Summary: Dean and Sam lay in bed pondering. Ninth in my 'Evil Is As Evil Does' sequence.
Evil In Your Arms by frostygossamer
PoV: Dean Winchester, son of John, protector of Sam, killer
I'm laying in bed staring at the flaky ceiling of yet another generic motel room, lit only by the flickering light of the TV, tuned to God knows what channel. The volume is turned down nearly all the way, just loud enough to give the gentle, fuzzy murmur that helps Sam to sleep easy, when the nightmares start to get all up in his face.
I look down at him, head cradled against my neck, and he hums gently.
He still gets the nightmares, about Dad. I tell him he's not to blame, and he knows it, but they always come, whenever he's feeling low. So I just have to hold him, and whisper that it's OK, and everything is fine now, and hope it's not a lie.
I lie to him all the time, when I tell him I can protect him. I only wish I could, but I'd die trying.
Sometimes I wonder how in Hell we got here. In what sad-ass deity's imagination did this all seem like a good idea? Heck, if Dad had known what was gonna happen, I'm sure he would have had second thoughts about settling down with Mom to start a family in the first place.
I'm sorry I let him down, honestly, but I'm not sorry I chose Sam over him. Because I always was supposed to take care of Sammy, that was always my job, ever since Mom died and I saved him from the fire.
Sometimes I wish things had been different, that I had a normal life, that I'd sifted through all the nameless girls until the right one found me, and settled into a regular life like regular people.
Yet somehow I know it would never have worked, not for me.
I know it when I come back wet and filthy from some fruitless trudge through a muddy graveyard, looking for clues, and open the door to find our rented room lit by candles and love, Sam naked in the bed, promising that sweet mixture of boyish surrender and bear-like possessiveness. Then I know that I could never have chosen anything else. And I feel like home.
Because Sam is my life and my world.
I smile and plant a kiss on top of the big guy's head, and he whispers my name sweet and soft.
Only he can make that ugly little monosyllable sound like something beautifu
PoV: Sam Winchester, lover of Dean, patricide, desperado
Dean. His name sounds like home to me. It always has. Not 'Mom and Dad' just 'Dean'. And there are no two people on God's earth more together right now than him and me. He's mine and he always will be. I mean to keep it that way.
I won't say 'I love you' because I wouldn't hear it back. Dean doesn't do 'I love you', not with words.
His fingers comb through my hair.
My Dean doesn't much talk about love. He doesn't trust himself to. But he's made of it. I should know.
The nightmares that he thinks are all about Dad, are all about him. About losing him. I'd rather die than lose him. I'd rather we both die than be apart. Hell, I would kill him before I let him go.
I press my face against his neck and he hums gently.
He knows.
The End
A/N: Just a little shortie while I check over my next installment.