Gift for blackrabbit42
Dec. 23rd, 2021 08:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runedgirlTitle: The Day After
Gifter:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
runedgirl
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean
Word Count:
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Takes place after Chuck is defeated post 15.19
A/N: I loved your![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_j2_xmas prompt about soulmates, one of my favorite things too, and I also loved that you don’t mind it when it huuuuurts a little along with some sweetness and maybe a touch of obsessive. Sounds good to me! Hope you enjoy – happy holidays!
Summary: Chuck’s gone and the Winchesters have free will. Dean overthinks it.
They leave Chuck groveling in the dirt and say goodbye to Jack – God – whoever he is now. They drink too much whisky and tell and re-tell their new favorite story about the look on Chuck’s face when he realized he hadn’t beaten them after all until one of them just starting to tell it again is enough to send them into peals of hysterical laughter. Sam falls asleep with his head on Dean’s shoulder and the feeling that for the first time in his entire life all is right with the world.
He wakes up to the reality that of course it couldn’t be that easy. He’s in love with his brother, he should have known better.
Not that Dean isn’t in love with him too. It’s been the two of them against the world in every way that counts for a long time, and none of the other people they’ve cared about or danced around something more with have been clueless enough not to realize that sooner or later. Sam’s been good with who they are for a long time, and in the past few years Dean has caught up to him, eyes locked to Sam’s when he says “I’m good with who I am; I’m good with who you are.”
And then the fucking world shifted again, and even when it’s a shift that they fought like hell for, it’s a change – and that’s enough to get Dean thinking.
Of course, Sam doesn’t realize that’s what’s going on at first. Dean is always cranky when he’s hung over, so the elbow Sam gets to the ribs the next morning when he tries to give his brother a hug and a kiss isn’t entirely unexpected.
Sam tries again in the bathroom when Dean’s brushing his teeth, bumping his hip companionably and then sliding an arm around Dean’s waist, fingers slipping beneath his worn cotton tee shirt to slide over warm silky skin.
“Umph” Dean complains, and that damn elbow catches Sam in the side again.
“What the hell, Dean, I’m just trying to say good morning!”
Dean spits out an impressive amount of toothpaste and doesn’t look Sam in the eye. A chill runs through Sam just like that. Something’s wrong.
“You can do that without your hand up my shirt,” he grumbles, and it sends a stab of pain through Sam’s heart so palpable it feels like a physical thing.
He steps back and gives Dean some space, mumbling “Sorry.”
He doesn’t wait to see the expression on Dean’s face as he turns away.
Dean shuts the door.
They never shut the doors.
Dean avoids him most of the day. It’s subtle – or as subtle as Dean can be – but each time Dean chooses to take a run into town for some supplies or do some work in the garage that just cannot wait or not join Sam at the library table, that stabbing pain comes back. Miracle takes to following Sam around, sensing that something’s not right, but Dean doesn’t seem to notice. By the time Sam works up the courage to casually ask “what’s for dinner?” he’s not even surprised when Dean shrugs and says Sam should make what he wants, Dean’s going…. Out.
“Out?”
He sounds ridiculous, but the idea that Dean would want to be away from him the day after they pulled off such an incredible victory is almost impossible to believe, despite Sam’s own eyes and ears.
“Tonight? After we just beat Chuck? You don’t want to – to celebrate?”
Dean lifts his chin, jaw set. “Sure I do, that’s what I’m goin’ out to do, Sammy.”
He makes an attempt at waggling his eyebrows lasciviously.
Sam can’t help it; his mouth drops open. He can feel the prickle of tears in his eyes but it’s too late to stop himself from blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.
“Without me?”
Dean falters, has to swallow before he tries to put his game face back on. Hurting Sam is never going to go down easy for Dean, no matter what damn fool decision he thinks he's making.
“Dean?”
Dean shrugs, trying for casual. He looks at Miracle, sitting at Sam's side, when he answers.
