The Year of Letting Go (7/7)
Aug. 1st, 2008 12:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runedgirlChapter Seven
Master Post
Eight Months After
(Sam)
“I’m going with you,” Dean says, in that tone that even though he can’t hear, he gets totally right. The one that brooks no argument.
Sam’s been anticipating this, as soon as the euphoria of getting his sight back faded and Dean’s restlessness kicked in. Dean wants to help, wants to hunt, and maybe even more than that, he wants to know what Sam’s doing when he goes out for three hours and comes back with the supplies they need for the week. Sam frowns, and Dean knocks his knee under the table. Hard.
“Don’t make that face with me, I’m going. I wanna see what you get up to with this, whatever.” Dean gestures with one hand, and Sam frowns harder. “This mind thing you’ve got going.”
“You’re not gonna like it,” Sam tells him, and Dean gets the gist from his expression as much as from watching Sam’s mouth form the words.
“Probably not, but I wanna see it anyway.”
Sam sighs, drums his fingers on the table nervously until Dean slaps a hand over them.
“Dude, you really think it’s gonna throw me? You forget I know what it’s like already.”
Sam raises his eyes to meet his brother’s, finds the expression there warmer than he expected.
“Hell, you’ve been in my head often enough, right?”
Why that makes Sam blush he doesn’t know, but the hot flush spreads up his neck anyway, makes him bite his lip. It was intimate, what he did with Dean every night before Dean got back the use of his eyes and started sleeping in his own bed. “Yeah, guess so,” he mumbles, yanking his hand out from under his brother’s.
Sam still misses it. So much that it aches, makes his throat tight when he thinks about it.
There’s no use arguing with Dean, and Sam half wants him to see it all anyway. He’s afraid, though. This thing he does, it’s so far from any definition of normal Sam can imagine, and what if Dean hates him for it? What if it’s the demon blood running through his veins that lets him do it, and Dean can see it, dark and tainted and ugly. Sam’s always felt like a freak in the eyes of the rest of the world, but never has he seen anything but acceptance in his brother’s, and Sam’s not sure he could survive seeing anything else now. There’s nobody else left in this world who he cares about, only Dean. And god, he does care.
He wants Dean’s approval, has craved it since he was taking his first toddling steps into his brother’s waiting arms and trying the strained carrots because Dean’s small but steady hand was holding the spoon and urging him to eat. Now that he can see himself in Dean’s eyes again, Sam needs to see acceptance there. Needs to see the love he could feel when he curled into his brother at night and crept inside his head, making him complete and okay in ways nobody else ever has, the way only a person who’s known you through and through forever can.
“Okay,” he nods, stomach flipping. “Okay.”
* * *
Dean gives him space while Sam works, but Sam can feel his brother’s eyes on him the whole time, appraising. Evaluating. He’s too far away for Sam to know what he’s thinking, and Sam’s jittery with the not-knowing, the fear that Dean’s thinking ‘freak’ and ‘bad’ and ‘wrong’ and why the hell shouldn’t he be?
Sam’s so caught up in collecting the last of his winnings that he doesn’t hear Dean come up behind him, jumps and drops his cards when Dean lays a warm hand on his shoulder. The others walk away not even grumbling, as though they won instead of losing half of what they had (Sam never takes it all), and Dean leans in close, hands sliding down Sam’s arms to rest over his bigger hands on the table. He doesn’t try to put it into words, but this close Sam doesn’t need him to, just turns to press his cheek to his brother’s and drinks it in. They stay like that for a long time – too long – breathing and heartbeats synching up, fingers meshed like that day at the crossroads, and god, Sam’s missed this. When Dean finally straightens and backs away, Sam feels the loss like a physical thing, shivers as he pockets their earnings.
(Dean)
His father’s words (might have to kill him, might have to) are screaming in his deaf ears as Dean watches his brother work, the seemingly effortless way Sam makes the bills add up while the others grin and nod like they’re having the time of their lives losing. Sam’s so good at this now his brow doesn’t even furrow, only a twitch of muscle in his face giving away the exertion under the surface. Dean knows it should scare him, maybe even more because he knows what it feels like to have Sam inside his head, how much power there is in his little brother, but he can’t bring himself to be frightened. Not when he knows it’s what saved him from hell, not when he knows how warm and safe and complete he felt when Sam was all over him, inside him. Dean’s spent a lifetime not letting anyone in, believing he could be perfectly okay alone, could let Sam have his white picket fence and pretty blonde girl and just go on keeping it all inside, all the feelings he’s never felt he should have, let alone share.
Maybe – probably – he never would have let that change if he hadn’t been forced into a whole new definition of alone, and Sam hadn’t forced his way inside to destroy it. And now that Dean’s tasted it, it’s all he can think about, being twined up with Sam again. The feel of Sam’s arm wrapped around his waist, bony knees knocking painfully against Dean’s as Sam roots and squirms and tussles like a puppy trying to get comfortable for sleep. The warmth of Sam’s breath puffing against his neck and the way Sam’s heart beats strong and even under Dean’s softly pressed fingers, and then the gentle push into his head, Sam nudging and asking, always asking first, ‘Dean, let me in.’ Nothing he could ever explain, the joy of letting the only person he’ll ever trust inside, inviting Sam to give and take and see him, love him. Letting go.
Dean misses it.
He’d tried to tell himself it was sex he needed – hell, a man could go stark raving crazy not getting laid in half a fucking year – and when Honey’s tongue was in his mouth and her eager fingers wrapped around his dick he’d thought for a while that yeah, this is better, this is close, this is good. But when he remembers it now, it’s Sam he thinks about. The feel of Sam’s hard cock pressed between the cheeks of his ass, the heat of it even through Sam’s jeans, and the stutter of Sam’s hips pushing up so hard he lifted them both off the bed as he came, slick wet denim snugged tight against the crack of Dean’s bare ass. Dean knows that’s what got him off, just the thought of it, intimate and dirty. Knows he tried to spread his legs wider and open himself up to Sam even as he shot off inside Honey and the condom.
So fuck it. Sam’s kept them fed and clothed and safe these last eight months, has taken care of Dean like nobody else – not even you, Dad – ever did. Sam fucking took on the crossroads demon with his big damn brain and won, kept Dean from death and hell both. So no. Killing his brother was never an option anyway – might as well kill himself, that was always more plausible – but Dean doesn’t even lay the idea on the table before he knocks it to the floor and stomps on it. Whatever Sam is, whatever Sam can do, they’re together and they’re okay, and Dean doesn’t have even a moment’s doubt to waste on the nature of good and evil when it comes to Sam.
Maybe that’s why he does it, what lets him walk over that line like it isn’t even there, like they both can’t see it spray painted across the floor in neon orange and glaring at them every second of every day.
Sam’s making them dinner, chopping and stirring and doing the other weirdly domestic things he got used to doing when they couldn’t go out, when Dean comes up behind him, arms braced to the counter on either side to trap Sam there just in case the painted line on the floor is still too bright for him to ignore. Sam drops the knife instantly, shifts down a little so Dean can rest his chin on Sam’s shoulder and press closer. He doesn’t tense until Dean shifts his hips and lets Sam feel the way Dean’s dick is hardening in his jeans.
Predictably, Sam tries to jerk away, knocking the knife to the floor with the suddenness of his movement, but Dean keeps his hands planted on the counter, doesn’t let his brother escape. “Sam,” he says, spoken against the warm skin of Sam’s neck, and he can’t hear his own words but he can feel Sam’s answering shudder. “I wasn’t sure before, couldn’t be sure, even though I’d felt it. Sensed it. Didn’t even think I’d be alive, so what was the use, but now. Now I know. Saw the look in your eyes when you watched me with her, saw the want.”
Sam twists in the cage of Dean’s arms, turns so Dean can read his lips as he answers, the expression on his face equal parts panicked and pissed. “I was looking at her, you asshole!”
