FINALLY!
I know it's taken a long time. What with my job, and the cold I caught, and my bf complaining about my "click-clacking" on the laptop, it's been really, really hard to get any writing done. Thank you guys SO much for not yelling at me! I know it's hard to wait and it's totally not fair . . . especially when I published two fics before getting this done. (A new shot in Domesticated and The Best of Time which got a flame btw before I deleted it.) The reason for that is because when working on this story, I need to occasional break from the angstyness and the muses won't shut the f*ck up sometimes! It's not fair to the rest of you, y'all give me such awesome reviews and I love y'all for it, I'm really trying to keep this going, it's just pretty difficult at the moment.
Anyway, really super excited about this chappy. It was a tough write and I'll be really super nervous to hear what you guys think. I've never wanted to be a better artist in all my life because all I keep seeing is sleepy Sam curled around some pillows, so clear in my mind, so freaking ADORABLE. I hope you guys like this one!
I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.
The next time Dean woke up, it was in a much more pleasant way. There was no jerking awake to the sound of vomiting. Just the steady, slow wakefulness creeping up, like floating up to the surface of a very warm pool. He was warm and comfortable and felt very content. The solid weight next to him was familiar and reassuring and . . .
Oh crap.
Not again.
Dean's eyes snapped open, he knew without looking, that Sam was next to him again. Dean had been past freaking out or being disconcerted about his brother's presence in his bed. Now though, what with the kissing incident, it was coming back, full force.
At least there was the small favor that they were facing away from each other, backs pressed together. So at least Dean wasn't going to have to struggle out of Sam's grasp. He tried to banish the odd feeling of disappointment at the thought without much success. Dean slid from the bed easily. He needed a shower, he was grimy from the hunt the previous night. Before he got to the bathroom though, he did something he'd never done before. He grabbed his duffel bag and brought it with him. Then he closed and locked the door behind him.
Once he was under the hot spray of water it was incredibly hard not to slam his head into the tile wall. Dean was so fucked . . . and not the good kind. Naturally, thinking about it just brought up thoughts of Sam . . . of course it did. He wanted to, with his little brother, the baby brother he had sworn to protect with his life. So how was he going to protect Sam when Dean was the one putting him in danger?
Dean thought back on the kiss, allowed himself to linger on the memory, maybe it wasn't as bad as he was making it out to be. Maybe it was more innocent than insidious.
If the nearly instant hard on caused by his mind's replay, the kiss was anything but innocent. Funny, he didn't remember being turned on by the kiss before. Perhaps he had been in shock? Dean tried to will his erection away but it wasn't listening to him so it was either switch the water to cold or take care of it with his trusty right hand. When he went for the second option it turned out to be a bad decision because as much as he tried to think of some gorgeous Playboy model or his trusted busty Asians, Sam kept emerging in his mind. His happy, smiling, beautiful brother who trusted him and looked at Dean for protection from the haunting memories that threatened to overwhelm him. Even though Dean thought he should really try the cold shower method, before he could, he was already climaxing biting back the moan that threaten to escape in case it was actually Sam's name.
Dean allowed his head to fall against the tiled wall with a thump. He was so totally, royally fucked.
Once he finished his shower, he dressed quickly and grabbed up his duffel as he exited the bathroom. He saw Sam was sitting up in the bed now, he still looked a little hung over. After a moment's consideration, he slammed the bathroom door shut, hard. Sam winced with a groan. Dean chuckled, at least it was good to know that he still enjoyed annoying his kid brother just like any older brother would. Maybe he could salvage this thing after all.
"Feeling better, Sammy?" Dean asked more loudly than necessary.
"Slightly," Sam answered with a grimace. "My head is still killing me. Do we have any morphine?"
Dean rolled his eyes, "Don't be such a drama queen, Samantha. You just have a little headache."
Sam managed to shoot him a dark look before getting up and staggering across to his bed and retrieving his duffel bag on the other side. After a moment of rummaging, he pulled out a very crumpled white paper bag with a look of triumph. It was the bag he got from the hospital. Even though he had taken the pain medication they had given them at first, after the pain became at least manageable, he stopped since they made him feel fuzzy and he was almost certain they contributed to his exhaustion. They were very good for pain though.
After retrieving a half filled water bottle from the same duffel, he pulled out the little prescription bottle and shook out two pills into his palm and downed them immediately, then settle back on his bed with a sigh.
Dean felt like he wanted to stab his libido in the throat . . . or something (Did libidos have throats?). The mere sight of Sam sprawled across his bed and the contented sounding sigh coming from him had warmth spreading through Dean's stomach and heading decidedly south.
