Sam Winchester sat in the dingy motel room, waiting for his brother to return with their dinner. All in all compared to the rooms they had stayed in recently, he had to admit that this one wasn't half bad. The walls were fairly clean with only slight stains here and there that could have been anything from water stains to blood. The sheets were clean, save for a cigarette burn here and there, it was better than the odd brown smudge, that they so often ran into. And the bathroom, even though it was smaller than most, seemed to have been taken care of, with very little rust in the sink or bathtub. For the most part Sam was comfortable, and hoped that maybe they could even stay in this room for a couple of days. They had been on the road nonstop for three weeks, and a little down time was exactly what he was craving at the moment.
Their last hunting trip had been one of the toughest they had faced in the past couple of months, taking a lot of energy out of Sam. He knew Dean was just as exhausted and probably in more need of a break than him, but his pride always kept him from admitting when he just needed a little time off. For this reason, Sam tended to feign sickness or exhaustion, giving his brother an excuse to stay put for a while and take the much needed relaxation they both needed. Cross Creek was a small town, and the isolation of the woods, in which the motel was located, actually comforted Sam rather than put him on edge. Usually the woods were a dark ominous place where ghouls and creatures lived and feed. Sam hated the woods, but something about this place made him feel as if the tall lumbering oak trees were blanketing him in protection rather than acting as a foreboding menace.
The sweet smell of pine wafted through the afternoon breeze which was blowing the curtains of the motel window all around. Sam sat at the edge of the bed closest to the window, catching the cool wind, letting the pure, sweet air caress his nostrils.
They were going to stay; he had already decided.
The quiet moment was cut short as Dean came bounding into the room, opening the door with such careless force he practically created a hole in the wall with the door knob. Sam cringed and rolled his eyes, turning to his brother whom was carrying two rather full plastic bags, which Sam could only assume contained food enough to feed a large family of 6.
"I thought you were just getting dinner?" Sam stood up, motioning towards the bags that were now resting on a small oak desk that sat flat against the opposing wall, right across from the window.
"This is dinner…" Dean retorted, with a blank stare on his face. He obviously did not understand what the problem was. Any other day Sam would have argued back, angrily informing his brother that they didn't need that much food, and that it was just a waste of money, but today, with the relaxing breeze coming through the window, and the calm atmosphere that seemed to surround them, Sam merely shrugged, laying back on the bed, crossing his arms behind his head.
"Well I hope you have a big appetite. "Sam stated, causing Dean to snort in a rather unattractive manner as he began to take cans and cans of food out of the bags.
"Come on Sam, it is me you're talking to." Sam had to admit, Dean had a point. The guy could beat a sumo wrestler at an eating contest on any given day. It was a wonder he kept himself in such good shape. "Damn, I forgot the strawberries…" Sam sat up on his elbows, examining the spread of food that was now covering the entire desk. His brother was currently frowning at a jar of hot fudge that he apparently had meant to make chocolate covered strawberries with.
"Aww, you're cooking me a romantic dinner." Sam said, each word dripping with the teasing tone he reserved especially for his brother; mainly whenever he did anything that was out of character for him. He watched as Deans face flushed a shade of red Sam had never quite seen on his brothers' cheeks. At first he thought he had successfully embarrassed the "unembarrassable" Dean Winchester, but the hurt look that flashed quickly through his brother's eyes did not coalesce with that theory. "It was a joke." He wasn't sure why he felt the need to say it, but something about that look, had made his chest constrict in a not so fun way. Usually it was satisfying when he got to tease his brother, especially since Dean had made it his life's ambition to drive Sam crazy with practical jokes and rude comments, but something was not sitting well, and it bothered him even more that he couldn't quite place his finger on it.