“Stop calling me an asshole, you know I can read that,” Dean answers with exaggerated patience, and now his thigh is pressing tight between Sam’s, dangerously close to nudging what Sam probably doesn’t want him to feel but Dean’s pretty sure is right there nevertheless.
“Get the fuck offa me, Dean, can you read that?” he says, and Dean can tell Sam’s right on the verge of taking him on, muscles bunching and twitching like Sam’s about to take a swing at him.
Dean wavers then, never any good at forcing Sam to do anything even if he knows – fuck, he knows – that Sam wants this, has felt it and seen it and sensed it every time their minds and bodies connected. But Sam’s saying no with his words if not the rest of him, and Dean can’t find it in himself not to listen. He pulls back so slightly it’s more an implication than an actuality, raises his eyes to his brother’s, and they’re both trembling.
“Sam,” he says, not sure if the words are really audible his throat feels so choked dry. “I miss you. Miss you inside me.”
(Sam)
Ohfuck, oh no, this can’t be happening, Sam thinks, trying to cringe away from the heat of his brother’s body pressing him back against the kitchen counter and the sound of the words he’s dreamt of hearing. Not this, what he’s wanted for so long, ever since he was old enough to want at all, not this that he never expected to be tempted with for real. He wonders if it’s his fault, if he already violated his brother when he pushed himself into Dean’s head, tried to fill Dean with his love and maybe all his desire just flooded in there too, tainted what he knew his brother needed.
Sam’s got tears in his eyes from the thought as Dean finally breaks the circle of determined arms that’s kept Sam in place to slide a hand up the side of Sam’s face. “No, Sammy, no,” he whispers, his voice cracked and rough with emotion. “Not like that, it wasn’t like that,” and Sam realizes with a start that Dean’s reading him without his even wanting it to happen. He tries to pull back, body and mind, to break their contact, but Dean holds him there with just a palm cradling his face and Sam can’t do it, frozen to his brother’s touch. “You gave me – fuck, Sam – you saved me, not just from the demon, but from the hell I was in before that.”
“You don’t – don’t have to do this,” Sam stammers, doesn’t want Dean’s gratitude given in the stroke of hands or the give of a pliant body just because Dean knows that’s what Sam wants, and ohgod, why did he ever let himself feel this?
Dean’s thumb rubs back and forth with a gentleness that belies his words as he answers, his tone clipped with an impatience Sam recognizes from years of big brotherly ‘get with the program, Sammy,’ and it makes him pay attention in spite of himself. “Not tryin’ to thank you Sam, you idiot –
“Dean, stop – you don’t --
“No, I don’t, don’t have to do anything I don’t want to,” and Dean’s other arm is around him now, urging him in a little closer, the increased physical contact jolting through Sam like a heat wave. “Wouldn’t do this before Sam, cuz I know you woulda thought it was only because I was grateful, woulda thought you were takin’ advantage of me or some shit like that.”
“I would’ve been,” Sam protests, and Dean yanks him closer, hand pressing hot to the small of Sam’s back where the sweat is soaking through his tee shirt.
“I wanted it then, I want it now,” Dean insists, worming his thigh between Sam’s again, the movement blatantly sexual now, aggressive, hard muscle nudging at the give of Sam’s balls. “Same as you do.”
“No – you don’t – I can’t, Dean –
“Felt you come underneath me, Sam, felt how hard you were, rubbing up against my ass, and I knew what you were thinkin’, wanting –
“The girl,” Sam gasps, “I was watching the girl, she – I couldn’t –
“Could see – damn -- could feel it Sammy, how much you wanted me – me, not her -- got me off so fuckin’ hard,” and Sam’s legs are quivering with the force of will it’s taking not to thrust his hips up against his brother’s, get cock against cock.
“I tried,” Sam groans, “Didn’t want you to know, ohgod I’m sorry Dean,” but Dean’s hand on his cheek slides to Sam’s mouth and stops his apology.
“But I wanna know,” Dean breathes against his ear, hot and moist and making Sam shudder. “I wanna know it all, Sam. Need to. Don’t tell me with words, lemme see.”
Dean’s too close, the scent and feel and ohgod, the taste of him, Dean’s thumb salty warm sliding across his bottom lip, dipping inside just enough to brush against his tongue and Sam’s so fucking hungry. “Yeah Sammy, that’s right, show me,” Dean mouths against his neck, and when Dean’s teeth scrape roughly against the throb of vein there Sam knows he’s not the only one starving.
The need thrums between them like a living thing, more unfettered than it’s ever been as they grapple off each other’s clothes and tumble to the bed, and every time Sam starts to feel the fear curl in his belly Dean presses up closer and lets Sam feel the love and want that’s so big it doesn’t leave room for anything else. Dean touches him like he’s still blind, like he has to memorize every muscle, every flat plane of firm smooth flesh, every curl of silken hair. He doesn’t allow Sam any thought that this is innocent, that his touch is chaste and filial. There’s no hesitation when Dean’s rough fingers scrape over a nipple, trapping the nub between thumb and forefinger and pulling it stiff, his green eyes going dark as he watches Sam’s face to catch his reaction. And fuck, it zings through Sam right down his spine to his cock, Dean tugging and twisting like he wants to milk the pleasure out of him. His other nipple stiffens untouched, aches in empathy, and Sam can’t help but moan.
“Yeah,” Dean urges, even though he can’t hear, but the expression on his face makes it clear he knows what he’s doing to his brother. “Y’like that Sammy? So fuckin’ hot,” and he bends to run his tongue up the length of Sam’s sweat-slick throat, over the slight stubble at his jaw until their lips slide together. The taste of Dean’s mouth isn’t even identifiable, nothing like coffee or toothpaste or anything Sam’s ever tasted before, just good, so fucking good. Sam’s tongue shoves in for more without his brain’s permission amd Dean groans and takes it, sucks on it hard and eager as his fingers work Sam’s nipples, and christ, it’s all so dirty.
Their dicks brush as they kiss, and Dean jerks and pinches Sam hard, makes a soft helpless sound into Sam’s mouth that Sam can feel like a wave of lust just broke over him and left him breathless in its wake. He touches Dean then, has to, fingers mapping the muscles shifting under the soft skin of Dean’s broad back, feeling the strength there. Dean shudders at the feel of his brother’s hands on him, pushes his hips up hard against Sam’s and sucks harder on Sam’s tongue, like he’s desperate for more, and fuck, Sam wants to give it to him. Sam can’t resist the slide downward to palm the curve of Dean’s perfect ass, fingers dipping into the heated sweat between his muscled cheeks, and Dean nearly knocks them off the bed with the way he jerks against Sam, and if he sucks tongue any harder, Sam’s not gonna be able to talk for days.
When Dean’s fingers finally slide down Sam’s quivering belly to wrap around his cock, Sam comes close to going over the edge instantly, too wound up to wait another second after all the years of trying not to want this. Dean huffs a growled laugh at that, releases Sam’s dick with a groan like it’s hurting him to let go. He disentangles himself to grab for something on the bureau, then launches himself back at Sam with a grin that makes him look like a little boy who’s just hit the target dead-on and won the big stuffed bear, and Sam can’t help but grin back breathless. “Hang on big boy, not so fast,” Dean teases, grins wider at Sam’s groan and blush, and jesus, it’s just enough of a break for Sam to get stuck on what the hell are they doing?
“And stop thinking,” Dean orders, “Cuz I can almost fuckin’ hear you.”
“Dean, what are we –
Dean rolls his eyes, gives Sam a look that’s so familiar, so much his brother that it almost defeats the purpose and makes Sam cut and run before it’s too late, before they’re so far over that line there’s no going back. But then Dean drops a bottle of lube on Sam’s chest and raises his eyebrows in a ridiculously smarmy leer, and Sam can’t move when his dick’s jerking so hard like that.