“Look, Sam, it’s not – I just – things are different now, damn it! We’re free, we’re not – nobody’s manipulating us now, we can do whatever we want, okay?”
“And? So what, you don’t want to do anything that involves me, is that it?”
Sam can’t help asking, but even saying the words stings.
Dean backs up and turns away, waves his hand dismissively like Sam's too stupid to get it, and Sam is suddenly eight years old again, sent off to try to make the ancient TV work while Dean and Dad "talk".
No. Fuck that.
Sam reaches out and grabs him by the shoulder, trying to spin him around, and Dean suddenly lashes out at him. It’s a pulled punch, but it shocks Sam into backing up himself.
“What the hell, Dean? If I touch you, are you gonna hit me? You suddenly can’t stand me that much?”
A terrifying thought crosses Sam’s mind, so awful that his knees weaken and he has to sit down.
“Oh God, is that what you’re saying? That you were just…that it was Chuck...that you never, we never..."
Sam shakes his head, horrified.
"No, that can’t be right, Dean, it can’t be!”
Dean’s eyes are wide now and he’s clenching his fists, but he's no longer trying to escape, hard wired to try to stop the pain he can no doubt hear in Sam's voice even if he's the one who put it there.
“How do you know, Sam?" he demands. "Chuck was one twisted sonofabitch and he was fucking obsessed with us, you and me. Doesn’t it make sense that making us have the hots for each other was just another one of his sick manipulations?”
One eye overflows; Sam wipes at his cheek impatiently. It’s like trying to stop a flood with a broken dam.
"The hots? Is that what this is for you?"
It's so much more, has always been - will always be - so much more.
"Sam," Dean sighs, exasperated. "No, but - Sam, listen to yourself, will you? You don't know!"
But that's the thing. Sam does know. He's known for a very long time.
“So you think – you think this, we, this was Chuck? That’s why you pushed me away, because you don’t feel anything for me anymore now that he's not pulling the strings?”
Dean hisses his displeasure, stamps a foot as he answers.
“Fucksake, Sam, I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t want me anymore? I disgust you now, is that it?”
That shocks him; Dean recoils just a little, like Sam just slapped him and he needs to get his balance again.
“No!" he says, and he's shaking his head, still convinced Sam has it wrong. "I didn’t – it’s not about me, Sam!”
Dean’s not making a whole lot of sense, but Sam knows him pretty well. It’s never entirely about Dean when it comes to Sam, and maybe now isn’t any different.
“Who’s it about then?”
Dean glares at him; he knows Sam has figured it out.
“Who?”
Dean huffs an angry sigh. “You, all right? It’s about you – you can do whatever you want now, Sam. You can go back to school, you can put up a white picket fence, you can find a girl, get a dog.”
Miracle whines at Sam’s feet. Sam nudges him reassuringly with the toe of his boot. Dean is an asshole. And an idiot. Miracle will have to get used to it.
“You think Chuck was manipulating me into wanting to stay with you – and wanting in your bed.”
Dean actually blushes a little, like they haven’t been doing it for years.
“Jesus Sam, I don’t know – YOU don’t know! You used to want those things, so why would they go away, huh? Oh right, because Chuck decided to write some steamy fanfiction about our lives, that’s why. Well that’s all done now, Sam, you can go back to – to – to normal!”
Sam can’t help it. He snorts.
Dean’s face gets redder. Sam can’t tell if he’s still blushing or he’s so pissed he’s about to explode.
“What the hell is so funny?” he demands, and Miracle barks because Dean’s yelling now.
“You are,” Sam answers, but there's nothing funny about it. “You think I want some ridiculous version of normal that I gave up on more than a decade ago? You think I’ve only been staying with you, making my life with you, because Chuck made me do it?”
“It’s possible,” Dean insists, plush lower lip stuck out and fuck if it doesn’t make Sam want to kiss the life out of him right now.
