Intimations of Morality: At the Heart of It All - Good
Intimations of Morality: At the Heart of It All (Good version)
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Chapter Word Count: 1172
All warnings in Main Post
Back to Head Space
When his eyes finally flutter open, Dean’s greeted with the awe-inspiring view of a water-stained ceiling. A very familiar ceiling, when he thinks about it. And the cushion beneath him is actually soft, nothing at all like the van’s bench he should still be lying on. But hey, at least he remembers he’s supposed to be in the van. Small victory, right?
So he’s in a bedroom, then. Slowly, other details start filtering in: the slightly scratchy sheets drawn up to his chest, the clean scent of laundry soap masking a different mustier odor, a dog whining just outside.
“You hid.” The sudden voice startles Dean, and he turns to see Sam sitting at his bedside. His little brother has somehow maneuvered himself so that his feet are both resting on the chair’s seat, knees as high as his chin and arms wrapped around his legs. “You ran and hid in that damn stack of cars. I had to crawl in there and get you.”
Dean blinks, confused. Sam came after him, even after the scene in the kitchen. Even after...no, wait. That was - the other, yeah the other Sam. Not his Sam. Dean shifts on the bed, sending a jolt of pain through his ribs. The other Sam, damn it.
Slowly, as if he's not trying to spook Dean, Sam gets out of his chair and moves to the mattress. It dips and groans as he sits at Dean's hip, with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped in front. Dad's Pose, and Dean swallows hard.
"Why did you run?"
There's so many ways Dean can answer that question, yet none of them want to make it out of his mouth. The most obvious, of course, is that he was scared. Scared of what would happen if he stayed. Scared of facing Sam's reaction. Scared of himself, for fuck's sake.
Apparently, he doesn't answer fast enough for Sam's taste. Sam suddenly twists to face him, and Dean starts to wither under his brother's questioning gaze. "Dean?" There's a beat, two, then Sam sighs. "Fine, don't answer that one." Sam shifts again, pulls a long leg up onto the bed, bent at the knee, getting into a better position so he can look at Dean head-on. "I have a more important question anyway. In that other world, were we- I mean, did you-?"
Oh fuck.
Suddenly, the wall on the opposite side of the room is incredibly interesting. Dean turns away from Sam, eager to break eye contact before all of the answers show on his face. Sam's having none of that though, and he reaches a hand around to guide Dean's eyes back to his.
"Come on, man, I'm serious. Is that why you wanted to go back? Why you stayed there for so long? Because of us?"
Sam's hand hasn't moved from his face, and the heat of Sam's palm against his cheek feels so incredible that Dean's afraid he'll let his eyes slip shut and revel in it. It breaks something inside him, and he can't stop himself from letting out a breathy "Yes."
Sam leans a little closer, unblinking at Dean's confession. "Would it keep you here too?"
What the hell is he-does he really mean-? "Sam, what…?"
"Just answer the question, Dean." And there's no mistaking Sam's thumb gliding lightly across his cheekbone.
No turning back now. "Yes."
"Good." Dean's only warning is a puff of breath against his mouth, then Sam's kissing him, light and tender, just a gentle press of lips. It's over way too soon though, and when Sam pulls away, Dean tries hard to follow.
"God, Dean, do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do that?" Just one little kiss, and the bliss is apparent on Sam's face. "And I was sure that you wouldn't. That you'd freak out or punch me or-" He doesn't get the rest out, because Dean lifts an arm free from the sheets, closes a fist in Sam's shirt, and pulls him down for another kiss.
This time, they don't break apart until they hear Bobby's truck pulling up into the yard.
*****
The doll's still resting on the table, curled tight on itself like they'd first found it, looking totally innocuous and the very epitome of "appearances can be deceiving."
Dean stands at the table's edge, just looking down at the little marble. The stupid thing had screwed him six ways to Sunday, nearby brought down by something smaller than a .22.
Bobby's been up all night, tinkering on something in his workshop that he insists will handle the doll, at least for a little while. As far as they can tell, destroying it isn't an option, so their best bet is to hide the damned thing where no one should ever find it.