Sam’s breath comes out in a gasp as Dean crawls back on top of him and sets to tonguing his still-stinging nipples until Sam thinks he’s gonna die, brain barely functioning as it spins back and forth between the incredible things Dean’s doing with his mouth and the slick wetness Dean’s dick leaves on his skin as he ruts against Sam’s thigh. His brother’s cock feels amazing, hot and hard and silky soft and Sam spreads his legs with sudden eagerness, fumbling for the bottle, ready for this. For Dean.
“Oh hell no,” Dean growls into his shoulder, grabbing the lube and Sam both and rolling them so that Sam’s sprawled on top, hips pitching forward instinctively at the feel of Dean beneath him. “Need you inside me, Sam.”
“Dean, no, don’t wanna hurt you – can’t –
But Dean’s already got one leg hitched up high and two of Sam’s fingers in his slippery grip, lubing them up sloppy and dripping and messy as he tugs them down under his already-taut balls and presses one of Sam’s fingers against the rim of his hole before Sam can even process what they’re doing. Dean groans and shudders, splaying his legs wider as he works Sam’s fingertip in teasing little circles, and Sam can feel the clenched muscle jump and twitch at the sensation, lube spreading slippery and warm down the crack, around the heat of his opening. Sam can smell his brother’s arousal, the deep moist male scent of him, and his stomach drops out as he grinds his swollen cock against the bed, unable to think at all, he’s so lost in want and need and Dean, and he almost doesn’t realize when his finger breaches slick muscle and slips inside.
“Fuck!” He’s so hot, so tight, and jesuschrist, this is his brother, this is Dean.
“C’mon Sam, you – fuck, Sam, just --
Dean breaks off with a whine as he bears down hard and forces Sam’s finger in deep like Sam has no say in the matter, flings his other leg wider and grips Sam’s wrist so tightly it’s hurting like a bitch, not letting him get away or pull out and ohgod that’s obscene, Dean spread open like that, wanton. Sam stares at his finger buried in Dean’s ass, strokes his thumb over Dean’s balls so full and tight and ready beneath the swollen cock leaking against his belly, and thinks he’s never seen anything so fucking dirtyhotwrong in his life.
“Please,” Dean says, and it’s so needy Sam can’t even consider not obeying, lets Dean slick another finger, and another, lets his brother set the pace and urge him to fuck in and out and harder and faster. Dean’s writhing beneath him by the time Sam gets three in just barely, and Sam curses when he realizes he can make Dean’s dick jerk and dribble by twisting them when they’re in deep, until it makes Dean’s eyes flutter shut and forces him to bite his lip against whatever sounds might escape from his red-swollen mouth.
“C’mon man, get in there,” Dean pleads, the words dirty and growled out low, his eyes green-black and the muscles of his strong thighs quivering with the effort of holding his legs apart for Sam. It’s too much, been too long, and when Dean reaches out to fist Sam’s dick with lube-slick fingers Sam stops fighting and goes to his knees between Dean’s spread thighs, slides his big hands around both cheeks and lifts Dean up and open as he pushes his aching cock up inside his brother.
“Fuck – god, tight,” he manages, because Dean doesn’t feel like anything Sam’s ever felt before. Dean’s shaking beneath him, clenching his teeth against a groan, and for a second Sam wonders if it really is too much, tries to slow his body down now that it knows it can have everything it’s ever wanted and wants it right the fuck now. Dean snaps his eyes open and grabs Sam by the ass and hauls him in deeper, wrangling his brother’s body with strong insistent hands like he owns it, and fuck if he doesn’t, Sam thinks as the bliss of sinking inside Dean makes his head spin.
“Don’t you stop Sam,” Dean grits out, gasping the words with what looks like pain but digging his heels in hard at the small of Sam’s back, his body twisting up to meet Sam’s thrusts. “C’mon, fuck c’mon Sam, gimme all of it.”
Sam braces himself on his elbows and stares down at Dean’s greedy green eyes. “What? That is all of it, you jerk!”
Dean stops his gasping to honest to god laugh, but it dissolves into a needy moan as Sam snaps his hips forward to push in so hard Dean slides backwards up the mattress. “Not your dick, you idiot,” he manages with a grunt at the next hard thrust, “Gimme all of you, Sammy, c’mon – need to – feel you inside me.”
Oh. Oh. “I – Dean, it’s too much –
But Dean looks up, digs his nails into the straining muscles of Sam’s biceps, pleads with emerald eyes dark with lust and love and need, says “Please – Sammy,” and Sam goes down, lays his weight and his mouth on his brother and lets go of the last bit of separation between them, tangles their thoughts as tightly as their bodies and feels Dean welcome all of him. He lets go, lets Dean see it all, years of longing and wanting and so fucking much love, lets Dean know he’s everything to Sam, and fuck if he can’t feel it all come right back, Dean opened up to him, body and soul, saying take and give and take and give. He wants it to last forever, this feeling of being Dean’s, Dean being his, but Sam can feel orgasm building low in his belly, rippling at his spine. Can feel the same in his brother, burning hot and barely hanging on.
Dean bucks up beneath him, tensing suddenly, and Sam thinks he’s gonna come, but instead he chokes out “Sam, say my name.”
“Dean,” Sam whispers, reverent, so close, so close, but Dean pushes Sam up to his elbows so he can lock their eyes, and the emotion there in the green is off somehow -- disbelief, almost panic, and Sam freezes.
“Dean?”
Dean’s eyes go so wide he looks like he’s been shot, and Sam tries to stop fucking him, but Dean’s hips snap up and Sam can feel his cock twitch and leak between their bellies, and Dean gasps “Again. Sam, say my name again.”
“Dean, what –
“Yes, fuckin’ yes, ohgod Sammy, again, again,” and he’s smiling and grimacing and moaning all at once and Sam’s so fucking confused. Dean closes his eyes, pushes up hard on Sam’s cock, demands “Say it again, Sam.”
“Dean,” Sam answers, and Dean says instantly, eyes still closed, “yeah, say it just like that” and Sam’s eyes go as wide as Dean’s had just been.
“Louder --
“Dean – can --
“Yeah Sammy yeah, scream my name, fuckin’ scream it!”
“Dean – ohgod, Dean, you – ohgod, ohgod, Dean Dean DEAN” and then Sam’s coming like a tidal wave and Dean is too, and Sam doesn’t stop saying it until long after their bodies have given up and given out, plastered together with cum and sweat and Sam whispering against Dean’s ear stupid girly things about how much he loves him.
Twelve Months After
(Bobby)
Sam’s voice on the cell is staticky and hesitant, but there’s a quality there that Bobby hasn’t heard in a long time when he picks up the phone. Something hard to put his finger on, but it’s there, different than the last time they spoke. Bobby’s stomach twists darkly with the knowledge that it’s been too many months and too many of his calls went unanswered, but Bobby’s always understood the importance of giving a man his space and time.
Still, people are asking questions, and an old hunter like Bobby knows that’s the easiest way to get yourself killed in their line of work. John may be gone, and it’s been over a year since he’s laid eyes on them, but the boys are part of him, and Bobby can’t just let it go. The hair on the back of his neck stands up every time he hears their names whispered over too much whisky, sees the way the hunters check the lay of their guns tucked into their jeans when they say it.
“Heard some things, Sam.”
“Yeah? What things, Bobby?” Sam’s tone is measured, but there’s a warning there. Don’t push too hard, there are things I won’t tell you, and hell but that’s always been the Winchester way, Bobby closer to them than anyone but always outside that circle. The same one John drew so tightly around them when the boys were five and nine, piling out of the Impala in Bobby’s yard and rolling around in the grass like puppies joyful at being unleashed. There’s too much history there for Bobby to give up now.
“Rather not talk on the phone, Sam,” he says evenly. “Been too long since I’ve seen you boys anyway. You close enough to come by?”
Sam pauses, long enough that the silence starts to make Bobby’s skin prickle, and he can hear Dean’s voice suddenly close to the phone say “Don’t say that Sammy,” though Sam hasn’t spoken at all.