Dean slowly put the jar of fudge down on the desk, not meeting Sam's confused gaze. "I know that." was all he said, with a very unconvincing smirk, barely covering the hurt that seemed to have seeped through from some unknown hole in the barrier that he usually kept over all his emotions. Sam was sitting up now, feeling some strange need to retract his statement, and make everything all better, but he wasn't even sure what he had done wrong. As far as jokes went, that one was considered mild compared to what they usually threw at each other, and Dean usually let the worst of the worst go in through one ear and out the other. Before Sam could utter an apology, or something like it, Dean had cleared his throat, grabbing his keys from the side of the bed, where he had thrown them when he walked into the room. The look in his eyes had completely disappeared now, and was replaced with a dead pan glare. Sam liked this look even less, but did not comment as he watched Dean walk to the door, opening it with the same force he had used when he first walked in.
"I'll be back, gotta get the strawberries…" was all he said, as he closed the door behind him, leaving Sam alone and confused, staring at the assortment of food on the desk.
"What did I do?" He asked himself, as he ran a frustrated hand through his soft brown hair that was getting a bit long, as the tips curled around his ears and the bottom of his neck. Usually Dean cut it for him, and he made a mental note to ask him for a trim later… maybe after the awkwardness of that moment had faded into the background, just as all the other moments had.
He began to go through the past couple of weeks, and for the first time realized that Dean had been acting rather strange since they had left Tahoe two weeks prior. For the most part he had been his sarcastically obnoxious, goofy self, but there was something else, something that didn't quite fit into the picture. Just a few days ago, while they were driving through Michigan, Sam had dozed off, letting the soft hum of the car lull him into a light slumber. He was about to fall into a deeper sleep when the sound of sniffling caught his attention. Without opening his eyes, he focused his hearing, trying to figure out what that sound could be. Along with the sniffling, he could hear soft sobs, almost too soft for a normal human being to be able to hear. Thankfully Sam had exceptional hearing, and after a moment, came to the conclusion that either a ghost was haunting the car, or Dean was crying.
It wouldn't have been the first time he had seen or rather heard Dean cry, but it was rare, in fact, he was pretty sure he had only seen it once before; the day of their father's funeral. Even then, it had been a silent cry, no sobbing or whimpering, just tears running down his cheeks, making a steady beeline to the dirt beneath them. But that moment, in the car, Sam could hear the pure agony and sorrow behind the tears. The hitching sobs sounded painful and unsteady, tempting Sam to open his eyes and envelope his brother in a protective hug, making whatever was hurting him this badly go away with a simple touch. Of course, he did nothing, knowing all too well what would happen if he revealed that he was still awake, and aware of Dean's tears. His brother might get angry, or simply shut off entirely, pretending like nothing ever happened, and burying his pain even deeper than it must have been buried before. At least when he was crying, no matter how out of character it was, Sam knew that he was feeling, and dealing with whatever it was.
There was another time before the crying incident, which stayed lodged in Sam's brain. No matter how much he had tried to forget it, every once in a while, he would find his thoughts wondering to that moment at the Blue Ribbon motel, the moment that signaled to him, something wasn't right.
It was late, and they had just returned from hunting a succubus in the local area. It had been a rough hunt, but both of them had only come out with a few bumps and bruises. Sam had suffered some minor scrapes on his back, where the succubus had dug her razor sharp claws, trying to deter Sam from shooting it with the rock salt. As soon as he stepped through the door of their motel room, he pulled the T-shirt he had been wearing over his head, discarding the ripped cloth in the trash can.
"Can you clean these up for me?" it was a simple question. One that they each had asked each other countless times before whenever there was a scrape they couldn't quite reach, or if it was particularly bad. Usually Dean would just nod, grab the first aid kit and get to work, but this time he froze, and just stared at Sam's torso as if he had never seen him with a shirt off before. His eyes stayed glued on Sam, as if he were in some strange trance. For a moment Sam had thought this had been the case, but then Dean turned away, without comment, and grabbed the first aid kit.
