, maybe more? It was hard to tell now, time slipping by so fluidly and yet so slowly all the same. The clocks still ticked, seconds falling over one another, but it wasn’t quite the same. It lacked meaning.
In the house, Dean pulled a beer from the refrigerator and decided to take a bag of potato chips with him rather than spend the time to make a BLT sandwich. The sandwich sounded good, sure, but he was rather content with having beer and chips for dinner.
Crossing the kitchen, he went to the living room where he collapsed into his favorite chair, an overstuffed recliner with a footrest. The chair was a ridiculous color of orange and red plaid, something that even made Sam turn his nose up, but goddamn, if it wasn’t the most comfortable chair Dean had ever sat in. From its side pouch, Dean pulled out the TV remote and punched the power button so that the screen in front of him burst to life.
He flipped through the channels, scrolling through old movies and erotic television shows, before finally landing on a movie that he hadn’t watched since he was a teenager. He loved that they didn’t get any news on this TV. It was nice, for once, not to worry and think about what was going on outside of here.
He sighed, settled back into the chair, uncapped his beer and took the clip off the bag of already opened chips. If he fell asleep like this, so be it. Sam wasn’t expected back for a while. No plans for him to come back tonight, and see Dean passed out in his chair like a lush who couldn’t hold his booze.
Sam wasn’t a fan of Dean’s chair, which suited Dean just fine because it meant that he could sit in it all he wanted and not have to worry about fighting Sam for it. Still, even Dean had to agree-however reluctantly-that they would need to redecorate or start decorating, rather, the place.
“I think it could use something,” Sam had said one evening. They had just finished showering a bit ago, coming inside after spending all day outdoors, and a ten minute shower had turned into an hour because Sam had wanted to drop to his knees and push Dean against the shower wall. Not that Dean was going to argue with Sam when he rested a hand at the base of Dean’s cock and curled another over Dean’s hip, and when Sam decided to open his mouth to Dean, to suck him down right there in the shower with the water still coming down on them. No, Dean was not going to argue with that at all.
“Something?” Dean said. His brain was still fuzzy from the blowjob in the shower. Nothing better than surprise sex, he figured.
“I don’t know.” Sam scratched his head. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, and Dean couldn’t think of anything but tearing that towel off, pushing Sam down into the chair and returning the blowjob favor. “Just that, we’ve got this big house now, and the only thing in the living room is that damn chair of yours and a TV.”
“What? You want a chair too?”
“Maybe? What about a couch?”
Dean looked at Sam, wet hair curling behind his ears, the bare skin of his chest, and then glanced to the empty spot on the other side of the TV. He shrugged. “I suppose a couch could work.”
But, they hadn’t gotten a couch. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to. Sam had told Dean more than once that he should go down to the store by himself and pick out a couch. But, Dean argued that, hey, he had his chair. It was Sam who wanted the couch, and Dean wasn’t going to pick out some couch only to have Sam bitch over the pattern and the color and the fabric choice. So, they would have to wait until Sam got time to go to the store with Dean so they could pick out the couch together.
Taking another handful of potato chips, Dean laughed to himself. Picking out a couch together. Whoever would have thought one of their biggest problems in life would be finding the time to choose a damn couch? Still, he wasn’t about to start complaining.
He fell asleep halfway through the movie and awoke to the bright sound of a sitcom theme song. He sighed, rubbed his eyes and rose to his feet. Probably should sleep in the bed after all, if he was really this tired. In the kitchen, he shook out the beer bottle into the sink to empty out any lingering drops and tossed the glass bottle into the box that Sam had set aside for recyclables. Then, he rolled the top of the chip bag down and replaced the clip before putting the bag back into their pantry closet.
With a yawn, he turned to walk up the stairs to their shared bedroom. Out of all the rooms in the house, the bedroom was the most furnished, the one that they spent the most time working on and the one they spent the most time playing in. It was an expansive room with a large bed covered in mounds of pillows and warm blankets that always smelled like they had been hanging outside on the laundry line all day, saturated with the crisp, fresh scent of the outdoors. On the opposite side of the room, a picture window overlooked the gardens and the lake, and Dean knew that if he went to the window now, he would be able to see the patches of lilies in the quickly approaching darkness.
But, instead, he toed off his boots and pulled off his clothes, tossing them into a pile in the corner. If Sam had been there, Dean would have put everything into the laundry baskets-one for darks and one for lights-but since Sam wasn’t there, onto the floor they went. In just his underwear, Dean climbed into bed, taking the side closest to the window as he always did, whether or not Sam was sleeping beside him.
The bed was awesome, through and through. Big, thick mattress perfect for thrusting against each other and a strong oak headboard that Sam had grabbed on more than one occasion when Dean was fucking into him from behind and all the blankets they could tangle themselves in when they wanted nothing more than to touch and kiss, soft and quiet. Honestly, if Dean had been forced to choose, he probably would have chosen the bed over his chair. The bed was just that great.