“Yeah, okay,” Sam answers finally. “We can be there in a day or two.”
* * *
The first thing he notices when the Impala’s engine cuts is that they don’t get out right away, that Dean’s hand curls around the back of Sam’s neck and pulls him in as they work something out between them, and Sam leans into the touch before they separate. They’ve always been close, but now they match pace as they walk with a seamlessness that’s obvious to an old hunter like Bobby, that carries a meaning he can’t quite decipher.
The second thing he notices is that they look good, in spite of what he’s heard about explosions and hospitals and Dean deaf and blind and close to dead, so close the FBI took his name off the lists and got careless enough for Sam to get to him. Bobby has no doubt that’s what happened even though all he got was a couple of quick messages, Sam’s voice near to breaking with a sadness Bobby could feel like a tangible thing right through the phone line.
They stand in his doorway strong and tall, and Dean rests a hand flat against the small of Sam’s back as though to steady him for the inquisition.
“Hey Bobby,” Dean says, like it hasn’t been a year, and he leans a little closer to his brother, almost imperceptible shift of shoulder to shoulder. “So what’d you hear?” Not gonna waste any time then, the both of them in hunter mode no matter how casual their stance.
“Good to see you too, Dean,” Bobby frowns, cuz hell if he’s gonna be intimidated by these boys -- his boys almost as much as they’re John’s dammit – and Dean’s green eyes sparkle just for a moment, corner of his mouth turning up in a half-smirk as he nods acknowledgement.
“Word is that you’re back to hunting.”
“Yeah.” It’s Sam who answers, his voice even more guarded than Dean’s, laced with protectiveness, an unspoken “So what of it?” behind the one word reply.
“Been real successful too, from what I hear. Can leave a crossroads demon soul-less and empty-handed and walk away without a scratch. Can take down a nest of vampires without a word passed between the two of you, coordinate a knife toss and play-by-play from across the room, so smooth and fast they never see it coming.” Bobby knows they’ll hear it for what it is, an accusation as much as a question, but he won’t back off, won’t let the implications of what he’s heard scare him off.
Dean smirks more, and his hand wraps tighter around Sam, curling around his slim waist. “Naw Bobby, that’ ain’t true,” he says, watching the older man’s reaction. “Can’t do it from across the room.”
They wait for that to sink in, nothing but challenge in both their faces now, and Bobby can almost see the muscles cord and bunch in readiness, as though they expect him to turn from friend to hunter in an instant.
“Word is,” Bobby goes on, determined to get it all out now, “That you can do the same with a game of poker.”
Sam laughs, but it’s harsh and there’s an edge of bitterness there that tells Bobby he’s treading on even more shaky ground. “Maybe,” he says, but it’s Dean’s eyes that go cold and dangerous, and Bobby recognizes the lethal determination of any creature protecting its own. Sam curls a big hand around the back of Dean’s neck, makes the gesture a reciprocal one. “But only when we’re close,” Sam finishes.
Dean angles his head to rest against Sam’s shoulder, slants a look at Bobby that’s an outright dare, but Bobby has to ask even though he’s heard the dirty words the others call them, knows it’s true from the look on Dean’s face right now and the easy way their hips press tight.
“How close?”
Dean barely has to turn his head any further to press a kiss to Sam’s neck, his eyes holding Bobby’s the whole time, and Sam shudders visibly as a dark blush creeps up his throat, opens his mouth like he wants to say something but can’t figure out what the hell it should be. “Close,” Dean says as he turns back to Bobby, eyes narrowing and glinting poison green.
His stomach twists and turns and Bobby sees John in his head, twenty years ago with two squirming boys who needed so much more in his arms and John’s eyes so dead and blank with loss and loneliness, nothing left to give. He looks at the determination in Dean’s eyes and the certainty blazing in Sam’s, at the way Dean’s arm holds Sam in so close there’s no space between them, the way Sam’s hand grips tight and possessive on the back of his brother’s neck, and Bobby sees just the opposite of what deadened their father’s. And fuck if he can find a reason to want to take that away.
“You boys need to be careful,” he says finally, surprised at the emotion he can hear in his own voice. “Some folks are dumb enough to fear what they don’t understand, and hunters ain’t immune to stupidity.”
Sam smiles first, and Bobby can see the little boy there who first crawled into his lap and asked shyly for a story when he does, all dimples and the same pink to his cheeks even though he towers over Bobby now. Dean nods then and follows, gratitude in his eyes as Bobby cracks open three beers and motions them inside.
The afternoon sun makes the Impala gleam like mirrored ebony under a cloudless blue sky, and Bobby follows Dean’s gaze through the window, a small smile on the boy’s face at the twenty-odd-years-familiar view. Dean settles against Sam on the battered old couch, knocks their knees and shoulders and smiles wider when Sam grins shyly, returns the bump and shifts closer, catching Bobby’s eye across the room.
Bobby smiles back.
Fin
Master Post
Eight Months After
(Sam)
“I’m going with you,” Dean says, in that tone that even though he can’t hear, he gets totally right. The one that brooks no argument.
Sam’s been anticipating this, as soon as the euphoria of getting his sight back faded and Dean’s restlessness kicked in. Dean wants to help, wants to hunt, and maybe even more than that, he wants to know what Sam’s doing when he goes out for three hours and comes back with the supplies they need for the week. Sam frowns, and Dean knocks his knee under the table. Hard.
“Don’t make that face with me, I’m going. I wanna see what you get up to with this, whatever.” Dean gestures with one hand, and Sam frowns harder. “This mind thing you’ve got going.”
“You’re not gonna like it,” Sam tells him, and Dean gets the gist from his expression as much as from watching Sam’s mouth form the words.
“Probably not, but I wanna see it anyway.”
Sam sighs, drums his fingers on the table nervously until Dean slaps a hand over them.
“Dude, you really think it’s gonna throw me? You forget I know what it’s like already.”
Sam raises his eyes to meet his brother’s, finds the expression there warmer than he expected.
“Hell, you’ve been in my head often enough, right?”
Why that makes Sam blush he doesn’t know, but the hot flush spreads up his neck anyway, makes him bite his lip. It was intimate, what he did with Dean every night before Dean got back the use of his eyes and started sleeping in his own bed. “Yeah, guess so,” he mumbles, yanking his hand out from under his brother’s.
Sam still misses it. So much that it aches, makes his throat tight when he thinks about it.
There’s no use arguing with Dean, and Sam half wants him to see it all anyway. He’s afraid, though. This thing he does, it’s so far from any definition of normal Sam can imagine, and what if Dean hates him for it? What if it’s the demon blood running through his veins that lets him do it, and Dean can see it, dark and tainted and ugly. Sam’s always felt like a freak in the eyes of the rest of the world, but never has he seen anything but acceptance in his brother’s, and Sam’s not sure he could survive seeing anything else now. There’s nobody else left in this world who he cares about, only Dean. And god, he does care.
He wants Dean’s approval, has craved it since he was taking his first toddling steps into his brother’s waiting arms and trying the strained carrots because Dean’s small but steady hand was holding the spoon and urging him to eat. Now that he can see himself in Dean’s eyes again, Sam needs to see acceptance there. Needs to see the love he could feel when he curled into his brother at night and crept inside his head, making him complete and okay in ways nobody else ever has, the way only a person who’s known you through and through forever can.
“Okay,” he nods, stomach flipping. “Okay.”
* * *
Dean gives him space while Sam works, but Sam can feel his brother’s eyes on him the whole time, appraising. Evaluating. He’s too far away for Sam to know what he’s thinking, and Sam’s jittery with the not-knowing, the fear that Dean’s thinking ‘freak’ and ‘bad’ and ‘wrong’ and why the hell shouldn’t he be?
