Title: What if the storm ends
Pairing: Dean Winchester/ Sam Winchester
Rating: M-15+ possibly T
Warnings: Nothing too hot and heavy, but Wincest all the same.
Summary: Dean loves the adrenalin. He loves it because it doesn't allow him to think, just act. Pushing though his blood. Synchronizing his movements in rough, hasty fashion.
The pain doesn't exist then. Not the bruises that plaster his skin, or the sweat the glistens as it rolls down his open wounds.
Sam doesn't exist.
Not when the adrenalins there.
Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine.
Reviews and comments are thoroughly appreciated! I tried something a little different this time, I pretty much listened to What If the Storm Ends by Snow Patrol for hours on replay while writing this. Hopefully you all like it.
Enjoy C:
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What if the storm ends
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Sam's silence is long and impending; the type of silence that derives after a storm. After the time bomb explodes and the punches are thrown. It follows the sharp, raw words that are exchanged in the heat of the moment battle.
It's silence that arrives after all the fight is zapped right out of them.
It makes Dean nauseous. Sick to think that he's caused this. That he's the reason Sam's so quiet.
He's bruised and battered and it's all Dean's fault.
To Dean it feels like centuries. All he can see is the rise and fall of Sam's chest, the sweat glistening off his taught torso. Dean refuses to look at him, won't meet his eyes; because he knows that Sam's looking right at him. That his eyes will be searching Dean's soul. Locked with confusion and ridden with disbelief.
Sam finally breaks the silence. His words low but demanding, "just admit it, Dean."
Green and hazel eyes close. The guilt is unbelievable and glistens within them. It takes all of Deans will to force his jeans back on and flip his feet off the bed edge. His moves, stiff and unnatural; an internal struggle within, completely ill-reflective of his long hard years of training.
Sam gaze is unwavering; strong and intent. "Dean…its not- it's alright. Quit struggling with this. I'm your brother-"
"Damn straight you're my brother Sammy!"
Deans voice strains, the words raised and laced with anger. Not anger at Sam, but anger at himself. For allowing his younger brother -his own blood- to want this. Something that should sicken Dean to the core.
The keys to the Impala are snatched from the table in one quick, fluent motion. Dean's fists clench tight around them, his legs to hastily carrying him out the motel door and into the only home both brothers ever truly had.
The Chevy's engine rumbles loudly and it's not long before Sam hears it fade into the distance.
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And I don't see you
As you are now
Ever again
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It's the thrill of the fight. The adrenalin the courses though Deans veins. It's hot and fresh, so much so that it almost burns. It's the perfect complement to his skills. The ones he spent years training for, perfecting.
Dean loves the adrenalin. He loves it because it doesn't allow him to think, just act. Pushing though his blood. Synchronizing his movements in rough, hasty fashion. Allowing him to focus on nothing but the kicks and the punches that almost push him over the limit.
The pain doesn't exist then. Not the bruises that plaster his skin, or the sweat the glistens as it rolls down his open wounds.
Sam doesn't exist.
Not when the adrenalin's there.
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Dean doesn't turn his phone on. Mostly because he knows what he'll see; the missed calls, the pleading messages.
He can hear it all in his mind.
"Dammit Dean! Pick up, quit being such a dick."
He can hear the anger and the panic. The voice Sam uses when his at his weakest. Trying so hard to play it right, keep things how they should be. But with an undertone of uncertainty; pleading. That's so uncharacteristic of Sam. It's the tone he used when he was young, afraid that dad wouldn't make it back. Of the creatures that went bump in the night.
The tone that only Dean knows.
It sickens him, because he caused all this.
He should be the one stopping it, the big brother; invincible and strong.
But his not.
He's weak.
And it sickens Dean.
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What if the storm ends
And leaves us nothing
Except a memory
A distant echo
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It's the sharp thumping in his head that won't leave. Stabbing the inside of his skull that's Dean's first clue.
His eyes are hazy, fogged and unspoken.
The guilt's there, thumping harder than the pain in his skull.
"Dean?"
Sams voice is sharp, tainted with concern. The bed sheet is push down as he sits up; revealing more of his naked chest and the various small, silver scars that carry memories they'd both rather forget.
Silence follows; expected and estranged all at the same time. Sam's eyes are tainted with hope, that this time, it might be different.
But it's not.
Footsteps echo across the floor and the Impala rumbles, as loud as the torment inside Dean's head.
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It falls back into place, like it always does.
Sam's researching on the computer, his eyes squinting slightly. Searching though all the files he has, reaching for a way to solve the world's problems; the never ending apocalypse.
It's always something big; the world doesn't wait for them.
So Dean hounds into his pie, almost like it's his last meal.
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"DEAN!"
Sam's voice is loud; it's all Dean can here over the thumping in his ears. The youngest Winchester is filled with anger, a sudden burst that wasn't expected. Raw and venerable in a way the only Dean knows. Air rushes back into Dean's lungs, woozy and uneasy. There still isn't enough, not when his body is plastered against Sam's and the wall.
"What the hell were you even thinking?" Sam's panting heavily, hazel eyes wide and enraged, "dammit Dean!"
"Sammy."
The warning in Dean's voice is clear, fists tight at his side. Chest heavily pressed against his younger siblings, the familiar twinge of adrenalin coursing through his veins.
Sam doesn't back down. "Answer me, Dean."
Green eyes close; he can feel Sam's body trembling in rough, short motions. He shoves hard against the wall of muscle in front of him. His pushed back, with pure rage and tension.
"You're such a fucking jerk."
Dean knows it's probably the truest thing about him.
"You egotistic, self-centered jerk!"
Then Sams forehead is on Deans shoulder, the fight suddenly ripped out of him. Heavy breathing fills the air, hot and moist, emphasizing the shredded tension.
"I fucking love you."
It's a whisper, but Dean hears it loud and clear. He tenses, because Sam's never actually said it before.
It makes him so nauseous that he can't see straight. Because this is his younger brother, that he should love and protect, but not in this way. Not in the way he does. Because Dean loves everything about Sam, every single inch of him.
He can't fight it. Not when Sam says it like that. Dean hates himself for it; for being so in love with Sam that it screws with his head.
He always has. His weak because to loves Sam. Sammy. His Sammy.
His younger brother.
"Shut up, Sammy."
Then Deans lips are on his; strong and demanding. His probably going to hell, to live eternity in Corwlys pit, but it doesn't matter. Because Sam's tongue is like fire and his hips move in a rhythm all of their own. Strong, hypnotic thrusts that coil all around him and it's almost all he can feel. The touch of Sam is everywhere and he wants it more than anything in the world.
This time, he won't leave.
This time, it's different.
I fucking love you too.
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But now it's found us, like I have a found you
I don't wanna run, just overwhelm me
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