That night, Dean dreampt that he could fly.
It wasn't one of those slow, sluggish flying dreams where you push down hard with your arms and sort of...lift yourself a few feet into the air.
In this dream, he could soar.
The first few steps were terrifying, like gravity had just given up on him, but then he ran right up through the sky, higher and higher until the clouds were just mist on his cheeks like sweet tears, like the most refreshing sweat in the world.
He flew over mountains and valleys and then back to the cabin, where he somehow just slipped right through the solid roof and down into Sam's room.
Sam was awake, just...watching him, naked on top of his blankets and...touching himself.
His eyes were like a challenge, drilling into Dean almost ferociously, and Dean woke feeling alternately uneasy and aroused, sweating and tangled in the sheets with a desire to lock himself in his own room until...well, until something.
Glancing over at the clock on his bedside table, he saw that it was not quite 6:30 AM, and he groaned, knowing that he wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep.
Fuck.
Last night...
Jesus, fuck.
His stomach clenched painfully as the memories of what he had done to...with...Sammy flooded back in vivid detail.
Little (okay maybe not so little, but still terribly young and his BROTHER) Sammy...
"God dammit," he muttered darkly to himself, throwing back his sheets and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "You fucking idiot. Christ."
As much as it pained him, he was sure now that he wanted Sam.
Those feelings hadn't disappeared after a good night's sleep as he had dared to hope they might.
In fact, how he had been able to realistically deny it up until that moment in Sam's room was suddenly beyond him, and he groaned, holding his head up with uncertain hands.
He was intelligent enough to realize that there were still a lot of unknown factors in this...twisted...equation.
Why did he feel this way about his brother?
Why did Sam?
Did Sam even really want him in the same way, or was he just a confused teenager who had picked up on Dean's feelings and run with them?
And if they DID both...if they did...what had caused them to be so...well, fucked up?
What had happened to them?
A part of Dean wanted there to be some supernatural explanation.
On the one hand, if there was, it would have to be some pretty powerful mojo (and to what end?), but on the other hand, it would mean that none of this was their fault.
Too tired to dwell anymore on the heaviness of the issue, he rose to his feet, his vision blacking out for a moment at the sudden transition.
Shit.
He had to get Sam to school, soon.
He was still the adult, here, whether or not he deserved to be, and he had to start acting like it. No more late-night drinking. No more playing hooky. No more...
He swallowed down the lump in his throat, shuffling into his slippers and heading for the kitchen.
The least he could do was cook Sammy a decent breakfast. The kid needed-
He paused in the open doorway as his eyes landed on Sam, already up and flipping through a daunting textbook at the table while he forked a plate of scrambled eggs.
"Uh," he muttered stupidly, crossing his arms over his chest, "I see that you're...awake. And...eating."
Sam glanced up, looking almost like his old, smartass self, which simultaneously calmed and alarmed Dean.
"I'm glad to hear that your eyes are working," Sam said with a little shake of his head, refocusing on whatever he was reading and leaning back a little too casually in his chair. "I'm going to head to school early, today. I have a biology test, so I figured I'd get a little extra studying done in the library. I'll probably be home a little late, too. 4:00. Maybe 5:00. 5:30. Something like that."
Dean shifted his weight uncomfortably, not daring to make eye contact.
"Why?" he asked softly, terrified of the answer...terrified of not getting one...terrified of getting a lie.
Sam took a bite of eggs and chewed it slowly before answering.
"You know my friend Joey who gives me a ride home sometimes? He called me this morning. We're going to shoot some hoops at his place for a little while this afternoon. That okay?"
Dean knew it was a rhetorical question.
"Your friend called you at six in the morning?" Dean found himself saying, his voice dripping with doubt.
He hated himself a little for not being able to just let Sam do what he needed to do in the wake of...everything, but he couldn't seem to help it.
"And since when do you 'shoot hoops,' anyway?"
Sam cocked his head, pursing his lips slightly in Dean's direction.
"Okay," he said, his voice shaking a little in a way that made Dean's chest ache painfully, "You want to do it like this? Fine. Since when do I sing, right? Since when do I not get nervous in front of a crowd of people like I used to when I was thirteen? Since when do I...since when do I kiss my big brother? Or get off on him? Since when do I-"
"Fuck, Sammy. Stop it. Just stop it. You made your point. Jesus. You don't have to-"
Dean trailed off, his breath coming too-quickly and his muscles tensed.
"It's...fine. It's fine. Go...shoot hoops, or whatever, okay? It's...fine."
Sam wasn't smiling when he stood up from the kitchen table just a moment later to grab his backpack from the counter, and Dean wondered if a heart could actually shatter.
"I'll see you tonight," he called to Sam's back, but Sam didn't respond.
When the front door slammed shut, Dean dragged his feet forward on autopilot until he was in front of the couch, and with a desperate sigh, he fell onto it, horrified by the fact that he was crying...actually crying...big ugly tears falling down his cheeks in stark contrast to the sweet rain that had been there in his dream.
"You see that?" he thought to himself, hiding his face in the crook of his arm as though the furniture might notice and call Dad to tell him that his eldest son had become weak and pitiful. "You fucking ruined it. You ruined everything."
He wasn't the wishing type, but as he sat there in the dim morning light, he found himself wishing, to anyone or anything that might be listening, that things could just go back to the way they were before...to before he had decided to go to Sam's stupid school...to before he had heard Sam's stupid song...to before he had...temporarily lost his mind and fucking kissed Sam...let Sam touch him...said those things, all those awful things...
He just wanted to erase the vision of Sam looking at him like he just had, with anger and hurt in his eyes, because...what? Because he regretted everything? Because now that his thoughts had become a reality, he was able to see them for what they were? Wrong...disgusting, even?
Fuck.
He just...dammit...he just wanted his brother back.