Sam’s so caught up in collecting the last of his winnings that he doesn’t hear Dean come up behind him, jumps and drops his cards when Dean lays a warm hand on his shoulder. The others walk away not even grumbling, as though they won instead of losing half of what they had (Sam never takes it all), and Dean leans in close, hands sliding down Sam’s arms to rest over his bigger hands on the table. He doesn’t try to put it into words, but this close Sam doesn’t need him to, just turns to press his cheek to his brother’s and drinks it in. They stay like that for a long time – too long – breathing and heartbeats synching up, fingers meshed like that day at the crossroads, and god, Sam’s missed this. When Dean finally straightens and backs away, Sam feels the loss like a physical thing, shivers as he pockets their earnings.
(Dean)
His father’s words (might have to kill him, might have to) are screaming in his deaf ears as Dean watches his brother work, the seemingly effortless way Sam makes the bills add up while the others grin and nod like they’re having the time of their lives losing. Sam’s so good at this now his brow doesn’t even furrow, only a twitch of muscle in his face giving away the exertion under the surface. Dean knows it should scare him, maybe even more because he knows what it feels like to have Sam inside his head, how much power there is in his little brother, but he can’t bring himself to be frightened. Not when he knows it’s what saved him from hell, not when he knows how warm and safe and complete he felt when Sam was all over him, inside him. Dean’s spent a lifetime not letting anyone in, believing he could be perfectly okay alone, could let Sam have his white picket fence and pretty blonde girl and just go on keeping it all inside, all the feelings he’s never felt he should have, let alone share.
Maybe – probably – he never would have let that change if he hadn’t been forced into a whole new definition of alone, and Sam hadn’t forced his way inside to destroy it. And now that Dean’s tasted it, it’s all he can think about, being twined up with Sam again. The feel of Sam’s arm wrapped around his waist, bony knees knocking painfully against Dean’s as Sam roots and squirms and tussles like a puppy trying to get comfortable for sleep. The warmth of Sam’s breath puffing against his neck and the way Sam’s heart beats strong and even under Dean’s softly pressed fingers, and then the gentle push into his head, Sam nudging and asking, always asking first, ‘Dean, let me in.’ Nothing he could ever explain, the joy of letting the only person he’ll ever trust inside, inviting Sam to give and take and see him, love him. Letting go.
Dean misses it.
He’d tried to tell himself it was sex he needed – hell, a man could go stark raving crazy not getting laid in half a fucking year – and when Honey’s tongue was in his mouth and her eager fingers wrapped around his dick he’d thought for a while that yeah, this is better, this is close, this is good. But when he remembers it now, it’s Sam he thinks about. The feel of Sam’s hard cock pressed between the cheeks of his ass, the heat of it even through Sam’s jeans, and the stutter of Sam’s hips pushing up so hard he lifted them both off the bed as he came, slick wet denim snugged tight against the crack of Dean’s bare ass. Dean knows that’s what got him off, just the thought of it, intimate and dirty. Knows he tried to spread his legs wider and open himself up to Sam even as he shot off inside Honey and the condom.
So fuck it. Sam’s kept them fed and clothed and safe these last eight months, has taken care of Dean like nobody else – not even you, Dad – ever did. Sam fucking took on the crossroads demon with his big damn brain and won, kept Dean from death and hell both. So no. Killing his brother was never an option anyway – might as well kill himself, that was always more plausible – but Dean doesn’t even lay the idea on the table before he knocks it to the floor and stomps on it. Whatever Sam is, whatever Sam can do, they’re together and they’re okay, and Dean doesn’t have even a moment’s doubt to waste on the nature of good and evil when it comes to Sam.
Maybe that’s why he does it, what lets him walk over that line like it isn’t even there, like they both can’t see it spray painted across the floor in neon orange and glaring at them every second of every day.
Sam’s making them dinner, chopping and stirring and doing the other weirdly domestic things he got used to doing when they couldn’t go out, when Dean comes up behind him, arms braced to the counter on either side to trap Sam there just in case the painted line on the floor is still too bright for him to ignore. Sam drops the knife instantly, shifts down a little so Dean can rest his chin on Sam’s shoulder and press closer. He doesn’t tense until Dean shifts his hips and lets Sam feel the way Dean’s dick is hardening in his jeans.
Predictably, Sam tries to jerk away, knocking the knife to the floor with the suddenness of his movement, but Dean keeps his hands planted on the counter, doesn’t let his brother escape. “Sam,” he says, spoken against the warm skin of Sam’s neck, and he can’t hear his own words but he can feel Sam’s answering shudder. “I wasn’t sure before, couldn’t be sure, even though I’d felt it. Sensed it. Didn’t even think I’d be alive, so what was the use, but now. Now I know. Saw the look in your eyes when you watched me with her, saw the want.”
Sam twists in the cage of Dean’s arms, turns so Dean can read his lips as he answers, the expression on his face equal parts panicked and pissed. “I was looking at her, you asshole!”
“Stop calling me an asshole, you know I can read that,” Dean answers with exaggerated patience, and now his thigh is pressing tight between Sam’s, dangerously close to nudging what Sam probably doesn’t want him to feel but Dean’s pretty sure is right there nevertheless.
“Get the fuck offa me, Dean, can you read that?” he says, and Dean can tell Sam’s right on the verge of taking him on, muscles bunching and twitching like Sam’s about to take a swing at him.
Dean wavers then, never any good at forcing Sam to do anything even if he knows – fuck, he knows – that Sam wants this, has felt it and seen it and sensed it every time their minds and bodies connected. But Sam’s saying no with his words if not the rest of him, and Dean can’t find it in himself not to listen. He pulls back so slightly it’s more an implication than an actuality, raises his eyes to his brother’s, and they’re both trembling.
“Sam,” he says, not sure if the words are really audible his throat feels so choked dry. “I miss you. Miss you inside me.”
(Sam)
Ohfuck, oh no, this can’t be happening, Sam thinks, trying to cringe away from the heat of his brother’s body pressing him back against the kitchen counter and the sound of the words he’s dreamt of hearing. Not this, what he’s wanted for so long, ever since he was old enough to want at all, not this that he never expected to be tempted with for real. He wonders if it’s his fault, if he already violated his brother when he pushed himself into Dean’s head, tried to fill Dean with his love and maybe all his desire just flooded in there too, tainted what he knew his brother needed.
Sam’s got tears in his eyes from the thought as Dean finally breaks the circle of determined arms that’s kept Sam in place to slide a hand up the side of Sam’s face. “No, Sammy, no,” he whispers, his voice cracked and rough with emotion. “Not like that, it wasn’t like that,” and Sam realizes with a start that Dean’s reading him without his even wanting it to happen. He tries to pull back, body and mind, to break their contact, but Dean holds him there with just a palm cradling his face and Sam can’t do it, frozen to his brother’s touch. “You gave me – fuck, Sam – you saved me, not just from the demon, but from the hell I was in before that.”
“You don’t – don’t have to do this,” Sam stammers, doesn’t want Dean’s gratitude given in the stroke of hands or the give of a pliant body just because Dean knows that’s what Sam wants, and ohgod, why did he ever let himself feel this?
Dean’s thumb rubs back and forth with a gentleness that belies his words as he answers, his tone clipped with an impatience Sam recognizes from years of big brotherly ‘get with the program, Sammy,’ and it makes him pay attention in spite of himself. “Not tryin’ to thank you Sam, you idiot –
“Dean, stop – you don’t --
“No, I don’t, don’t have to do anything I don’t want to,” and Dean’s other arm is around him now, urging him in a little closer, the increased physical contact jolting through Sam like a heat wave. “Wouldn’t do this before Sam, cuz I know you woulda thought it was only because I was grateful, woulda thought you were takin’ advantage of me or some shit like that.”
“I would’ve been,” Sam protests, and Dean yanks him closer, hand pressing hot to the small of Sam’s back where the sweat is soaking through his tee shirt.