"Sit down." He was serious, and looked rather put out, so Sam had complied with the command, without any further discussion. He watched through a mirror hanging on the wall right in front of them, as Dean had settled with the first aid kit between his legs, and began to clean the wounds. The serious crease to his eyebrows never wavered as if he was concentrating hard on something other than cleaning his brother up. Tension had hung thickly in the air at that moment, as Sam contemplated asking his brother what was wrong, but the look in Dean's eyes kept him silent, not wanting to disturb the situation further.
After several moments, Dean began to bandage the scratches up, and Sam was grateful that they would be done with this, as the tension was beginning to weigh heavily on his thoughts. As Dean smoothed down the bandage, San felt his brother's hands move up a bit, wrapping around his shoulders, and gently massaging the tense knots that had formed. The strong pressure felt amazing, as Dean continued to massage. Sam's eyes had rolled to the back of his head, as his chin fell forward against his chest. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had given him a massage, and it felt fantastic.
"Mmm, god, that feels so good…" his words were said through a breathy moan. Dean's hands had begun to move lower, until he was now massaging the tension out of his lower back, Sam arched up with the pressure, letting his brother dig deeply with his thumbs. His head fell back, landing on Dean's shoulder. It was a rather intimate position, Sam realized it now, as he thought back to the moment, but at the time, he saw nothing wrong with it, and would have loved if Dean had continued to massage him to sleep.
As he sat at the edge of the bed, letting the breeze play with his semi long locks, he closed his eyes, remembering the feel of his brother's hands. It was probably as close as they had ever been, and Sam had to admit, he really enjoyed the proximity. Dean's breathing had become fast, and labored, and Sam continued to moan his approval. Sam barely noticed this change in his brother, or at least he liked to believe he didn't, but in a way he knew a part of him had noticed, and was even possibly continuing the soft moans just so he could hear Dean's own growing excitement. He remembered leaning heavily against Dean, eliciting a strange reaction that he had not anticipated, or at least, that's what he continued to tell himself. Dean had let out a soft guttural moan, one of pure ecstasy, which Sam could only describe as sexual. This had broken the moment, as Sam's eyes fluttered opened, and he had moved away from Dean as if he had just been singed with a hot poker. Dean had looked stricken, as if Sam had just butted him in the face with one of their father's heaviest rifles.
"Ugh… I'm going to shower." Was all Sam said, as he ran to the bathroom, leaving his brother sitting at the edge of the bed, looking as if something had shattered deep within. Sam had stayed in the shower for a about an hour, which had nothing to do with avoiding the situation. There was nothing to avoid after all; nothing had happened. These were the thoughts that continually ran through his mind as he washed his hair several times and soaped his entire body meticulously from head to toe. By the time he had returned to the bedroom, Dean was in his bed, curled so deeply under the covers, only his hair could be seen. Sam had tiptoed around, even though he could sense that his brother was not asleep, but at that moment, it was better for the both of them to pretend he was.
The next morning they had both woken up, both acting as if nothing had occurred the night before, and continued with the week as normal.
The door to the motel opened abruptly once again, as Dean walked in with two boxes of strawberries in hand. Sam slowly opened his eyes, not wanting to let the memory of his brother's hands on his back slip away, but knew he had no other choice at the moment. Dean froze, giving Sam a curious sideways glance.
"Did you fall asleep sitting up, or something?" Sam looked up at his brother, who now seemed normal, as if the 15 minutes that had passed had erased the hurt that Sam had seen in his eyes. He wanted to answer with some sarcastic retort, but found that such heaviness had fallen over him; he couldn't even bring himself to speak. It had been a mistake to delve so deeply back into that memory, as he unwittingly invoked emotions that he must have been suppressing since that moment; maybe even longer.
Dean immediately recognized the look on Sam's face as one of distress and upset. Sam was always wearing his heart on his sleeve, making it easy for Dean to read him like a book. He placed the strawberries down on the desk, taking a few steps towards Sam, but still keeping his distance.
