Morning After
Title: Morning After
Author: Sara Ellison
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Warnings: Incest, awkwardness
Summary: The boys try to wrap their heads around what just happened.
Author's notes: It occurred to me that most of my fics don't really do this. And maybe one should.
You pack up the motel room in silence. Dean heads to the office to check out while you wait in the car, stiffly drumming your fingers against the passenger-side door. Dean opens his door; you glance at him, then away before your eyes have a chance to meet.
You're on the interstate before either of you speak. Dean clears his throat, intent clear in the sound, and you hastily mutter, "No chick-flick moments," as Dean opens his mouth.
"Fuck you," he says, instead of whatever he was going to say, and you settle back into uncomfortable silence for another twenty miles.
At a rest stop, Dean pauses halfway out of the car, glancing back at you, who haven't moved. "Coming?"
You shake your head, hair falling into your face. "I'm good." Irritably, you push it back out of your eyes, staring straight ahead.
Dean returns with vending machine snacks. He tosses a packet of gummy fruit snacks into your lap. He's got a bag of greasy corn chips for himself, which he tucks in next to the gearshift so he can munch on them as he drives.
"What'd you get me these for?" you ask, eyeing the candy with distaste.
"They're healthy," Dean replies. "Made with real fruit. Thought you liked that shit."
"The first ingredient is high-fructose corn syrup, they're not healthy," you argue.
"Fruit snacks, Sammy! Snacks for fruits. Just your thing." You narrow your eyes. When you don't immediately answer, Dean looks over at you, a smirk playing about his lips. "I'm calling you a fruit, Sam."
"Really, Dean?" you say drily. "That's rich, coming from you."
Dean barks a laugh, short and sharp. "You took it up the ass last night, Sammy. I'm pretty sure that makes you a big, fat, flaming--"
"And you stuck your dick in another guy's ass," you cut him off, "so what does that make you?"
Dean pauses, and it stretches out into yet another uncomfortable silence. His hands tighten on the wheel, and he glares at the road ahead. "Look," he says at length, "it never happened. Okay? So we can stop talking about it."
"Sure," you mutter. You shift position a little, wincing as a spasm of discomfort shoots through you. "Ow! Fuck."
"You okay?" Dean asks, concern visible in the lines of his body as he darts a look at you.
"Yeah, Dean," you bite out, "just sore."
"You'll get used to it," Dean replies, and awkwardness settles over you like a wet blanket. "I mean," Dean tries to backpedal, "if you want--with any--I mean it's okay with me if you're gay, Sam, it's fine with me, I have nothing against it. You're still my br--I mean, you're still the same person I..." He falls silent, red-faced, biting his lip in evident distress.
"I'm still your brother," you say quietly. So much for not talking about it. "Look, Dean, it happened, all right? We can just deal with it and move on. We don't have to repress. We shouldn't, it's not healthy."
"Dammit," Dean growls. "Okay. Fine. We were both horny, and there was another convenient, willing, warm body. That's all it was."
"Right," you agree. "It was a one-time thing, and it doesn't ever have to happen again."
"Unless," Dean says. You turn your head to look at him so fast your neck hurts, but Dean has pressed his lips together so hard they're going white, staring resolutely ahead.
"Unless we both want it to," you dare to suggest, heart in your throat.
There's a pregnant pause, and then Dean softly says, "Sam," and you want to die.
Unrequited crushes are one thing. It's a different story entirely when it's your brother, and it's incest, and you are with him every hour of every day, and he knows you want him in ways that no brother ever should, and you want to erase the words that just came out of your mouth but he's looking at you with that look in his eyes and you're drifting toward the median--
"Dean, the road," you say, and Dean jumps in his seat, jerking the wheel straight and swerving the car back into the lane.
"Sorry," he says hastily, breathing hard. He scrubs a hand across his face. "Look, Sam, I--"
"Yeah," you say quickly, "forget it."
Dean huffs, annoyance written all over his face. "Would you let me get a sentence out? For fuck's sake, Sam."
"Okay," you say, and shut up.
It's almost a minute before Dean actually does get the next sentence out. "I hate when you hug me."