No, no, no, no, Dean thought frantically. I can still fix this, we are brothers and I can fix it.
Dean sat abruptly on the bed, his duffel sitting on his lap, just in case he needed the covering. It was odd, in all this time he never even thought of the fact that they were brothers. He thought about the fact that Sam was his baby brother and he shouldn't want to do anything because Dean was his big brother and supposed to protect Sam against lecherous people like, well, like himself. The fact that they were blood, shockingly didn't faze him in the least. When thinking about the lust he had for Sam, the sibling connection didn't seem to matter at all, it didn't bother him. Which only served to remind him that he was a sick, depraved, abomination that should go off himself because Sam was definitely not safe being anywhere near him.
Setting his duffel at his feet, Dean propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands.
"You okay?" Sam asked quietly.
Dean looked over and saw Sam looking at him with those damned puppy dog, concerned eyes. Dean wanted to shout at him, tell Sam not to be worried about him because Sam should really be worried about being around him.
Instead, he nodded, "Fine," he got up and headed for the door, "I'm gonna get some food from the diner. I'm getting you something too so don't even tell me you're not hungry. Just tell me if you want something specific."
Sam grimaced at the mention of food but shrugged, "No onions." He closed his eyes again.
Dean went across the street and went with his standard burger and fries and got a chicken sandwich for Sam, figuring beef would be a bad idea. On his way back to the room, he noticed the sun was pretty low in the sky. He had already paid for a week at this motel which he hadn't mentioned to Sam, not knowing how long the hunt would take. It took three days, three days for everything to fall completely apart once again. It had to be some sort of record, it usually only took a few hours or less.
It had been nine weeks now. Nine weeks and Dean was still swimming in a lake of confusion and chaos. He didn't know how to deal with what had happened to Sam but things had gradually been getting better. At least he had hoped so. His over-protectiveness of Sam had him wanting to hold his brother back from things that he didn't think Sam was ready for and Dean wasn't too sure if it was for Sam's sake or his own. He was so intent on fixing things, he wanted so badly to repair the damage done to his brother. Dean had to eventually accept that he couldn't, that in the end they had to cope with the aftermath of rape together. It hadn't just hurt Sam, it had hurt Dean too. All in all though, Sam seemed a lot better than he had been nine weeks ago. It had given Dean hope that they really were going to be okay.
Then the kiss happened and Dean was body slammed back into reality.
His attraction to Sam though, at least Dean could pretend it didn't exist. After a while it might even go away.
Yeah . . . and Sam was still dreaming of candy canes and lollipops.
Back in the room, both men were just nibbling their food, neither one had much of an appetite, though it was for different reasons. Sam kept refilling his water bottle, trying to rehydrate his body from his impromptu drunkenness from the night before. Dean flipped on the television, finding an old horror movie, that Hollywood got so much information wrong never failed to amuse Dean so he sat back and watched it. Halfway through the looked over at Sam who was curled around the two pillows on his bed, watching to movie through half lidded eyes. Obviously, the medication was doing its work, not only keeping the pain away but keeping Sam completely sedated as well.
Neither of them had spoken much since Dean had come back from the diner, both laying in comfortable silence. Dean wasn't too eager to strike up a conversation. They yet to talk about Sam's insane declaration that he was ready to find another hunt.
The sun had set, wrapping the room in darkness save for the flickering light of the television and of course the bathroom light, the door was partly open now.
Then the television went off and they were plunged into blackness.
"Dean?" Sam's voice sounded strained.
Dean was already grabbing his flashlight (gun always immediately in his hand without a thought) from his bag and turning it on. He went over to the side of the window and peaked out.
"S'okay, Sammy, looks like just a power outage . . . diner's still on but the rest of the motel is out." Dean still triple checked the salt lines.
"Dean?"
Sam's voice sounded small and he turned towards him. Sam was sitting up, hugging a pillow to his chest and watching him with wide eyes. Dean sat on his own bed facing him. He wanted nothing more than to sit next to his younger brother and pull Sam into his arms, chase away the lingering fear in his eyes but Dean couldn't do that. It felt as though it would be putting Sam in jeopardy, Dean being so close to him.
"You okay, kiddo?" Dean nudged Sam's foot with his own.
Sam nodded jerkily, "It's just . . . I closed my eyes and when I opened them again it was dark. It reminded me of that night."