"Is something wrong?" He tried to sound flippant, casual even, but Sam could sense the worry under the tone. Worry that he had done something to make Sam look this way. Sam stood up from the bed, taking the two steps needed to close the gap between him and Dean. He watched Dean's face go from casual to anxious in a matter of seconds, as he tried to avert his gaze from Sam's searing eyes. He wanted to move back, move away from the closeness between them, the warmth. He could smell Sam's sweet breath, as it came out in soft determined sighs, seemingly moving closer and closer with each passing second. His heart began to thud wildly against his chest, as it had taken to doing every time he was closer than a foot to Sam these days. He still wasn't sure when or why this change had occurred, but he couldn't deny what he had been feeling as of late, and even though he knew it was incredibly wrong, Whenever they were this close, all sane thought went out the window.
Sam wasn't sure what he was doing, or why he had moved this close to Dean, but the reaction his own body was having to his older brother was enough to drive him mad. His chest had constricted so tightly he could barely breathe, and each breath felt like a flaming torch had been ignited within his esophagus, making it almost painful. His hands had begun to tingle uncomfortably, giving him the idea that the only way to relieve the tingle was to place his hands on Dean, anywhere on Dean. Without thought, his arms began to move, as if taken over by a mind control spell, he couldn't stop himself, and he found that he didn't really want to stop.
"S-sam…" Dean's voice came out small and vulnerable, as if every moment after this point would either make or break him. Sam registered this somewhere in his muddled thoughts, clearing away some of the fog that had formed. His hands began to retract back to his sides, as he turned away sharply, realizing he needed to catch his breath. He moved away from Dean, taking several steps to the open window, letting the breeze alleviate his heated skin. Panting heavily, he lowered his head, leaning against the cool window frame. His thoughts were racing now, fumbling into each other like a derailed train. What was he just about to do? What had he been thinking? He wanted to get rid of his brother's pain, he wanted to make Dean feel better, he was just going to hug him; no you weren't; he just wanted to make everything okay again, back the way it was; stop lying!; The sound of the door clicking shut caught his attention, as he whirled back around, where the now vacant spot where his brother had been just standing was staring at him like a black hole.
He hung his head, feeling lower than ever.
Sam Winchester sat in the dingy motel room, waiting for his brother to return with their dinner. All in all compared to the rooms they had stayed in recently, he had to admit that this one wasn't half bad. The walls were fairly clean with only slight stains here and there that could have been anything from water stains to blood. The sheets were clean, save for a cigarette burn here and there, it was better than the odd brown smudge, that they so often ran into. And the bathroom, even though it was smaller than most, seemed to have been taken care of, with very little rust in the sink or bathtub. For the most part Sam was comfortable, and hoped that maybe they could even stay in this room for a couple of days. They had been on the road nonstop for three weeks, and a little down time was exactly what he was craving at the moment.
Their last hunting trip had been one of the toughest they had faced in the past couple of months, taking a lot of energy out of Sam. He knew Dean was just as exhausted and probably in more need of a break than him, but his pride always kept him from admitting when he just needed a little time off. For this reason, Sam tended to feign sickness or exhaustion, giving his brother an excuse to stay put for a while and take the much needed relaxation they both needed. Cross Creek was a small town, and the isolation of the woods, in which the motel was located, actually comforted Sam rather than put him on edge. Usually the woods were a dark ominous place where ghouls and creatures lived and feed. Sam hated the woods, but something about this place made him feel as if the tall lumbering oak trees were blanketing him in protection rather than acting as a foreboding menace.
The sweet smell of pine wafted through the afternoon breeze which was blowing the curtains of the motel window all around. Sam sat at the edge of the bed closest to the window, catching the cool wind, letting the pure, sweet air caress his nostrils.
They were going to stay; he had already decided.
The quiet moment was cut short as Dean came bounding into the room, opening the door with such careless force he practically created a hole in the wall with the door knob. Sam cringed and rolled his eyes, turning to his brother whom was carrying two rather full plastic bags, which Sam could only assume contained food enough to feed a large family of 6.
"I thought you were just getting dinner?" Sam stood up, motioning towards the bags that were now resting on a small oak desk that sat flat against the opposing wall, right across from the window.
