Tomorrow
Tomorrow will never again be just another day. Set after 'Mystery Spot'
A Wincest Fanfiction
:-:
Wednesday. It tastes strange and bitter on the tip of your tongue. You can't pull Dean close enough and it confuses him. You have lived the last few months in your own personal hell and your eyes shown it compared to the mere twenty-four hours that have passed across Dean's face.
You cannot escape the fact that Dean is still going to die. It eats away at your insides and feels like acid in the pit of your stomach. You know today will never be enough; you fear tomorrow will never dawn. The Trickster has destroyed your hope and with it, stripped away your inhibitions.
There are things you have to do, have to say, but first you must get Dean away from this town. You pack up and shove everything into the Impala, never letting your brother out of your sight.
He wants to stay and fight the demi-god but all you want is Dean safe. He must see the sincerity in your eyes because he lets you take the wheel and sits in silence beside you. You do not have a destination – you just know you have to drive far enough to dull the memories.
Hours pass and Dean snores gently beside you in the passenger seat. You couldn't sleep if you wanted to; your blood is boiling beneath your skin and you are afraid to close your eyes in anticipation of what you might wake to.
Finally you pull into a motel, cliché in appearance, situated on a slip road just off of the interstate. You wake up Dean – it doesn't occur to you to leave him in the car while you check in at the desk. You will never leave him again.
He is groggy as he accompanies you but nevertheless manages to flirt with the blonde behind the counter. You pull him away – not having time for this – and steer him back towards the car. He offers to find the room while you collect the bags but you glare at him and he teases you. In a way you understand just why he can't take this seriously, but his deaths are still too fresh in your mind and you find yourself unable to raise a smile in response.
You fight the urge to push heavy furniture up against the double locked door of the room – you know from experience that death does not need doors to enter. Dean is already channel hopping and checking the take out menus and the sight of something so ordinary, after so long apart, clenches your stomach tight and causes your eyes to water.
Once again you are pulling him into your arms faster than he can register, chucking the remote far across the room so he cannot be distracted by it. You expect him to fight you, but he appears to be giving you this: this moment of holding him and appreciating his ongoing existence.
He rests his head against your chest and your arms engulf him and the feeling it stirs in you is both exuberant and petrifying at the same time. Your imagination was not kind while you were apart; thoughts bleeding into dangerous territory should you ever get him back. But now he is breathing in time with you and your imagination tugs at your heart strings like a puppeteer until all self-control is lost and you are kissing him: pressing your lips against his and tasting the life on his breath.
If your action surprises you, then his response is unfathomable as he leans into you hungrily, pawing, clutching at your skin and pulling you closer to him.
And you wonder how long he has wanted this. You marvel at how you had to lose him to love him – love him with this fire; this want.
And maybe this contact, this joining of souls, will help life fight on a little longer.