Dean set his gun on the night stand between the beds and held his breath. Just like every time Sam started to talk about the night he was raped (and lord knew Dean could still barely even think that word), Dean still had an urge to stop him. He didn't want to know the details, he didn't want to hear about what they had forced Sam to do, what had been done to him. At the same time, Dean did want to know, so that when the time came he could be sure to pay back those perverts with interest. Though Dean knew, however he felt, Sam would talk about it when he was ready and whatever information he chose to share with him, Dean would have to listen and support him.
After several minutes of staring at the floor clutching the pillow, Sam said, "It wasn't very late when I left, y'know. It was dark out though and I don't remember much after I left. I was just walking and I started to feel kinda weird. I felt sorta light-headed and dizzy and I think I fell . . . then there was somebody there. He lifted me up, asked if I needed a ride and I . . . I was just so tired. I was sitting down somewhere then and I swear, I just closed my eyes, for just a second, the next time I opened my eyes, it was dark, all dark, no street lights or anything . . . and . . . and . . . my - my clothes . . ."
The bathroom light came on.
Sam looked over his shoulder at the light a little startled, then looked back at Dean.
"That's better," he said, relieved.
Sam curled up on the bed again, as though nothing had happened. As though he had just been talking about something as inconsequential as the power outage.
Dean slid back on his bed, back against the headboard and flipped the television on again. The earlier movie was over and he settled on a comedy this time, hoping that it would alleviate the simmering rage inside.
They drugged him, they drugged his baby brother. No wonder he couldn't fight back. All this time, Sam was feeling so weak and helpless and ashamed for not fighting his attackers when they fucking drugged him. Doped him up long enough to take his clothes and tie him up so he wouldn't be able to do anything but . . .
God fucking dammit!
Suddenly hunting sounded like a fantastic idea. If Dean couldn't find and beat the guys that hurt his brother to death, he sure as hell could kill something else. Something needed to die. Dean slammed his fist into the wall behind him.
"Dean?" Sam looked him, sounding alarmed.
"Spider," Dean grunted staring at the television resolutely.
*S*S*S*
The rest of the night had passed quietly. Sam fell asleep soon after Dean's little arm spasm, the pain killers dragging him into slumber. Dean was awake for several more hours trying to quell the urge to jump in the Impala and drive somewhere, anywhere really, where he could get into a huge fight with some one or something. Partly because he couldn't get the image of Sam unconscious on the cabin's kitchen floor out of his head, and partly because if he got into some stupid bar fight, like he felt like doing, he'd most likely end up killing the guy. No matter how much of a dick some people could be, he couldn't justify killing some random dude when he really wanted to kill his brother's rapists.
Sam had another nightmare. Dean, not trusting himself to be in the same bed as his brother anymore, sat next to him, hand on his shoulder until Sam finally settled and slept peacefully again. Then Dean went back to his own bed.
Today, after a few hours of sleep and some nice gooey local pizza delivery, Dean was no longer about to kill or punch a few holes in the wall of the crappy motel. In fact, Dean felt pretty good since Sam was the one who went to the door and paid for the pizza without even the slightest hesitation.
That was likely the reason he didn't immediately freak out when Sam was on his laptop that afternoon, talking about looking for another hunt.
Currently, Dean was sitting on the edge of his bed, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying desperately to not start yelling at Sam.
"You can't be serious," he muttered at the floor.
"Why not?" Sam said, sounding annoyed.
"Why not?" Dean stared at his brother in disbelief, "Gee Sammy, d'you really want me to answer to that?"
Sam huffed, "I know the last hunt didn't exactly go the way we expected but -"
"'Didn't go the way we expected'?" Dean barely managed not to explode, "Dude, you were molested by a ghost -"
"Yeah and I had some time to think about that," Sam interrupted, with a nod.
"What the hell is there to think about?" Dean asked incredulously.
"Calm down, Dean." Sam actually had the nerve to sound exasperated, "I think you're overlooking the big picture here. Okay, yes the spirit we took out was a pedophile. Yes, it freaked me out when he started pawing me but dude, listen . . . I didn't have a panic attack."
Dean blinked, staring at Sam disbelievingly, "Sam . . . you threw up, then I had to drag you out of a freezing cold shower. You not having a panic attack isn't really . . . I mean . . . God, how drunk did you get last night anyway?"
Sam sighed, "I had plenty of time to think before I got drunk, Dean. When I really do think about it, it could have been a lot better if Gerald Stewart wasn't the kind of spirit he was. If he was just some guy who was murdered and out for vengeance, I think I would have been fine."