“No, it’s not. I told you Dean, you’re the one thing in my life I could always count on. The one person I trust. The only person I want beside me. Nothing has changed for me. Nothing."
“Oh Jesus,” Dean says, but he doesn’t look away.
“Do I need to say it? So you’ll know it’s just as true now as it was 48 hours ago? Fine, I’ll say it, and you’ll have to listen. I love you, Dean. Not just as a brother.”
“Okay, okay, but…”
“And not just as a lover.”
“Sam…”
“You’re my partner, you’re my favorite person, you’re my other half. You drive me fucking crazy but you're it for me. It sounds stupid, but it’s literally true. Were you not listening when everyone from Ash to archangels to the Queen of Hell said it?”
The tips of Dean’s ears are red now, and he’s biting his lip, but he’s not looking away.
“Said what?”
“You’re my soulmate, Dean. How can you be so clueless not to feel it every second of every day? It is what it is – you’re it for me and unless you’ve changed your mind I’m it for you too.”
Dean tries to roll his eyes, but it only half works. “Ohgod, can you be more of a sap?”
“I probably could, but I’m just stating facts here. You better tell me now if you’ve changed your mind and you’re getting ready to leave me for that waitress down at the diner.”
Dean sighs, scrubs a hand across his face. Takes one tentative step back towards Sam. He tilts his head up, glances at Sam and then looks away again.
“Soulmates, huh? You actually believe in that stuff.”
He’s trying to look dismissive, but Sam doesn’t miss the spark of hope in his brother’s eyes.
“It’s been proven to me in a pretty compelling way. But honestly? I knew it was true the second Ash said it when we ended up in Heaven all those years ago. Two decades of feelings I tried to run away from and couldn’t explain and the answer was right there all along.”
Dean still looks skeptical. Hope and skepticism war on his handsome face.
“You didn’t say anything,” he points out.
Sam scoffs. “And risk you reminding me no chick flick moments or some bullshit like that? No, I didn’t say anything. But I knew it. I don’t know why you didn’t too.”
The stab of pain he’s been feeling all day returns, muted but still enough to make Sam flinch. Maybe Dean didn't feel it like he did. Maybe he never had. Being alone in this, whatever this is, would be unbearable. Like he’ll lose half of himself if he loses this with Dean.
Dean chews his lip for a split second, flash of guilt crossing his face before trying to school his face back to neutral.
I didn’t say I…” he starts, and Sam just needs to know. If he has to go through life cut in half, he needs to start figuring out how that’s even possible.
“Just answer the question, Dean. Have you changed your mind? Changed how you feel about me? Because I haven’t – and I won’t. Chuck, no Chuck, it doesn’t fucking matter. But if you have..."
This time the step Dean takes isn’t tentative; neither is the way he brackets Sam into the chair and leans in and kisses him to shut him up. It’s chaste for now, but there’s promise of anything but in the gentle nip at Sam’s bottom lip as he pulls away.
“Never,” he says, and it’s gruff, all teasing gone.
He starts to stand up but Sam’s hand is faster, slipping through the short soft hair at the nape of Dean’s neck to hold him there and Dean finally smiles when he feels it, lets Sam pull him back down.
“Yeah?” he growls against Sam’s mouth, muffled but Sam can still hear the way he’s grinning, smug bastard, firm thighs around Sam’s hips as he sinks down onto his lap, melts into Sam’s arms with a half smothered groan.
Sam’s hand stays firm on the back of his neck, sudden need to get closer closer closer making him rough as relief floods him, and Dean knows, giving in to the pull that’s always there between them, not fighting it anymore.
“Yeah,” Sam answers, but it’s garbled when Dean sucks deep and dirty on Sam’s tongue in his mouth, primal rhythm that makes Sam’s dick throb in time as Dean grinds against him, the chair bumping up against the table, wood creaking a protest but neither of them willing to separate long enough to relocate to somewhere more durable.