The bed was also where he kept some of his best memories of Sam and him. Like, the night when he had been sleeping, Sam curled behind him with his big arm flopped over Dean’s chest, and Sam had said, “Dean?”
Dean had murmured because he’d been on the edge of sleep, that sweetness just out of reach now, and he might have even cursed at Sam for wanting to talk now.
“Dean?” Sam said again, squeezed Dean’s hand where he held it. “Dean? You awake?”
Dean groaned, shifted and said, “I am now.”
“Can we talk about something?”
He wanted to look at a clock, but they hadn’t yet bought one to sit beside the bed, and his wristwatch had fallen away somewhere in the night. So, he sighed and rolled over to face Sam, who was looking down at him with big eyes in the dark room.
“Can we make this quick?” Dean grumbled.
“I’m thinking about going back,” Sam said.
“What do you mean? ‘Going back’?” Dean rubbed at his eyes and yawned.
Sam sighed. “I was talking to Castiel the other day, and he suggested this…I guess it’s like a program…for people who…want more.”
“I didn’t realize you and Cas were friends now.”
“Well, it’s just he said he can help me out on these…missions…”
“You’re leaving?”
“No, no, not forever. Just for a few days or so.”
“I don’t understand. Dammit. It’s the middle of the night, Sam. Speak a little clearer, all right? My brain’s not as fast as yours sometimes.” Another yawn.
“Look, okay, since we got here, things are great, all right? And I love it here, I do, but I just think that maybe…I want to try going back, going on these missions Castiel was talking about.”
“So, they’re going to make you an angel?”
“No, I don’t think it works like that. I mean, I don’t think it does, but I know we’re, I guess, more special than most of the other souls here.”
“Of course we are,” Dean said, slightly cocky despite his fatigue. They were the ones who had fought off the apocalypse, weren’t they?
“I think it’s something to do with our whole ‘meatsuits for the archangels’ thing, to be honest,” Sam said. “But, look, that’s not the point. I guess, sometimes, Castiel said, souls can go back to Earth and, well, help out down there.”
“Like a guardian angel deal?”
“Something like that, I guess.”
Dean sighed and considered what Sam was asking him. Here they were, in Heaven or some personalized version of it following their deaths after the apocalypse, and Sam wanted to go back to Earth again to serve as a kind of supernatural messenger from above.
Finally, Dean said, “Look, Sam, if you’re asking me for permission, forget it. I think we’ve come far enough for you to be able to do what you want in, well, life…if that’s what we can call this.”
Sam smiled. “You sure?”
“As sure as I’m going to get. You said you’re coming back, right? None of this reincarnation bullshit, and I don’t see you for a hundred years, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll come back. Few days, a week, maybe, and I’ll be back.”
“All right, well,” Dean said and yawned again, “I suppose I can work with that.”
The next morning, Sam talked with Castiel and another angel whose name Dean didn’t catch, and Sam left for his first trip shortly thereafter. He came and went frequently, taking these trips down to Earth, and when he returned, he always had stories for Dean. Stories about how Bobby was doing since his legs had healed or how Missouri had won some cooking contest in the community. Stories about how the newspapers no longer talked about the suspicious signs that had followed the apocalypse and how the numbers of demons were becoming less and less.
It made Sam happy doing it, Dean knew that. Some sort of kick out of being able to save people and help people, even though they never knew Sam’s name, couldn’t even see him sometimes. Just a breeze through their life that might push their child out of the way of a speeding car, send those cancerous cells into remission, or help a lost dog find his way home. Big things, little things, Sam did them all at one time or another.
Dean figured that he’d join Sam soon enough, but for the time being, he was content in his life. Sleeping in late, delicious midday breakfasts, gardening and fishing and going down to the stores in the neighborhood, stupid things like mowing the lawn and painting the house and puttering around the house, followed by dinner with food that never went bad and a TV that only played the shows he wanted to watch.
That night, Dean fell asleep easily, tired from his day outside in the gardens, and he awoke to the press of lips against the back of his neck and a voice whispering his name.
He rolled over and saw Sam kneeling above him.
“You’re back early,” Dean said, resting his hands on Sam’s thighs that were on either side of his waist.
Sam smiled. He looked beautiful like that, the golden rays of morning sunshine covering him, and a bright flush to his cheeks. “Got done sooner than expected.”
Dean murmured unintelligibly and reached up to pulled Sam down on top of him. “C’mon, let’s go back to sleep.”
Sam chuckled, that sweet sound bubbling forth. “You want to sleep now?”
“Sex later, Sammy. I want my sleep now.”
But, Sam laughed, the kind that caused him to throw his head back with amusement, and he cupped Dean’s face in his hands and kissed him, on the lips, on the neck and ears and everywhere possible, until all thoughts of sleep were forgotten. As Dean let himself be lifted, carried in Sam’s hold, he noticed the small vase sitting on the bedside table. In the crystal vase, caught in the soft light, a perfect pink lily greeted the morning.
End