Dean stood up, rubbing his temples, "I'm gonna need a little more than you think you would have been fine. Besides that, you're still not comfortable when you're outside -"
"I'm getting better," Sam countered. "Look, I'm not gonna lie, I'm still messed up, still broken, I know that. The thing is though, I can feel that I'm getting better. Maybe to you, not having a panic attack over what happened isn't a big deal, to me it is. Going to the door for a pizza, yeah, that shouldn't be a big accomplishment for anyone but for me it is. So, those things matter and tell me a lot about how I'm really doing."
Dean sat down heavily on the bed again, "Sam, I don't mean to downplay any of that -"
Sam held up his hand, "I know you don't. I know that you don't really understand what it's like for me. I don't blame you either, I know you're just worried about me, you're trying to protect me, just like you always have, I get it. I just . . . there are things I feel like I need to do now and I need to figure out who I am anymore."
"What do you mean?" Dean asked with a frown, "Who you are? This isn't some emo, finding yourself thing is it? You're not going to go off on a weekend hippie retreat, are you?"
Sam chuckled, a rare sound that Dean had started to live for, like the true smiles, the moments of real joy that lit up his little brother's face.
"Nothing like that," Sam shook his head. "It's like, y'know, when some one is raped, they're never the same person again. They just can't be . . . no matter how much they want to be." A sad look came over Sam's features, "I've done enough contemplation, I need to actually do things."
Dean rested his head in his hands. He wanted to argue with Sam but he found he couldn't do it. Where did Sam get off sounding so . . . so well-adjusted? After what happened with Gerald Stewart Sam should be begging not to hunt ever again. Dean wouldn't even blame him.
There in lay the irony of the situation too. Dean would gladly leave the hunt for Sam's well-being and Sam would rather hunt than try to find some sort of semblance of normality in his life. Truth be told, Dean never really wanted Sam to be a hunter. Oh, he was proud of Sam, proud of his accomplishments as a hunter, proud of how skilled he had become. Dean liked hunting with Sam, they made a good team, that wasn't the issue. It was just that, he wanted Sam to be safe. Even as his brother got to the same age as Dean when he started to join his dad on jobs, his father would talk about bringing Sam along, it made cold chill run down his spine. Dean tried to put John off the idea as long as possible, telling him to wait until the next hunt, and the next one, and the one after that. As always there was this urgency, this need, to protect Sam. To shield him from harm, from himself, from the very world. Keeping Sam away from hunting was like trying to keep Sam a kid, keep him innocent as long as possible, just let him be a child with no knowledge of what the dark really held. When Sam eventually found out, it was okay for Dean to think, as long as Sam was just doing research. Sam was good at research, research was safe. Just keep Sam away from the real hunt, keep him away from the monsters and the spirits and everything that would do him harm. It was inevitable, Sam would have to join in eventually.
There after, whenever Dean had to pop one of Sam's bones back into place, ice a bruised rib, or stitch up a deep cut, Dean died just a little inside. It killed him seeing Sam battered and bleeding, killed him to see his beautiful baby brother's body becoming just as scarred as his own.
And there are the impure thoughts again, lurking in Dean's mind and popping up and the most inappropriate times.
Dammit.
"Maybe it is better to split up for a while," Dean mumbled to himself, it would certainly give him some much-needed distance so he could be Sam's big brother and not Sam's pervert brother.
"What?" Sam squeak interrupted Dean's thoughts and he looked over to see the blood drain out of Sam's face.
"What? No . . . I - crap," Dean got up and put a hand on Sam's shoulder, crouching down to look him in the eye. "I was just thinking out loud."
"You want us to split up?" Sam looked at him with the most heartbroken expression, it was like a punch in the gut.
"No!" Dean shook his head, "But, dude, c'mon . . . it was your idea to start with."
"I changed my mind," Sam stated, still looking dejected.
Dean huffed out a sigh, trying to make things right again, "It's okay Sammy, don't worry about it, just never mind."
"Is this . . ." Sam bit his lip, looking uncertain. "Is this because I kissed you?"
Dean stood abruptly to keep from falling backwards, "Kissed . . .?"
Sam looked up at him, the color returning to his cheeks in a pink blush, "I know I kissed you, Dean."
Dean turned away it was on the tip of his tongue to deny the kiss ever happened. Tell Sam it was just a weird, whiskey induced dream and hope to convince him. As much as he wanted to, Dean couldn't seem to bring the contradiction to his lips.
"I didn't remember when I first woke up," Sam explained from behind him. "I did remember later though. You didn't say anything so . . . I guess I just decided to follow your lead."
Dean turned around, "Sam . . . look, you were really out of it the other night."
"But I still remember it," Sam insisted, "and I remember, you kissed me back."