Sam steps up beside him, hands over a cup of coffee. "You okay?"
His eye is bruised pale purple, his side is still twinging a bit, and he can't help hobbling whenever he walks. But it's all over, and he came out of it with his mind intact. That should be good news in anyone's book. "Yeah, I'm fine. Bobby done yet?"
"Just finished." Bobby steps into the kitchen, holding up a spell box just slightly larger than a Rubix Cube. "Wanted to add a charm or two, just in case something big and nasty tries to actually track the doll down."
Sam grabs the box, then hands it to Dean. "Honor's all yours." Dean smiles, and then grabs a piece of newspaper nearby. Holding the box just off the edge of the table, he carefully sweeps the balled-up doll along, avoiding any chance of skin contact. It drops into the box with a tiny "plink" and he closes and locks the lid.
Bobby lifts it from his hands. "Come on, we'll bury it out back." And miracles of miracles, the older hunter give Dean a tiny smile-barely a curl of his lips, but it's enough.
The three of them trek back out to the yard, stopping only when they get to the stack where Dean had hid the night before. "Figured it was poetic justice or something like that," Bobby says as he breaks ground with the first shovelful of dirt. It's quick work, both Sam and Bobby digging, and before long there's a six foot deep hole.
Sam steps back next to Dean as Bobby drops the box down. There's a muffled thud, and Bobby pulls a container of salt from his pocket. "Just to be sure," he explains. "Not like I was planning on growing anything out here anyway."
As Bobby upends the whole thing and lets it drain on top of the box, Sam nudges Dean with his elbow. "You sure you're okay?" And he raises his eyebrows, suggesting deeper meaning to his question.
Dean smiles, rests his hand on Sam's shoulder, and maybe squeezes a little longer than would be brotherly appropriate. "Yeah, I'm sure." With that, he moves forward, grabs the shovel from Bobby's hand, and starts throwing dirt back into the hole. His smile gets wider with every shovelful.
***End***
Additional Author's Notes and Soundtrack
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Chapter Word Count: 1172
All warnings in Main Post
Back to Head Space
When his eyes finally flutter open, Dean’s greeted with the awe-inspiring view of a water-stained ceiling. A very familiar ceiling, when he thinks about it. And the cushion beneath him is actually soft, nothing at all like the van’s bench he should still be lying on. But hey, at least he remembers he’s supposed to be in the van. Small victory, right?
So he’s in a bedroom, then. Slowly, other details start filtering in: the slightly scratchy sheets drawn up to his chest, the clean scent of laundry soap masking a different mustier odor, a dog whining just outside.
“You hid.” The sudden voice startles Dean, and he turns to see Sam sitting at his bedside. His little brother has somehow maneuvered himself so that his feet are both resting on the chair’s seat, knees as high as his chin and arms wrapped around his legs. “You ran and hid in that damn stack of cars. I had to crawl in there and get you.”
Dean blinks, confused. Sam came after him, even after the scene in the kitchen. Even after...no, wait. That was - the other, yeah the other Sam. Not his Sam. Dean shifts on the bed, sending a jolt of pain through his ribs. The other Sam, damn it.
Slowly, as if he's not trying to spook Dean, Sam gets out of his chair and moves to the mattress. It dips and groans as he sits at Dean's hip, with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped in front. Dad's Pose, and Dean swallows hard.
"Why did you run?"
There's so many ways Dean can answer that question, yet none of them want to make it out of his mouth. The most obvious, of course, is that he was scared. Scared of what would happen if he stayed. Scared of facing Sam's reaction. Scared of himself, for fuck's sake.
Apparently, he doesn't answer fast enough for Sam's taste. Sam suddenly twists to face him, and Dean starts to wither under his brother's questioning gaze. "Dean?" There's a beat, two, then Sam sighs. "Fine, don't answer that one." Sam shifts again, pulls a long leg up onto the bed, bent at the knee, getting into a better position so he can look at Dean head-on. "I have a more important question anyway. In that other world, were we- I mean, did you-?"