“I wanted it then, I want it now,” Dean insists, worming his thigh between Sam’s again, the movement blatantly sexual now, aggressive, hard muscle nudging at the give of Sam’s balls. “Same as you do.”
“No – you don’t – I can’t, Dean –
“Felt you come underneath me, Sam, felt how hard you were, rubbing up against my ass, and I knew what you were thinkin’, wanting –
“The girl,” Sam gasps, “I was watching the girl, she – I couldn’t –
“Could see – damn -- could feel it Sammy, how much you wanted me – me, not her -- got me off so fuckin’ hard,” and Sam’s legs are quivering with the force of will it’s taking not to thrust his hips up against his brother’s, get cock against cock.
“I tried,” Sam groans, “Didn’t want you to know, ohgod I’m sorry Dean,” but Dean’s hand on his cheek slides to Sam’s mouth and stops his apology.
“But I wanna know,” Dean breathes against his ear, hot and moist and making Sam shudder. “I wanna know it all, Sam. Need to. Don’t tell me with words, lemme see.”
Dean’s too close, the scent and feel and ohgod, the taste of him, Dean’s thumb salty warm sliding across his bottom lip, dipping inside just enough to brush against his tongue and Sam’s so fucking hungry. “Yeah Sammy, that’s right, show me,” Dean mouths against his neck, and when Dean’s teeth scrape roughly against the throb of vein there Sam knows he’s not the only one starving.
The need thrums between them like a living thing, more unfettered than it’s ever been as they grapple off each other’s clothes and tumble to the bed, and every time Sam starts to feel the fear curl in his belly Dean presses up closer and lets Sam feel the love and want that’s so big it doesn’t leave room for anything else. Dean touches him like he’s still blind, like he has to memorize every muscle, every flat plane of firm smooth flesh, every curl of silken hair. He doesn’t allow Sam any thought that this is innocent, that his touch is chaste and filial. There’s no hesitation when Dean’s rough fingers scrape over a nipple, trapping the nub between thumb and forefinger and pulling it stiff, his green eyes going dark as he watches Sam’s face to catch his reaction. And fuck, it zings through Sam right down his spine to his cock, Dean tugging and twisting like he wants to milk the pleasure out of him. His other nipple stiffens untouched, aches in empathy, and Sam can’t help but moan.
“Yeah,” Dean urges, even though he can’t hear, but the expression on his face makes it clear he knows what he’s doing to his brother. “Y’like that Sammy? So fuckin’ hot,” and he bends to run his tongue up the length of Sam’s sweat-slick throat, over the slight stubble at his jaw until their lips slide together. The taste of Dean’s mouth isn’t even identifiable, nothing like coffee or toothpaste or anything Sam’s ever tasted before, just good, so fucking good. Sam’s tongue shoves in for more without his brain’s permission amd Dean groans and takes it, sucks on it hard and eager as his fingers work Sam’s nipples, and christ, it’s all so dirty.
Their dicks brush as they kiss, and Dean jerks and pinches Sam hard, makes a soft helpless sound into Sam’s mouth that Sam can feel like a wave of lust just broke over him and left him breathless in its wake. He touches Dean then, has to, fingers mapping the muscles shifting under the soft skin of Dean’s broad back, feeling the strength there. Dean shudders at the feel of his brother’s hands on him, pushes his hips up hard against Sam’s and sucks harder on Sam’s tongue, like he’s desperate for more, and fuck, Sam wants to give it to him. Sam can’t resist the slide downward to palm the curve of Dean’s perfect ass, fingers dipping into the heated sweat between his muscled cheeks, and Dean nearly knocks them off the bed with the way he jerks against Sam, and if he sucks tongue any harder, Sam’s not gonna be able to talk for days.
When Dean’s fingers finally slide down Sam’s quivering belly to wrap around his cock, Sam comes close to going over the edge instantly, too wound up to wait another second after all the years of trying not to want this. Dean huffs a growled laugh at that, releases Sam’s dick with a groan like it’s hurting him to let go. He disentangles himself to grab for something on the bureau, then launches himself back at Sam with a grin that makes him look like a little boy who’s just hit the target dead-on and won the big stuffed bear, and Sam can’t help but grin back breathless. “Hang on big boy, not so fast,” Dean teases, grins wider at Sam’s groan and blush, and jesus, it’s just enough of a break for Sam to get stuck on what the hell are they doing?
“And stop thinking,” Dean orders, “Cuz I can almost fuckin’ hear you.”
“Dean, what are we –
Dean rolls his eyes, gives Sam a look that’s so familiar, so much his brother that it almost defeats the purpose and makes Sam cut and run before it’s too late, before they’re so far over that line there’s no going back. But then Dean drops a bottle of lube on Sam’s chest and raises his eyebrows in a ridiculously smarmy leer, and Sam can’t move when his dick’s jerking so hard like that.
Sam’s breath comes out in a gasp as Dean crawls back on top of him and sets to tonguing his still-stinging nipples until Sam thinks he’s gonna die, brain barely functioning as it spins back and forth between the incredible things Dean’s doing with his mouth and the slick wetness Dean’s dick leaves on his skin as he ruts against Sam’s thigh. His brother’s cock feels amazing, hot and hard and silky soft and Sam spreads his legs with sudden eagerness, fumbling for the bottle, ready for this. For Dean.
“Oh hell no,” Dean growls into his shoulder, grabbing the lube and Sam both and rolling them so that Sam’s sprawled on top, hips pitching forward instinctively at the feel of Dean beneath him. “Need you inside me, Sam.”
“Dean, no, don’t wanna hurt you – can’t –
But Dean’s already got one leg hitched up high and two of Sam’s fingers in his slippery grip, lubing them up sloppy and dripping and messy as he tugs them down under his already-taut balls and presses one of Sam’s fingers against the rim of his hole before Sam can even process what they’re doing. Dean groans and shudders, splaying his legs wider as he works Sam’s fingertip in teasing little circles, and Sam can feel the clenched muscle jump and twitch at the sensation, lube spreading slippery and warm down the crack, around the heat of his opening. Sam can smell his brother’s arousal, the deep moist male scent of him, and his stomach drops out as he grinds his swollen cock against the bed, unable to think at all, he’s so lost in want and need and Dean, and he almost doesn’t realize when his finger breaches slick muscle and slips inside.
“Fuck!” He’s so hot, so tight, and jesuschrist, this is his brother, this is Dean.
“C’mon Sam, you – fuck, Sam, just --
Dean breaks off with a whine as he bears down hard and forces Sam’s finger in deep like Sam has no say in the matter, flings his other leg wider and grips Sam’s wrist so tightly it’s hurting like a bitch, not letting him get away or pull out and ohgod that’s obscene, Dean spread open like that, wanton. Sam stares at his finger buried in Dean’s ass, strokes his thumb over Dean’s balls so full and tight and ready beneath the swollen cock leaking against his belly, and thinks he’s never seen anything so fucking dirtyhotwrong in his life.
“Please,” Dean says, and it’s so needy Sam can’t even consider not obeying, lets Dean slick another finger, and another, lets his brother set the pace and urge him to fuck in and out and harder and faster. Dean’s writhing beneath him by the time Sam gets three in just barely, and Sam curses when he realizes he can make Dean’s dick jerk and dribble by twisting them when they’re in deep, until it makes Dean’s eyes flutter shut and forces him to bite his lip against whatever sounds might escape from his red-swollen mouth.
“C’mon man, get in there,” Dean pleads, the words dirty and growled out low, his eyes green-black and the muscles of his strong thighs quivering with the effort of holding his legs apart for Sam. It’s too much, been too long, and when Dean reaches out to fist Sam’s dick with lube-slick fingers Sam stops fighting and goes to his knees between Dean’s spread thighs, slides his big hands around both cheeks and lifts Dean up and open as he pushes his aching cock up inside his brother.