Miracle whines his approval at their feet; he’s known all along too.
Gifter:
runedgirlPairing/Characters: Sam/Dean
Word Count:
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Takes place after Chuck is defeated post 15.19
A/N: I loved your
spn_j2_xmas prompt about soulmates, one of my favorite things too, and I also loved that you don’t mind it when it huuuuurts a little along with some sweetness and maybe a touch of obsessive. Sounds good to me! Hope you enjoy – happy holidays!Summary: Chuck’s gone and the Winchesters have free will. Dean overthinks it.
They leave Chuck groveling in the dirt and say goodbye to Jack – God – whoever he is now. They drink too much whisky and tell and re-tell their new favorite story about the look on Chuck’s face when he realized he hadn’t beaten them after all until one of them just starting to tell it again is enough to send them into peals of hysterical laughter. Sam falls asleep with his head on Dean’s shoulder and the feeling that for the first time in his entire life all is right with the world.
He wakes up to the reality that of course it couldn’t be that easy. He’s in love with his brother, he should have known better.
Not that Dean isn’t in love with him too. It’s been the two of them against the world in every way that counts for a long time, and none of the other people they’ve cared about or danced around something more with have been clueless enough not to realize that sooner or later. Sam’s been good with who they are for a long time, and in the past few years Dean has caught up to him, eyes locked to Sam’s when he says “I’m good with who I am; I’m good with who you are.”
And then the fucking world shifted again, and even when it’s a shift that they fought like hell for, it’s a change – and that’s enough to get Dean thinking.
Of course, Sam doesn’t realize that’s what’s going on at first. Dean is always cranky when he’s hung over, so the elbow Sam gets to the ribs the next morning when he tries to give his brother a hug and a kiss isn’t entirely unexpected.
Sam tries again in the bathroom when Dean’s brushing his teeth, bumping his hip companionably and then sliding an arm around Dean’s waist, fingers slipping beneath his worn cotton tee shirt to slide over warm silky skin.
“Umph” Dean complains, and that damn elbow catches Sam in the side again.
“What the hell, Dean, I’m just trying to say good morning!”
Dean spits out an impressive amount of toothpaste and doesn’t look Sam in the eye. A chill runs through Sam just like that. Something’s wrong.
“You can do that without your hand up my shirt,” he grumbles, and it sends a stab of pain through Sam’s heart so palpable it feels like a physical thing.
He steps back and gives Dean some space, mumbling “Sorry.”
He doesn’t wait to see the expression on Dean’s face as he turns away.
Dean shuts the door.
They never shut the doors.
Dean avoids him most of the day. It’s subtle – or as subtle as Dean can be – but each time Dean chooses to take a run into town for some supplies or do some work in the garage that just cannot wait or not join Sam at the library table, that stabbing pain comes back. Miracle takes to following Sam around, sensing that something’s not right, but Dean doesn’t seem to notice. By the time Sam works up the courage to casually ask “what’s for dinner?” he’s not even surprised when Dean shrugs and says Sam should make what he wants, Dean’s going…. Out.
“Out?”
He sounds ridiculous, but the idea that Dean would want to be away from him the day after they pulled off such an incredible victory is almost impossible to believe, despite Sam’s own eyes and ears.
“Tonight? After we just beat Chuck? You don’t want to – to celebrate?”
Dean lifts his chin, jaw set. “Sure I do, that’s what I’m goin’ out to do, Sammy.”
He makes an attempt at waggling his eyebrows lasciviously.
Sam can’t help it; his mouth drops open. He can feel the prickle of tears in his eyes but it’s too late to stop himself from blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.
“Without me?”
Dean falters, has to swallow before he tries to put his game face back on. Hurting Sam is never going to go down easy for Dean, no matter what damn fool decision he thinks he's making.
“Dean?”
Dean shrugs, trying for casual. He looks at Miracle, sitting at Sam's side, when he answers.