That stings. That actually really hurts. The sex, yeah, that was weird and wrong and fucked-up, but hugging is a normal thing to do, brothers do that when one of them has just returned from the dead, and okay, maybe that part isn't exactly normal, but hearing Dean say that is making your throat hurt when you swallow, this tight, prickly feeling in your chest that only gets worse when he speaks next.
"Fuck chick-flick moments." Dean's fist glances off the wheel, an angry blow that you think he might prefer to have aimed at you. "I hate feeling you in my arms like that, feeling your body against mine, and not being allowed to kiss you. It's the worst kind of temptation, Sam. And it's not like I'm just gonna get over it, you don't just get something like that out of your system. So I'm not sorry about what happened last night." He shoots a glance at you, sidelong. "I'm sorry you're sore, though."
You laugh. It bursts out of you unbidden, the wild eruption of the confusing swirl of emotions raging within you. "Dean," you say, breathless. "Are you saying--"
"I'm saying I've wanted you since...I can't remember since when. A long fucking time," he says. "And maybe I would want it to happen again. But we can't, Sammy."
You feel like you've been punched in the gut. "Dean," you hear yourself say, as though from a distance. "Why? If you want me--I want you too, Dean. Ever since puberty. My first wet dream was about you, Dean, did you know that?" It feels weird, that secret suddenly exposed after being smothered for so long.
"Incest," Dean says, and the word hangs between you like an albatross. "We're brothers, Sammy. It's not right. It's fucked-up, it's sick, it's--"
"No," you say, and you're interrupting him again but you can't let him keep saying these things. The way you feel about him is not fucked-up. It's the best feeling you've ever had. "It's not like we're going to be having inbred children, Dean. We're consenting adults. Why is it wrong? Why is it anybody's business? People assume we're a couple half the time anyway. They don't have to know we're brothers."
Dean looks over at you, a smile spreading across his face like an oil spill, unstoppable. "All right," he says slowly. "Yeah. If you want this..."
"I do," you say. You feel giddy. There's a stupid smile on your face, and you can't seem to make it go away. Your cheeks hurt when you try.
"Hey," Dean says. "You gonna eat those fruit snacks?"
You snicker at him and toss the packet at his head.
When you stop for the night, the motel isn't sold out of rooms with two beds like the last one was, but you get a king anyway.
Author: Sara Ellison
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Warnings: Incest, awkwardness
Summary: The boys try to wrap their heads around what just happened.
Author's notes: It occurred to me that most of my fics don't really do this. And maybe one should.
You pack up the motel room in silence. Dean heads to the office to check out while you wait in the car, stiffly drumming your fingers against the passenger-side door. Dean opens his door; you glance at him, then away before your eyes have a chance to meet.
You're on the interstate before either of you speak. Dean clears his throat, intent clear in the sound, and you hastily mutter, "No chick-flick moments," as Dean opens his mouth.
"Fuck you," he says, instead of whatever he was going to say, and you settle back into uncomfortable silence for another twenty miles.
At a rest stop, Dean pauses halfway out of the car, glancing back at you, who haven't moved. "Coming?"
You shake your head, hair falling into your face. "I'm good." Irritably, you push it back out of your eyes, staring straight ahead.
Dean returns with vending machine snacks. He tosses a packet of gummy fruit snacks into your lap. He's got a bag of greasy corn chips for himself, which he tucks in next to the gearshift so he can munch on them as he drives.
"What'd you get me these for?" you ask, eyeing the candy with distaste.
"They're healthy," Dean replies. "Made with real fruit. Thought you liked that shit."
"The first ingredient is high-fructose corn syrup, they're not healthy," you argue.
"Fruit snacks, Sammy! Snacks for fruits. Just your thing." You narrow your eyes. When you don't immediately answer, Dean looks over at you, a smirk playing about his lips. "I'm calling you a fruit, Sam."
"Really, Dean?" you say drily. "That's rich, coming from you."
Dean barks a laugh, short and sharp. "You took it up the ass last night, Sammy. I'm pretty sure that makes you a big, fat, flaming--"
"And you stuck your dick in another guy's ass," you cut him off, "so what does that make you?"
Dean pauses, and it stretches out into yet another uncomfortable silence. His hands tighten on the wheel, and he glares at the road ahead. "Look," he says at length, "it never happened. Okay? So we can stop talking about it."
"Sure," you mutter. You shift position a little, wincing as a spasm of discomfort shoots through you. "Ow! Fuck."
