FIC - Thunder Road
title: Thunder Road
pairing: Sam/Dean
rating: PG
summary: Tonight we’ll be free, all the promises will be broken.
Roy Orbison singing for the lonely
Hey that's me and I want you only
Don't turn me home again
I just can't face myself alone again
He can’t hold it back anymore. Years, he tried, he did it when they were still just kids, he did it when they were thousands of miles apart, he did it when more than just physical distance separated them. He just didn’t have anything left, no more strength to fight against what he wanted. He’d been alone too long, even when he wasn’t technically alone. There was nothing - nothing - even close to how much he wanted this.
It was risky. Obviously. If there wasn’t an inherent danger in letting his feelings be known he would have acted on them or at least spoken of them forever ago. But so many things had stood in the way. Clearly, coming in at #1 on the List Of Reasons Not To Do Or Say Anything About This, was the whole incest taboo that’s ingrained in all of us. He’d even studied it, read articles and listened to NPR podcasts (and you can just shut the fuck up and forget about telling anyone that) about how it was possible that the whole “incest taboo” thing was the reason why parents felt uncomfortable talking about sex with their children or other close family members.
Also on The List was that there was so much time that his brother just seemed so sad. There was always some fucking thing that came along to kick the shit out of Sam, which inevitably led to him retreating into himself, like he was reveling in the hurt as though he deserved it.
You can hide 'neath your covers and study your pain
Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain
Dean didn’t want to feel like he was taking advantage of his brother. The fierce protective instinct had always been there, and there always something in it that stopped him from doing what he wanted. Sam was too young, Sam was his kid brother, Sam would feel obligated to give Dean what he wanted no matter what, Sam had just lost someone he loved, Sam was reeling from the aftermath of betrayal or the realization that he’d done something very wrong when he hadn’t meant to.
But now here they were. There was no more Apocalypse looming. Both of them had full control over their own emotions and responses and Dean was just tired, the sheer force of will it had taken to keep his feelings hidden for all this time had worn him down more than Demons or Hell or Angels or Death or any other stupid Capitalized Proper Noun that had interfered in their lives for all these years. It was a ridiculous time, the two of them silently downing bottles of beer and occasional shots for an hour or so at a rundown bar in BFE, Montana. Dean had been incapable of holding up his end of the conversation almost the whole time, because he was suddenly consumed with this desire he’d held at bay for so long and every time he looked at his brother’s fingers, or mouth, or eyes, it was like a jolt to his central nervous system. He’d tried concentrating on the jukebox to drown out the suddenly overwhelming need, but it hadn’t helped.
So you're scared and you're thinking that maybe we ain't that young anymore
How long was he supposed to wait? How much more could he take? The pretense he’d put up for what felt like his entire life was now just crumbling like dust and there was nothing else for it. Time was passing them by, passing Dean by, and finally, even though it felt like jumping off a cliff, he didn’t have it in him anymore to hold back.
He didn’t speak. He couldn’t speak. All he could do was put his hand around Sam’s wrist and lock their eyes and hope he wasn’t met with a serious clock to the jaw (best case scenario), a cold rejection (a close second best case scenario), or immediate abandonment and spending the rest of his life alone because his brother thought he was a disgusting twisted monster and walked away (worst case scenario). Sam knew everything there was to know about his brother, and the look they shared at that moment was not in any way ambiguous. Dean knew the risk, but he didn’t hide anything from Sam’s studious gaze that bore into him as they sat on their barstools and wordlessly traded thoughts and emotions.
Dean knew he couldn’t give Sam that “normal” that he always thought Sam wanted, that Sam himself had thought at one time that he wanted. But he would give him anything he could, no matter what it cost, and he hoped to God (wherever That Sorry Asshole had taken off to) that it would be enough. With just that one look, and that one touch, Dean had already rolled the dice. Now he just had to wait the few seconds it took to see if they landed on snake eyes or a lucky seven.
Hey what else can we do now
Except roll down the window and let the wind blow back your hair
Well the night's bustin' open, these two lanes will take us anywhere
We got one last chance to make it real
Sam set down his beer so he could move his hand over Dean’s wrist opposite from where Dean was holding his. His eyes took in all of it, his brother’s courage in admitting, the best way he knew how, to something he knew for sure might result in him losing everything, but doing it anyway because it was worth taking the chance.
And that look was so many things all at once. It had been years since Sam had felt he was worthy of anyone, especially his brother, taking a chance on. His gratitude and reciprocal feelings were sent back to Dean the same way they had been relayed to him - one look, one touch.
“Let’s get out of here, yeah?”
“Yeah. Yeah, ok.”