"This is dinner…" Dean retorted, with a blank stare on his face. He obviously did not understand what the problem was. Any other day Sam would have argued back, angrily informing his brother that they didn't need that much food, and that it was just a waste of money, but today, with the relaxing breeze coming through the window, and the calm atmosphere that seemed to surround them, Sam merely shrugged, laying back on the bed, crossing his arms behind his head.
"Well I hope you have a big appetite. "Sam stated, causing Dean to snort in a rather unattractive manner as he began to take cans and cans of food out of the bags.
"Come on Sam, it is me you're talking to." Sam had to admit, Dean had a point. The guy could beat a sumo wrestler at an eating contest on any given day. It was a wonder he kept himself in such good shape. "Damn, I forgot the strawberries…" Sam sat up on his elbows, examining the spread of food that was now covering the entire desk. His brother was currently frowning at a jar of hot fudge that he apparently had meant to make chocolate covered strawberries with.
"Aww, you're cooking me a romantic dinner." Sam said, each word dripping with the teasing tone he reserved especially for his brother; mainly whenever he did anything that was out of character for him. He watched as Deans face flushed a shade of red Sam had never quite seen on his brothers' cheeks. At first he thought he had successfully embarrassed the "unembarrassable" Dean Winchester, but the hurt look that flashed quickly through his brother's eyes did not coalesce with that theory. "It was a joke." He wasn't sure why he felt the need to say it, but something about that look, had made his chest constrict in a not so fun way. Usually it was satisfying when he got to tease his brother, especially since Dean had made it his life's ambition to drive Sam crazy with practical jokes and rude comments, but something was not sitting well, and it bothered him even more that he couldn't quite place his finger on it.
Dean slowly put the jar of fudge down on the desk, not meeting Sam's confused gaze. "I know that." was all he said, with a very unconvincing smirk, barely covering the hurt that seemed to have seeped through from some unknown hole in the barrier that he usually kept over all his emotions. Sam was sitting up now, feeling some strange need to retract his statement, and make everything all better, but he wasn't even sure what he had done wrong. As far as jokes went, that one was considered mild compared to what they usually threw at each other, and Dean usually let the worst of the worst go in through one ear and out the other. Before Sam could utter an apology, or something like it, Dean had cleared his throat, grabbing his keys from the side of the bed, where he had thrown them when he walked into the room. The look in his eyes had completely disappeared now, and was replaced with a dead pan glare. Sam liked this look even less, but did not comment as he watched Dean walk to the door, opening it with the same force he had used when he first walked in.
"I'll be back, gotta get the strawberries…" was all he said, as he closed the door behind him, leaving Sam alone and confused, staring at the assortment of food on the desk.
"What did I do?" He asked himself, as he ran a frustrated hand through his soft brown hair that was getting a bit long, as the tips curled around his ears and the bottom of his neck. Usually Dean cut it for him, and he made a mental note to ask him for a trim later… maybe after the awkwardness of that moment had faded into the background, just as all the other moments had.
He began to go through the past couple of weeks, and for the first time realized that Dean had been acting rather strange since they had left Tahoe two weeks prior. For the most part he had been his sarcastically obnoxious, goofy self, but there was something else, something that didn't quite fit into the picture. Just a few days ago, while they were driving through Michigan, Sam had dozed off, letting the soft hum of the car lull him into a light slumber. He was about to fall into a deeper sleep when the sound of sniffling caught his attention. Without opening his eyes, he focused his hearing, trying to figure out what that sound could be. Along with the sniffling, he could hear soft sobs, almost too soft for a normal human being to be able to hear. Thankfully Sam had exceptional hearing, and after a moment, came to the conclusion that either a ghost was haunting the car, or Dean was crying.
