Authors PreNote:
Just a short Wincest drabble, set after Lazarus Rising. I dont think I quite captured what I was trying to, but I'm still pleased with the results.
So, spoiler warning and slash warning.
Dean was there. Real and there and warm under Sam's fingertips. His skin was warm, like it remembered when the fires peeled the flesh from his bones. Dean's eyes locked with his as he ran his fingertips over the mark. It made Sam sick to his stomach. Something else had marked his brother. His brother. Marked him as their own and pulled him harshly out of hell. Beneath all the sheer joy, Sam could feel this writhing monster of hate towards this thing, this thing that took his place when he couldn't fill his own shoes. Bobby glanced at them and his voice withered into silence. The brothers were shockingly, inhumanely still, Sam's big hand not quite covering up the much bigger print on Dean's tainted body.
The brothers barely heard Bobby's excuse to leave the stifling room. The door slammed shut behind him and the rev of the engine outside thrummed the room to life. Dean's name barely passed Sam's lips, a plea well past desperate. Then he collapsed onto Dean's lap, body shuddering violently against his brother's. His hands clasped blindly at Dean's shirt, the fabric wearing into his hands like steel wool. Dean's hands tangled in his hair, rising Sam's face so he was looking into cold eyes.
"Shh, Sammy. It's okay, now." Dean whimpered, voice still death broken and rough. "It's okay." He repeated, his lips finding the tracks of Sam's tears. He could taste Sam's I'm sorry.
His I love you.
How could you leave me?
Forgive me.
Love me.
Stay.
Dean had forgotten how to say these things, deep down in hell. The words had been torn from him like his skin, yanked out of his body like his bones had been. They hung gleaming white in his memory, mere fragments of what they used to mean. He found them again in Sam's tears.
Sam's hand snaked up his back, finding the blisterhot skin under his hairline. Dean flinched at the touch. He was still getting used to the feel of human skin against his. Sam's skin, Sam's touch.
"Sammy." He gasped, choking back a sob, and his mouth found Sam's, fitting them together perfectly. Like they were meant to be. He used to wonder if this would send them to hell. Now he knew the answer - not them. Just him. And not anymore.
He let Sam trace his body with his fingertips, fall onto him in a flusteredsmoothcalmfury of want. He let Sam find him again. Every touch whispered of I forgive you. Never again. Not losing you. Do you love me? Dean answered with a resounding Yes. As his body seemed to blissfully consume itself, hotslickburn sliding down his spine, all he could think about was Sam's voice.
"I've got you. Dean, I've got you." And Dean believed him.