Sit tight. Take hold.
pairing: Sam/Dean
rating: PG
summary: Tonight we’ll be free, all the promises will be broken.
Roy Orbison singing for the lonely
Hey that's me and I want you only
Don't turn me home again
I just can't face myself alone again
He can’t hold it back anymore. Years, he tried, he did it when they were still just kids, he did it when they were thousands of miles apart, he did it when more than just physical distance separated them. He just didn’t have anything left, no more strength to fight against what he wanted. He’d been alone too long, even when he wasn’t technically alone. There was nothing - nothing - even close to how much he wanted this.
It was risky. Obviously. If there wasn’t an inherent danger in letting his feelings be known he would have acted on them or at least spoken of them forever ago. But so many things had stood in the way. Clearly, coming in at #1 on the List Of Reasons Not To Do Or Say Anything About This, was the whole incest taboo that’s ingrained in all of us. He’d even studied it, read articles and listened to NPR podcasts (and you can just shut the fuck up and forget about telling anyone that) about how it was possible that the whole “incest taboo” thing was the reason why parents felt uncomfortable talking about sex with their children or other close family members.
Also on The List was that there was so much time that his brother just seemed so sad. There was always some fucking thing that came along to kick the shit out of Sam, which inevitably led to him retreating into himself, like he was reveling in the hurt as though he deserved it.
You can hide 'neath your covers and study your pain
Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain
Dean didn’t want to feel like he was taking advantage of his brother. The fierce protective instinct had always been there, and there always something in it that stopped him from doing what he wanted. Sam was too young, Sam was his kid brother, Sam would feel obligated to give Dean what he wanted no matter what, Sam had just lost someone he loved, Sam was reeling from the aftermath of betrayal or the realization that he’d done something very wrong when he hadn’t meant to.
But now here they were. There was no more Apocalypse looming. Both of them had full control over their own emotions and responses and Dean was just tired, the sheer force of will it had taken to keep his feelings hidden for all this time had worn him down more than Demons or Hell or Angels or Death or any other stupid Capitalized Proper Noun that had interfered in their lives for all these years. It was a ridiculous time, the two of them silently downing bottles of beer and occasional shots for an hour or so at a rundown bar in BFE, Montana. Dean had been incapable of holding up his end of the conversation almost the whole time, because he was suddenly consumed with this desire he’d held at bay for so long and every time he looked at his brother’s fingers, or mouth, or eyes, it was like a jolt to his central nervous system. He’d tried concentrating on the jukebox to drown out the suddenly overwhelming need, but it hadn’t helped.
So you're scared and you're thinking that maybe we ain't that young anymore
How long was he supposed to wait? How much more could he take? The pretense he’d put up for what felt like his entire life was now just crumbling like dust and there was nothing else for it. Time was passing them by, passing Dean by, and finally, even though it felt like jumping off a cliff, he didn’t have it in him anymore to hold back.
He didn’t speak. He couldn’t speak. All he could do was put his hand around Sam’s wrist and lock their eyes and hope he wasn’t met with a serious clock to the jaw (best case scenario), a cold rejection (a close second best case scenario), or immediate abandonment and spending the rest of his life alone because his brother thought he was a disgusting twisted monster and walked away (worst case scenario). Sam knew everything there was to know about his brother, and the look they shared at that moment was not in any way ambiguous. Dean knew the risk, but he didn’t hide anything from Sam’s studious gaze that bore into him as they sat on their barstools and wordlessly traded thoughts and emotions.
Dean knew he couldn’t give Sam that “normal” that he always thought Sam wanted, that Sam himself had thought at one time that he wanted. But he would give him anything he could, no matter what it cost, and he hoped to God (wherever That Sorry Asshole had taken off to) that it would be enough. With just that one look, and that one touch, Dean had already rolled the dice. Now he just had to wait the few seconds it took to see if they landed on snake eyes or a lucky seven.
Hey what else can we do now
Except roll down the window and let the wind blow back your hair
Well the night's bustin' open, these two lanes will take us anywhere
We got one last chance to make it real
Sam set down his beer so he could move his hand over Dean’s wrist opposite from where Dean was holding his. His eyes took in all of it, his brother’s courage in admitting, the best way he knew how, to something he knew for sure might result in him losing everything, but doing it anyway because it was worth taking the chance.
And that look was so many things all at once. It had been years since Sam had felt he was worthy of anyone, especially his brother, taking a chance on. His gratitude and reciprocal feelings were sent back to Dean the same way they had been relayed to him - one look, one touch.
“Let’s get out of here, yeah?”
“Yeah. Yeah, ok.”
Sit tight. Take hold.