It wouldn't have been the first time he had seen or rather heard Dean cry, but it was rare, in fact, he was pretty sure he had only seen it once before; the day of their father's funeral. Even then, it had been a silent cry, no sobbing or whimpering, just tears running down his cheeks, making a steady beeline to the dirt beneath them. But that moment, in the car, Sam could hear the pure agony and sorrow behind the tears. The hitching sobs sounded painful and unsteady, tempting Sam to open his eyes and envelope his brother in a protective hug, making whatever was hurting him this badly go away with a simple touch. Of course, he did nothing, knowing all too well what would happen if he revealed that he was still awake, and aware of Dean's tears. His brother might get angry, or simply shut off entirely, pretending like nothing ever happened, and burying his pain even deeper than it must have been buried before. At least when he was crying, no matter how out of character it was, Sam knew that he was feeling, and dealing with whatever it was.
There was another time before the crying incident, which stayed lodged in Sam's brain. No matter how much he had tried to forget it, every once in a while, he would find his thoughts wondering to that moment at the Blue Ribbon motel, the moment that signaled to him, something wasn't right.
It was late, and they had just returned from hunting a succubus in the local area. It had been a rough hunt, but both of them had only come out with a few bumps and bruises. Sam had suffered some minor scrapes on his back, where the succubus had dug her razor sharp claws, trying to deter Sam from shooting it with the rock salt. As soon as he stepped through the door of their motel room, he pulled the T-shirt he had been wearing over his head, discarding the ripped cloth in the trash can.
"Can you clean these up for me?" it was a simple question. One that they each had asked each other countless times before whenever there was a scrape they couldn't quite reach, or if it was particularly bad. Usually Dean would just nod, grab the first aid kit and get to work, but this time he froze, and just stared at Sam's torso as if he had never seen him with a shirt off before. His eyes stayed glued on Sam, as if he were in some strange trance. For a moment Sam had thought this had been the case, but then Dean turned away, without comment, and grabbed the first aid kit.
"Sit down." He was serious, and looked rather put out, so Sam had complied with the command, without any further discussion. He watched through a mirror hanging on the wall right in front of them, as Dean had settled with the first aid kit between his legs, and began to clean the wounds. The serious crease to his eyebrows never wavered as if he was concentrating hard on something other than cleaning his brother up. Tension had hung thickly in the air at that moment, as Sam contemplated asking his brother what was wrong, but the look in Dean's eyes kept him silent, not wanting to disturb the situation further.
After several moments, Dean began to bandage the scratches up, and Sam was grateful that they would be done with this, as the tension was beginning to weigh heavily on his thoughts. As Dean smoothed down the bandage, San felt his brother's hands move up a bit, wrapping around his shoulders, and gently massaging the tense knots that had formed. The strong pressure felt amazing, as Dean continued to massage. Sam's eyes had rolled to the back of his head, as his chin fell forward against his chest. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had given him a massage, and it felt fantastic.
"Mmm, god, that feels so good…" his words were said through a breathy moan. Dean's hands had begun to move lower, until he was now massaging the tension out of his lower back, Sam arched up with the pressure, letting his brother dig deeply with his thumbs. His head fell back, landing on Dean's shoulder. It was a rather intimate position, Sam realized it now, as he thought back to the moment, but at the time, he saw nothing wrong with it, and would have loved if Dean had continued to massage him to sleep.
As he sat at the edge of the bed, letting the breeze play with his semi long locks, he closed his eyes, remembering the feel of his brother's hands. It was probably as close as they had ever been, and Sam had to admit, he really enjoyed the proximity. Dean's breathing had become fast, and labored, and Sam continued to moan his approval. Sam barely noticed this change in his brother, or at least he liked to believe he didn't, but in a way he knew a part of him had noticed, and was even possibly continuing the soft moans just so he could hear Dean's own growing excitement. He remembered leaning heavily against Dean, eliciting a strange reaction that he had not anticipated, or at least, that's what he continued to tell himself. Dean had let out a soft guttural moan, one of pure ecstasy, which Sam could only describe as sexual. This had broken the moment, as Sam's eyes fluttered opened, and he had moved away from Dean as if he had just been singed with a hot poker. Dean had looked stricken, as if Sam had just butted him in the face with one of their father's heaviest rifles.