"You okay?" Dean asks, concern visible in the lines of his body as he darts a look at you.
"Yeah, Dean," you bite out, "just sore."
"You'll get used to it," Dean replies, and awkwardness settles over you like a wet blanket. "I mean," Dean tries to backpedal, "if you want--with any--I mean it's okay with me if you're gay, Sam, it's fine with me, I have nothing against it. You're still my br--I mean, you're still the same person I..." He falls silent, red-faced, biting his lip in evident distress.
"I'm still your brother," you say quietly. So much for not talking about it. "Look, Dean, it happened, all right? We can just deal with it and move on. We don't have to repress. We shouldn't, it's not healthy."
"Dammit," Dean growls. "Okay. Fine. We were both horny, and there was another convenient, willing, warm body. That's all it was."
"Right," you agree. "It was a one-time thing, and it doesn't ever have to happen again."
"Unless," Dean says. You turn your head to look at him so fast your neck hurts, but Dean has pressed his lips together so hard they're going white, staring resolutely ahead.
"Unless we both want it to," you dare to suggest, heart in your throat.
There's a pregnant pause, and then Dean softly says, "Sam," and you want to die.
Unrequited crushes are one thing. It's a different story entirely when it's your brother, and it's incest, and you are with him every hour of every day, and he knows you want him in ways that no brother ever should, and you want to erase the words that just came out of your mouth but he's looking at you with that look in his eyes and you're drifting toward the median--
"Dean, the road," you say, and Dean jumps in his seat, jerking the wheel straight and swerving the car back into the lane.
"Sorry," he says hastily, breathing hard. He scrubs a hand across his face. "Look, Sam, I--"
"Yeah," you say quickly, "forget it."
Dean huffs, annoyance written all over his face. "Would you let me get a sentence out? For fuck's sake, Sam."
"Okay," you say, and shut up.
It's almost a minute before Dean actually does get the next sentence out. "I hate when you hug me."
That stings. That actually really hurts. The sex, yeah, that was weird and wrong and fucked-up, but hugging is a normal thing to do, brothers do that when one of them has just returned from the dead, and okay, maybe that part isn't exactly normal, but hearing Dean say that is making your throat hurt when you swallow, this tight, prickly feeling in your chest that only gets worse when he speaks next.
"Fuck chick-flick moments." Dean's fist glances off the wheel, an angry blow that you think he might prefer to have aimed at you. "I hate feeling you in my arms like that, feeling your body against mine, and not being allowed to kiss you. It's the worst kind of temptation, Sam. And it's not like I'm just gonna get over it, you don't just get something like that out of your system. So I'm not sorry about what happened last night." He shoots a glance at you, sidelong. "I'm sorry you're sore, though."
You laugh. It bursts out of you unbidden, the wild eruption of the confusing swirl of emotions raging within you. "Dean," you say, breathless. "Are you saying--"
"I'm saying I've wanted you since...I can't remember since when. A long fucking time," he says. "And maybe I would want it to happen again. But we can't, Sammy."
You feel like you've been punched in the gut. "Dean," you hear yourself say, as though from a distance. "Why? If you want me--I want you too, Dean. Ever since puberty. My first wet dream was about you, Dean, did you know that?" It feels weird, that secret suddenly exposed after being smothered for so long.
"Incest," Dean says, and the word hangs between you like an albatross. "We're brothers, Sammy. It's not right. It's fucked-up, it's sick, it's--"
"No," you say, and you're interrupting him again but you can't let him keep saying these things. The way you feel about him is not fucked-up. It's the best feeling you've ever had. "It's not like we're going to be having inbred children, Dean. We're consenting adults. Why is it wrong? Why is it anybody's business? People assume we're a couple half the time anyway. They don't have to know we're brothers."
Dean looks over at you, a smile spreading across his face like an oil spill, unstoppable. "All right," he says slowly. "Yeah. If you want this..."
"I do," you say. You feel giddy. There's a stupid smile on your face, and you can't seem to make it go away. Your cheeks hurt when you try.
"Hey," Dean says. "You gonna eat those fruit snacks?"
You snicker at him and toss the packet at his head.
When you stop for the night, the motel isn't sold out of rooms with two beds like the last one was, but you get a king anyway.