“Look, Sam, it’s not – I just – things are different now, damn it! We’re free, we’re not – nobody’s manipulating us now, we can do whatever we want, okay?”
“And? So what, you don’t want to do anything that involves me, is that it?”
Sam can’t help asking, but even saying the words stings.
Dean backs up and turns away, waves his hand dismissively like Sam's too stupid to get it, and Sam is suddenly eight years old again, sent off to try to make the ancient TV work while Dean and Dad "talk".
No. Fuck that.
Sam reaches out and grabs him by the shoulder, trying to spin him around, and Dean suddenly lashes out at him. It’s a pulled punch, but it shocks Sam into backing up himself.
“What the hell, Dean? If I touch you, are you gonna hit me? You suddenly can’t stand me that much?”
A terrifying thought crosses Sam’s mind, so awful that his knees weaken and he has to sit down.
“Oh God, is that what you’re saying? That you were just…that it was Chuck...that you never, we never..."
Sam shakes his head, horrified.
"No, that can’t be right, Dean, it can’t be!”
Dean’s eyes are wide now and he’s clenching his fists, but he's no longer trying to escape, hard wired to try to stop the pain he can no doubt hear in Sam's voice even if he's the one who put it there.
“How do you know, Sam?" he demands. "Chuck was one twisted sonofabitch and he was fucking obsessed with us, you and me. Doesn’t it make sense that making us have the hots for each other was just another one of his sick manipulations?”
One eye overflows; Sam wipes at his cheek impatiently. It’s like trying to stop a flood with a broken dam.
"The hots? Is that what this is for you?"
It's so much more, has always been - will always be - so much more.
"Sam," Dean sighs, exasperated. "No, but - Sam, listen to yourself, will you? You don't know!"
But that's the thing. Sam does know. He's known for a very long time.
“So you think – you think this, we, this was Chuck? That’s why you pushed me away, because you don’t feel anything for me anymore now that he's not pulling the strings?”
Dean hisses his displeasure, stamps a foot as he answers.
“Fucksake, Sam, I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t want me anymore? I disgust you now, is that it?”
That shocks him; Dean recoils just a little, like Sam just slapped him and he needs to get his balance again.
“No!" he says, and he's shaking his head, still convinced Sam has it wrong. "I didn’t – it’s not about me, Sam!”
Dean’s not making a whole lot of sense, but Sam knows him pretty well. It’s never entirely about Dean when it comes to Sam, and maybe now isn’t any different.
“Who’s it about then?”
Dean glares at him; he knows Sam has figured it out.
“Who?”
Dean huffs an angry sigh. “You, all right? It’s about you – you can do whatever you want now, Sam. You can go back to school, you can put up a white picket fence, you can find a girl, get a dog.”
Miracle whines at Sam’s feet. Sam nudges him reassuringly with the toe of his boot. Dean is an asshole. And an idiot. Miracle will have to get used to it.
“You think Chuck was manipulating me into wanting to stay with you – and wanting in your bed.”
Dean actually blushes a little, like they haven’t been doing it for years.
“Jesus Sam, I don’t know – YOU don’t know! You used to want those things, so why would they go away, huh? Oh right, because Chuck decided to write some steamy fanfiction about our lives, that’s why. Well that’s all done now, Sam, you can go back to – to – to normal!”
Sam can’t help it. He snorts.
Dean’s face gets redder. Sam can’t tell if he’s still blushing or he’s so pissed he’s about to explode.
“What the hell is so funny?” he demands, and Miracle barks because Dean’s yelling now.
“You are,” Sam answers, but there's nothing funny about it. “You think I want some ridiculous version of normal that I gave up on more than a decade ago? You think I’ve only been staying with you, making my life with you, because Chuck made me do it?”
“It’s possible,” Dean insists, plush lower lip stuck out and fuck if it doesn’t make Sam want to kiss the life out of him right now.