"Ugh… I'm going to shower." Was all Sam said, as he ran to the bathroom, leaving his brother sitting at the edge of the bed, looking as if something had shattered deep within. Sam had stayed in the shower for a about an hour, which had nothing to do with avoiding the situation. There was nothing to avoid after all; nothing had happened. These were the thoughts that continually ran through his mind as he washed his hair several times and soaped his entire body meticulously from head to toe. By the time he had returned to the bedroom, Dean was in his bed, curled so deeply under the covers, only his hair could be seen. Sam had tiptoed around, even though he could sense that his brother was not asleep, but at that moment, it was better for the both of them to pretend he was.
The next morning they had both woken up, both acting as if nothing had occurred the night before, and continued with the week as normal.
The door to the motel opened abruptly once again, as Dean walked in with two boxes of strawberries in hand. Sam slowly opened his eyes, not wanting to let the memory of his brother's hands on his back slip away, but knew he had no other choice at the moment. Dean froze, giving Sam a curious sideways glance.
"Did you fall asleep sitting up, or something?" Sam looked up at his brother, who now seemed normal, as if the 15 minutes that had passed had erased the hurt that Sam had seen in his eyes. He wanted to answer with some sarcastic retort, but found that such heaviness had fallen over him; he couldn't even bring himself to speak. It had been a mistake to delve so deeply back into that memory, as he unwittingly invoked emotions that he must have been suppressing since that moment; maybe even longer.
Dean immediately recognized the look on Sam's face as one of distress and upset. Sam was always wearing his heart on his sleeve, making it easy for Dean to read him like a book. He placed the strawberries down on the desk, taking a few steps towards Sam, but still keeping his distance.
"Is something wrong?" He tried to sound flippant, casual even, but Sam could sense the worry under the tone. Worry that he had done something to make Sam look this way. Sam stood up from the bed, taking the two steps needed to close the gap between him and Dean. He watched Dean's face go from casual to anxious in a matter of seconds, as he tried to avert his gaze from Sam's searing eyes. He wanted to move back, move away from the closeness between them, the warmth. He could smell Sam's sweet breath, as it came out in soft determined sighs, seemingly moving closer and closer with each passing second. His heart began to thud wildly against his chest, as it had taken to doing every time he was closer than a foot to Sam these days. He still wasn't sure when or why this change had occurred, but he couldn't deny what he had been feeling as of late, and even though he knew it was incredibly wrong, Whenever they were this close, all sane thought went out the window.
Sam wasn't sure what he was doing, or why he had moved this close to Dean, but the reaction his own body was having to his older brother was enough to drive him mad. His chest had constricted so tightly he could barely breathe, and each breath felt like a flaming torch had been ignited within his esophagus, making it almost painful. His hands had begun to tingle uncomfortably, giving him the idea that the only way to relieve the tingle was to place his hands on Dean, anywhere on Dean. Without thought, his arms began to move, as if taken over by a mind control spell, he couldn't stop himself, and he found that he didn't really want to stop.
"S-sam…" Dean's voice came out small and vulnerable, as if every moment after this point would either make or break him. Sam registered this somewhere in his muddled thoughts, clearing away some of the fog that had formed. His hands began to retract back to his sides, as he turned away sharply, realizing he needed to catch his breath. He moved away from Dean, taking several steps to the open window, letting the breeze alleviate his heated skin. Panting heavily, he lowered his head, leaning against the cool window frame. His thoughts were racing now, fumbling into each other like a derailed train. What was he just about to do? What had he been thinking? He wanted to get rid of his brother's pain, he wanted to make Dean feel better, he was just going to hug him; no you weren't; he just wanted to make everything okay again, back the way it was; stop lying!; The sound of the door clicking shut caught his attention, as he whirled back around, where the now vacant spot where his brother had been just standing was staring at him like a black hole.
He hung his head, feeling lower than ever.