“Fuck – god, tight,” he manages, because Dean doesn’t feel like anything Sam’s ever felt before. Dean’s shaking beneath him, clenching his teeth against a groan, and for a second Sam wonders if it really is too much, tries to slow his body down now that it knows it can have everything it’s ever wanted and wants it right the fuck now. Dean snaps his eyes open and grabs Sam by the ass and hauls him in deeper, wrangling his brother’s body with strong insistent hands like he owns it, and fuck if he doesn’t, Sam thinks as the bliss of sinking inside Dean makes his head spin.
“Don’t you stop Sam,” Dean grits out, gasping the words with what looks like pain but digging his heels in hard at the small of Sam’s back, his body twisting up to meet Sam’s thrusts. “C’mon, fuck c’mon Sam, gimme all of it.”
Sam braces himself on his elbows and stares down at Dean’s greedy green eyes. “What? That is all of it, you jerk!”
Dean stops his gasping to honest to god laugh, but it dissolves into a needy moan as Sam snaps his hips forward to push in so hard Dean slides backwards up the mattress. “Not your dick, you idiot,” he manages with a grunt at the next hard thrust, “Gimme all of you, Sammy, c’mon – need to – feel you inside me.”
Oh. Oh. “I – Dean, it’s too much –
But Dean looks up, digs his nails into the straining muscles of Sam’s biceps, pleads with emerald eyes dark with lust and love and need, says “Please – Sammy,” and Sam goes down, lays his weight and his mouth on his brother and lets go of the last bit of separation between them, tangles their thoughts as tightly as their bodies and feels Dean welcome all of him. He lets go, lets Dean see it all, years of longing and wanting and so fucking much love, lets Dean know he’s everything to Sam, and fuck if he can’t feel it all come right back, Dean opened up to him, body and soul, saying take and give and take and give. He wants it to last forever, this feeling of being Dean’s, Dean being his, but Sam can feel orgasm building low in his belly, rippling at his spine. Can feel the same in his brother, burning hot and barely hanging on.
Dean bucks up beneath him, tensing suddenly, and Sam thinks he’s gonna come, but instead he chokes out “Sam, say my name.”
“Dean,” Sam whispers, reverent, so close, so close, but Dean pushes Sam up to his elbows so he can lock their eyes, and the emotion there in the green is off somehow -- disbelief, almost panic, and Sam freezes.
“Dean?”
Dean’s eyes go so wide he looks like he’s been shot, and Sam tries to stop fucking him, but Dean’s hips snap up and Sam can feel his cock twitch and leak between their bellies, and Dean gasps “Again. Sam, say my name again.”
“Dean, what –
“Yes, fuckin’ yes, ohgod Sammy, again, again,” and he’s smiling and grimacing and moaning all at once and Sam’s so fucking confused. Dean closes his eyes, pushes up hard on Sam’s cock, demands “Say it again, Sam.”
“Dean,” Sam answers, and Dean says instantly, eyes still closed, “yeah, say it just like that” and Sam’s eyes go as wide as Dean’s had just been.
“Louder --
“Dean – can --
“Yeah Sammy yeah, scream my name, fuckin’ scream it!”
“Dean – ohgod, Dean, you – ohgod, ohgod, Dean Dean DEAN” and then Sam’s coming like a tidal wave and Dean is too, and Sam doesn’t stop saying it until long after their bodies have given up and given out, plastered together with cum and sweat and Sam whispering against Dean’s ear stupid girly things about how much he loves him.
Twelve Months After
(Bobby)
Sam’s voice on the cell is staticky and hesitant, but there’s a quality there that Bobby hasn’t heard in a long time when he picks up the phone. Something hard to put his finger on, but it’s there, different than the last time they spoke. Bobby’s stomach twists darkly with the knowledge that it’s been too many months and too many of his calls went unanswered, but Bobby’s always understood the importance of giving a man his space and time.
Still, people are asking questions, and an old hunter like Bobby knows that’s the easiest way to get yourself killed in their line of work. John may be gone, and it’s been over a year since he’s laid eyes on them, but the boys are part of him, and Bobby can’t just let it go. The hair on the back of his neck stands up every time he hears their names whispered over too much whisky, sees the way the hunters check the lay of their guns tucked into their jeans when they say it.
“Heard some things, Sam.”
“Yeah? What things, Bobby?” Sam’s tone is measured, but there’s a warning there. Don’t push too hard, there are things I won’t tell you, and hell but that’s always been the Winchester way, Bobby closer to them than anyone but always outside that circle. The same one John drew so tightly around them when the boys were five and nine, piling out of the Impala in Bobby’s yard and rolling around in the grass like puppies joyful at being unleashed. There’s too much history there for Bobby to give up now.
“Rather not talk on the phone, Sam,” he says evenly. “Been too long since I’ve seen you boys anyway. You close enough to come by?”
Sam pauses, long enough that the silence starts to make Bobby’s skin prickle, and he can hear Dean’s voice suddenly close to the phone say “Don’t say that Sammy,” though Sam hasn’t spoken at all.
“Yeah, okay,” Sam answers finally. “We can be there in a day or two.”
* * *
The first thing he notices when the Impala’s engine cuts is that they don’t get out right away, that Dean’s hand curls around the back of Sam’s neck and pulls him in as they work something out between them, and Sam leans into the touch before they separate. They’ve always been close, but now they match pace as they walk with a seamlessness that’s obvious to an old hunter like Bobby, that carries a meaning he can’t quite decipher.
The second thing he notices is that they look good, in spite of what he’s heard about explosions and hospitals and Dean deaf and blind and close to dead, so close the FBI took his name off the lists and got careless enough for Sam to get to him. Bobby has no doubt that’s what happened even though all he got was a couple of quick messages, Sam’s voice near to breaking with a sadness Bobby could feel like a tangible thing right through the phone line.
They stand in his doorway strong and tall, and Dean rests a hand flat against the small of Sam’s back as though to steady him for the inquisition.
“Hey Bobby,” Dean says, like it hasn’t been a year, and he leans a little closer to his brother, almost imperceptible shift of shoulder to shoulder. “So what’d you hear?” Not gonna waste any time then, the both of them in hunter mode no matter how casual their stance.
“Good to see you too, Dean,” Bobby frowns, cuz hell if he’s gonna be intimidated by these boys -- his boys almost as much as they’re John’s dammit – and Dean’s green eyes sparkle just for a moment, corner of his mouth turning up in a half-smirk as he nods acknowledgement.
“Word is that you’re back to hunting.”
“Yeah.” It’s Sam who answers, his voice even more guarded than Dean’s, laced with protectiveness, an unspoken “So what of it?” behind the one word reply.
“Been real successful too, from what I hear. Can leave a crossroads demon soul-less and empty-handed and walk away without a scratch. Can take down a nest of vampires without a word passed between the two of you, coordinate a knife toss and play-by-play from across the room, so smooth and fast they never see it coming.” Bobby knows they’ll hear it for what it is, an accusation as much as a question, but he won’t back off, won’t let the implications of what he’s heard scare him off.
Dean smirks more, and his hand wraps tighter around Sam, curling around his slim waist. “Naw Bobby, that’ ain’t true,” he says, watching the older man’s reaction. “Can’t do it from across the room.”
They wait for that to sink in, nothing but challenge in both their faces now, and Bobby can almost see the muscles cord and bunch in readiness, as though they expect him to turn from friend to hunter in an instant.
“Word is,” Bobby goes on, determined to get it all out now, “That you can do the same with a game of poker.”
Sam laughs, but it’s harsh and there’s an edge of bitterness there that tells Bobby he’s treading on even more shaky ground. “Maybe,” he says, but it’s Dean’s eyes that go cold and dangerous, and Bobby recognizes the lethal determination of any creature protecting its own. Sam curls a big hand around the back of Dean’s neck, makes the gesture a reciprocal one. “But only when we’re close,” Sam finishes.
Dean angles his head to rest against Sam’s shoulder, slants a look at Bobby that’s an outright dare, but Bobby has to ask even though he’s heard the dirty words the others call them, knows it’s true from the look on Dean’s face right now and the easy way their hips press tight.