Oh fuck.
Suddenly, the wall on the opposite side of the room is incredibly interesting. Dean turns away from Sam, eager to break eye contact before all of the answers show on his face. Sam's having none of that though, and he reaches a hand around to guide Dean's eyes back to his.
"Come on, man, I'm serious. Is that why you wanted to go back? Why you stayed there for so long? Because of us?"
Sam's hand hasn't moved from his face, and the heat of Sam's palm against his cheek feels so incredible that Dean's afraid he'll let his eyes slip shut and revel in it. It breaks something inside him, and he can't stop himself from letting out a breathy "Yes."
Sam leans a little closer, unblinking at Dean's confession. "Would it keep you here too?"
What the hell is he-does he really mean-? "Sam, what…?"
"Just answer the question, Dean." And there's no mistaking Sam's thumb gliding lightly across his cheekbone.
No turning back now. "Yes."
"Good." Dean's only warning is a puff of breath against his mouth, then Sam's kissing him, light and tender, just a gentle press of lips. It's over way too soon though, and when Sam pulls away, Dean tries hard to follow.
"God, Dean, do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do that?" Just one little kiss, and the bliss is apparent on Sam's face. "And I was sure that you wouldn't. That you'd freak out or punch me or-" He doesn't get the rest out, because Dean lifts an arm free from the sheets, closes a fist in Sam's shirt, and pulls him down for another kiss.
This time, they don't break apart until they hear Bobby's truck pulling up into the yard.
*****
The doll's still resting on the table, curled tight on itself like they'd first found it, looking totally innocuous and the very epitome of "appearances can be deceiving."
Dean stands at the table's edge, just looking down at the little marble. The stupid thing had screwed him six ways to Sunday, nearby brought down by something smaller than a .22.
Bobby's been up all night, tinkering on something in his workshop that he insists will handle the doll, at least for a little while. As far as they can tell, destroying it isn't an option, so their best bet is to hide the damned thing where no one should ever find it.
Sam steps up beside him, hands over a cup of coffee. "You okay?"
His eye is bruised pale purple, his side is still twinging a bit, and he can't help hobbling whenever he walks. But it's all over, and he came out of it with his mind intact. That should be good news in anyone's book. "Yeah, I'm fine. Bobby done yet?"
"Just finished." Bobby steps into the kitchen, holding up a spell box just slightly larger than a Rubix Cube. "Wanted to add a charm or two, just in case something big and nasty tries to actually track the doll down."
Sam grabs the box, then hands it to Dean. "Honor's all yours." Dean smiles, and then grabs a piece of newspaper nearby. Holding the box just off the edge of the table, he carefully sweeps the balled-up doll along, avoiding any chance of skin contact. It drops into the box with a tiny "plink" and he closes and locks the lid.
Bobby lifts it from his hands. "Come on, we'll bury it out back." And miracles of miracles, the older hunter give Dean a tiny smile-barely a curl of his lips, but it's enough.
The three of them trek back out to the yard, stopping only when they get to the stack where Dean had hid the night before. "Figured it was poetic justice or something like that," Bobby says as he breaks ground with the first shovelful of dirt. It's quick work, both Sam and Bobby digging, and before long there's a six foot deep hole.
Sam steps back next to Dean as Bobby drops the box down. There's a muffled thud, and Bobby pulls a container of salt from his pocket. "Just to be sure," he explains. "Not like I was planning on growing anything out here anyway."
As Bobby upends the whole thing and lets it drain on top of the box, Sam nudges Dean with his elbow. "You sure you're okay?" And he raises his eyebrows, suggesting deeper meaning to his question.
Dean smiles, rests his hand on Sam's shoulder, and maybe squeezes a little longer than would be brotherly appropriate. "Yeah, I'm sure." With that, he moves forward, grabs the shovel from Bobby's hand, and starts throwing dirt back into the hole. His smile gets wider with every shovelful.
***End***
Additional Author's Notes and Soundtrack