“No, it’s not. I told you Dean, you’re the one thing in my life I could always count on. The one person I trust. The only person I want beside me. Nothing has changed for me. Nothing."
“Oh Jesus,” Dean says, but he doesn’t look away.
“Do I need to say it? So you’ll know it’s just as true now as it was 48 hours ago? Fine, I’ll say it, and you’ll have to listen. I love you, Dean. Not just as a brother.”
“Okay, okay, but…”
“And not just as a lover.”
“Sam…”
“You’re my partner, you’re my favorite person, you’re my other half. You drive me fucking crazy but you're it for me. It sounds stupid, but it’s literally true. Were you not listening when everyone from Ash to archangels to the Queen of Hell said it?”
The tips of Dean’s ears are red now, and he’s biting his lip, but he’s not looking away.
“Said what?”
“You’re my soulmate, Dean. How can you be so clueless not to feel it every second of every day? It is what it is – you’re it for me and unless you’ve changed your mind I’m it for you too.”
Dean tries to roll his eyes, but it only half works. “Ohgod, can you be more of a sap?”
“I probably could, but I’m just stating facts here. You better tell me now if you’ve changed your mind and you’re getting ready to leave me for that waitress down at the diner.”
Dean sighs, scrubs a hand across his face. Takes one tentative step back towards Sam. He tilts his head up, glances at Sam and then looks away again.
“Soulmates, huh? You actually believe in that stuff.”
He’s trying to look dismissive, but Sam doesn’t miss the spark of hope in his brother’s eyes.
“It’s been proven to me in a pretty compelling way. But honestly? I knew it was true the second Ash said it when we ended up in Heaven all those years ago. Two decades of feelings I tried to run away from and couldn’t explain and the answer was right there all along.”
Dean still looks skeptical. Hope and skepticism war on his handsome face.
“You didn’t say anything,” he points out.
Sam scoffs. “And risk you reminding me no chick flick moments or some bullshit like that? No, I didn’t say anything. But I knew it. I don’t know why you didn’t too.”
The stab of pain he’s been feeling all day returns, muted but still enough to make Sam flinch. Maybe Dean didn't feel it like he did. Maybe he never had. Being alone in this, whatever this is, would be unbearable. Like he’ll lose half of himself if he loses this with Dean.
Dean chews his lip for a split second, flash of guilt crossing his face before trying to school his face back to neutral.
I didn’t say I…” he starts, and Sam just needs to know. If he has to go through life cut in half, he needs to start figuring out how that’s even possible.
“Just answer the question, Dean. Have you changed your mind? Changed how you feel about me? Because I haven’t – and I won’t. Chuck, no Chuck, it doesn’t fucking matter. But if you have..."
This time the step Dean takes isn’t tentative; neither is the way he brackets Sam into the chair and leans in and kisses him to shut him up. It’s chaste for now, but there’s promise of anything but in the gentle nip at Sam’s bottom lip as he pulls away.
“Never,” he says, and it’s gruff, all teasing gone.
He starts to stand up but Sam’s hand is faster, slipping through the short soft hair at the nape of Dean’s neck to hold him there and Dean finally smiles when he feels it, lets Sam pull him back down.
“Yeah?” he growls against Sam’s mouth, muffled but Sam can still hear the way he’s grinning, smug bastard, firm thighs around Sam’s hips as he sinks down onto his lap, melts into Sam’s arms with a half smothered groan.
Sam’s hand stays firm on the back of his neck, sudden need to get closer closer closer making him rough as relief floods him, and Dean knows, giving in to the pull that’s always there between them, not fighting it anymore.
“Yeah,” Sam answers, but it’s garbled when Dean sucks deep and dirty on Sam’s tongue in his mouth, primal rhythm that makes Sam’s dick throb in time as Dean grinds against him, the chair bumping up against the table, wood creaking a protest but neither of them willing to separate long enough to relocate to somewhere more durable.
Miracle whines his approval at their feet; he’s known all along too.