“How close?”
Dean barely has to turn his head any further to press a kiss to Sam’s neck, his eyes holding Bobby’s the whole time, and Sam shudders visibly as a dark blush creeps up his throat, opens his mouth like he wants to say something but can’t figure out what the hell it should be. “Close,” Dean says as he turns back to Bobby, eyes narrowing and glinting poison green.
His stomach twists and turns and Bobby sees John in his head, twenty years ago with two squirming boys who needed so much more in his arms and John’s eyes so dead and blank with loss and loneliness, nothing left to give. He looks at the determination in Dean’s eyes and the certainty blazing in Sam’s, at the way Dean’s arm holds Sam in so close there’s no space between them, the way Sam’s hand grips tight and possessive on the back of his brother’s neck, and Bobby sees just the opposite of what deadened their father’s. And fuck if he can find a reason to want to take that away.
“You boys need to be careful,” he says finally, surprised at the emotion he can hear in his own voice. “Some folks are dumb enough to fear what they don’t understand, and hunters ain’t immune to stupidity.”
Sam smiles first, and Bobby can see the little boy there who first crawled into his lap and asked shyly for a story when he does, all dimples and the same pink to his cheeks even though he towers over Bobby now. Dean nods then and follows, gratitude in his eyes as Bobby cracks open three beers and motions them inside.
The afternoon sun makes the Impala gleam like mirrored ebony under a cloudless blue sky, and Bobby follows Dean’s gaze through the window, a small smile on the boy’s face at the twenty-odd-years-familiar view. Dean settles against Sam on the battered old couch, knocks their knees and shoulders and smiles wider when Sam grins shyly, returns the bump and shifts closer, catching Bobby’s eye across the room.
Bobby smiles back.
Fin
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Date: 2008-08-01 10:33 am (UTC)Awesome, I just love this story to itti-bitti bits. I absolutely loved making art for it. Also? The 'new' pieces? Work so well with what I'd already read. So, yeah. Awesome. :D:D
no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 12:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-01 10:41 am (UTC)I'm awestruck by your skill as a writer - the descriptions of Dean's experience of being deaf and blind, the fear and dependency - it killed me. And the overwhelming love the boys have for each other... well, I don't know if I've read a fic that plumbed the depth of that emotion as fully as this one does. You took Dean from the character we know to being utterly dependent on Sam, and yet he remained Dean throughout. Brilliantly done. And Sam was perfect as well, his strength and determination and gentleness all so in character. I enjoyed the glimpses we got from other character's POVs as well. I really liked that touch to give a different perspective on what we were seeing.
This was an amazing read. I am completely in love with this fic and so glad I clicked on it when I was looking for a nice, long read tonight! Believe me, I didn't expect anything this wonderful when I did!
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Date: 2008-08-02 12:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-01 12:36 pm (UTC)Those first couple of chapters after Sam busted Dean out of hospital were an emotional rollercoaster and incredibly well written.
I have to comment on your pacing here, of the story itself and their relationship because it was just perfect.
Hot damn that was a great read. Thank you.
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Date: 2008-08-02 12:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-01 01:36 pm (UTC)Just beautiful.
cant get any other words out.
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Date: 2008-08-02 12:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-01 02:12 pm (UTC)It was incredible !!!
Beautiful story.
Really amazing and so powerful.
* thanks for this jewel - hugs You *
♥
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Date: 2008-08-02 12:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 12:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-01 04:00 pm (UTC)I really liked how you started with their growing up and took the time to let the reader see into their world and how easily and naturally they were woven together. It didn't have the feeling of being forced to support the later part of the story, but a gradual natural evolution of their love and dependence on one another. In the same tone, your Dean did not go OOC after his injuries, he was still totally recognizable as the brave, snarky character I love from SN; I found his reactions and sometimes terror in response to suddenly being in a dark and silent world totally believable.
I like that Sam had a hard time dealing at certain points - torn between loving and wanting to care for Dean and his fear/annoyance at Dean's dependence on him at times. I thought both characters worked beautifully within the story, and was happy at the little moment with Bobby at the end.
Thanks for sharing your story :-)
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Date: 2008-08-02 12:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 12:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-01 06:13 pm (UTC)First of all, I have a huge, huge love for blind/deaf/or both!dean. And I was so happy when he got his sight/hearing back in such lovely ways.
Also, this was really hot. Sam's first time- when you said Dean was there, I thought it was like going to be in the back of a car Dean was driving or something. Not.. that. But I am SO glad it was. And then again with Honey... so wonderful. There aren't enough threesomes that are stemmed from denial and lust in this verse.
And Bobby... that just made me so happy. I honestly believe that Bobby would be okay with the wincest, so I LOVE when he is in fics.
All in all, this is amazing. You should be extremely proud!
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Date: 2008-08-02 12:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-01 06:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 12:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-01 06:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 12:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 12:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 12:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 01:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 01:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 02:53 am (UTC)Nice to see Dean opening up and relying on someone other than himself, but still retain that 'Deanness', if you know what I mean.
Nice to see the outsider POVs as well, to get that different take on the tale.
Brilliant story.
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Date: 2008-08-02 04:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 02:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 04:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 03:55 am (UTC)I could feel the desperation and the rage and pain and it was awesome. I mean not awesome that they had to go through it, but awesome in the way that you made it so real.
Thank you for fixing them. And the sex was scorching.
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Date: 2008-08-02 04:15 am (UTC)You know, I think he would have been - thank you for getting that. When it comes right down to it, all the boys need is each other. Oh, and very glad you found the sex scorching. How could it not be? :)
no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 05:01 am (UTC)I didn't think I'd like the POV changes either when I first started, but I was definitely wrong. The shifts between Dean's panic and Sam's frustration and the way they were both ashamed to admit they liked being that close in such an extreme situation made the story. And the outsiders' perspectives shed such an interesting light on things - I especially loved Honey, and seeing the boys through her eyes was so different. Sam did seem older then.
But I think what I liked best about it all was the tone. Somebody, anybody, being struck deaf and blind and afraid to speak is something that's pretty serious always, but you never let the angst overwhelm everything else, and that's damn impressive. And so enjoyable to read. Thank you.
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Date: 2008-08-02 02:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 08:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 02:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 02:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 04:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 02:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 04:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:Bravo!
Date: 2008-08-02 02:44 pm (UTC)Re: Bravo!
Date: 2008-08-02 04:24 pm (UTC)*hugs tight*
Re: Bravo!
From:no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 03:05 pm (UTC)You captured them so well. Dean was himself, even when you had him stripped right down to his core. And Sam's early anger and fear at having to play the big brother was spot on. I loved how slowly and inevitably closer they got. Sam using his powers to communicate with Dean? Awwww!
I whooped when Dean got is sight back. And whooped again with his hearing. And Bobby at the end was AWESOME and the perfect ending.
Just a wonderful story.
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Date: 2008-08-02 04:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 05:05 pm (UTC)This was such a lovely story. Thank you!
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Date: 2008-08-02 05:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 08:00 pm (UTC)The scene with Bobby was perfect. He wants to confirm the things he's heard, not judging, just concerned. And they hold their heads up and let him see and he just accepts it. Perfect.
The story as a whole is very very lovely. I finished last night and went to comment this morning and it got way too long so I split my comments up into the different chapters.
Thanks for writing such a fabulous story and sharing with us.
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Date: 2008-08-03 03:29 am (UTC)Thanks again, I really appreciate it!
*hugs*
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2008-08-03 05:13 am (UTC)This is a thoughtful, convincing journey of Dean and Sam coming together; of responsibility and caretaking, love and gratitude; of healing and devotion. It's well-written, with strong characterization and believable emotion that delves deep without ever turning maudlin or saccharine. This fic is a true accomplishment. Bravo.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-03 02:12 pm (UTC)