A/N: So, hi! I know, I should be posting on my Victorious stories, but I got so obsessed with Supernatural that I just had to post something about that. I did my best to keep the boys in character while getting some fluffiness in there because I think we all need some good Winchester cuddling. I didn't write this as Wincest, but I suppose it could be read that way if you so choose :). Please review! I really would like some constructive criticism.
This takes place sometime after Sharp Teeth, and is slightly AU since I'm leaving canon behind so the boys can just reconcile already.
Disclaimer: I do not own the boys, sadly :(. All credit goes to Eric Kripke.
By the time Sam drops into bed, it's well past two in the morning. Not that time or the hours normal people keep have ever really mattered to the Winchesters. Especially here, in the bunker where they could work day and nigh and never know the difference. He's not exactly sure how long it's been since he last slept, but it feels like forever. Forever since he slept, forever since he and Dean had had a real conversation, forever since he'd felt okay.
Sam didn't mean it. He didn't mean to tell Dean that he didn't want to be brothers anymore. He meant to say that he was angry; that it would take time for him to forgive Dean completely for playing God with Sam's life. But instead he said what he knew would shatter Dean the most. There was nothing he could've said to hurt Dean more than the things Dean said to himself- but he could take away the thing that meant the most to Dean: his brother. Sometimes knowing someone inside and out is more dangerous than it should be.
But it was over now; done. Some part of him knew that he could just apologize to his brother. Tell him what had been running through his head for weeks now. But the other part- the stubborn, petulant little brother part- wouldn't let him. Maybe Dean would just forget it if Sam didn't bring it up. It was the Winchester way after all: push it down and act like it's nothing.
Sam rolls over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. He should really be sleeping, but for some reason, all that fatigue isn't enough anymore. He imagines grand gestures: bursting into Dean's room right now and begging Dean to forgive him, getting up and buying dozens of pies and spreading them out on that huge table for Dean to see and realize that Sam was sorry. However, nothing he can think of seems like enough.
Their last hunt had been rough. Dean was so angry it radiated off him in waves- Sam felt it in Dean's every word and move. And he deserved it- God knew he did. He deserved Dean's worst. In fact, he just wished Dean would unleash his worst: beat him up, scream, anything that might make Dean forget what Sam had said. It would be so much better than this agonizing silence.
Just as he's falling asleep, the room is suddenly flooded with light from the hallway. Sam's up in a second, gun in hand pointed unwaveringly at the intruder. "Dean!" He gasps, half angry and half worried. But his brother isn't armed, and he doesn't even look particularly awake. "What the hell, dude! Are you trying to kill me?"
"Would you chill? You oversized moose." Dean mutters back, stumbling sleepily into Sam's bedroom.
Dean peels the covers back on the left side of the bed, shoving Sam to the other side and crawling in. He stifles a shiver and curls into Sam's side. "Such a freakin' space heater." He murmurs good-naturedly.
Sam stares at his brother, wide eyed and freaked beyond belief. Was Dean high? Drunk? Possessed? "Christo." He blurts, thanked by a sharp smack on the arm from the strange man next to him.
"Not a demon, bitch."
Sam can't let it go. "Are you high?" He can't remember the last time Dean had crawled into bed with him. Usually, this was Sam's move. Sure, they might be "psychotically, irrationally, erotically codependent" on each other, but that didn't usually mean they slept curled in the same bed together like Dean seemed to be going for right now.
The older brother snorts. "Not high, not drunk, not possessed. Wouldja just go t'sleep?"
Oh, he'd like to. He'd like to just be grateful for the heat of his brother's half-forgiveness and let himself drift off. But Sam's never really been the kind not to try and understand everything. "Not that I'm, um," he begins, afraid that anything he says could push Dean away again. "Not that I don't, uh," He squeezes his eyes shut, wishing Dean would interrupt him and guess what he was trying to say. "Not that I mind that you're here, but why are you here? I mean, you were so excited about having your own room." And you hate me right now, remember?
His brother is quiet for so long, Sam's almost sure he's asleep, but then Dean sighs. "Maybe It turns out that maybe I can't sleep without my stupid brother's Gigantor body next to me snoring and talking in his sleep."
If Sam were the girl Dean always accused him of being, he might've cried. The words echo in his mind my brother, my brother, my brother. But he was thirty one for God's sake and he wasn't going to cry. But maybe… maybe he was going to apologize. "Dean-" he starts, but this time Dean cuts him off.
"I know, Sammy. Go t'sleep." He flips onto his stomach, mussing Sam's hair so it hangs into his face. "G'night."
And if Sam falls asleep with a huge grin on his face, that's his business and nobody else's. Perhaps it wasn't so bad to know someone inside and out.