Sam had an odd look on his face. He didn't look angry, or disgusted, or even accusatory. He looked a little apprehensive, a bit curious and maybe there was a tiny, tiny bit of hope. All of which completely confused the hell out of Dean.
Dean stood there for a minute, hands at his sides, he hung his head, "I'm sorry, Sammy."
Sam tilted his head to the side, looking perplexed, "Sorry? For what?"
Dean looked at Sam, holding out his hands, "I took advantage of you."
Sam's jaw dropped, "You what?"
"You were drunk, Sam!" Dean exclaimed, "You were too drunk to know what you were doing and I was supposed to look out for you and instead I took advantage of the situation and did something I shouldn't have. It was a mistake and I'm sorry."
Sam ran his hands through his hair in clear frustration, "First of all, Dean, I kissed you. Secondly, I knew exactly what I was doing. Yes, I was drunk, yes if I hadn't been drunk, I probably wouldn't have done it, that doesn't mean that I didn't want to, or that I didn't have control over what I was doing."
Dean's brow furrowed, "You . . ."
"I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you," Sam stood up. "Look, I'm sorry that it made you think that you did something wrong. For the record though, the kiss wasn't a bad thing and I . . . I'm not sorry about it either."
Dean rubbed his hand over his face, "Of course you're not, I didn't think you should be. It was just a mistake, that's all. Sammy, let's just forget about it okay? We can pretend it never happened
Unexpectedly, Sam frowned, "I don't want to forget it, Dean. It . . . it meant something to me."
Dean took a deep breath, "Sam -"
"If you say I was drunk one more time," Sam cut him off, "I swear I'm gonna punch you. Like I said, I kissed you because I wanted to not because I was too drunk to know what I was doing. In fact, I could prove that."
"Oh yeah?" Dean scoffed, "How exactly?"
Sam stepped forward, "I could kiss you again."
Dean stared at Sam, unsure how to respond. Was he serious, was he actually planning on another kiss? Even if Sam was going to let him off the hook for the first time, Dean couldn't let another kiss take place. He wanted to, God he wanted to but that would be incredibly wrong. Sam was still recovering from his trauma and anything that happened between them would certainly be taking advantage even if Sam didn't agree.
"C'mon Sammy," Dean attempted to brush it off. "Don't be gross."
Sam's eyebrows shot up, "Oh, so now I'm gross?"
"Dude, we're brothers," Dean reminded him. "Hello? Incest? Not to mention we're both guys. I'm not gay, Sam. I mean, I know you have your tendencies but . . ." He let his sentence trail off at the hard glare he earned from his brother.
After a few moments of silence, Sam sat down on the edge of his bed with a defeated sigh, "Maybe you're right."
Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, Sam wasn't finished.
"I mean, who's gonna want me anyway?" Sam said morosely.
"The hell are you talking about now?" Dean demanded, hating the self loathing that was creeping into Sam's voice.
"Face it, Dean." Sam stared down at the carpet. "I'm damaged goods. I mean, I always knew I was a bit messed up anyway, the way were raised but still, I could behave normally. Now though . . ." He made a helpless gesture and shrugged. "And in a few months, who knows? I could be diagnosed with - with . . . a deadly disease and that'll pretty much be it for me. I'll be a damaged, diseased freak."
"Hey," Dean snapped, "stop talking about yourself like that."
Sam looked up at him sadly, "It's true isn't it?"
Dean shook his head, "No man, none of is true. You're way better adjusted then I am and . . . you're stronger than me, y'know? If I had gone through even half of what you've had to, I think I would've offed myself already."
"S'not really the point though," Sam told him softly.
Dean finally moved and sat beside him, "Then what is?"
Sam shrugged again, "It's like the only person I can see myself letting my guard down around, is you. You're the only person I trust completely, always have been. The way things have been between us lately, I dunno . . . You make me feel safe and like I'm . . . " Sam blushed, "Like I'm the center of your world or something."
You are, Dean almost said out loud.
Instead what came out was a shock, even to him, "Look, if I kiss you again, will your forget all that junk about no one wanting you?"
Crap, why the hell did I say that? Who was he fooling? Dean knew why he said it. Not just because he wanted to but because he would always do everything in his power to make Sam feel better, to make Sam happy, to make him smile again.
Sam looked at him in surprise. Then he looked so hopeful as he gave a nod that Dean couldn't bring himself to backpedal. Nor, did it seem, could he bring himself to kiss his little brother. Not really kiss him anyway. Not the kind of kiss that Sam was expecting, the kind he really deserved.
Dean gave Sam a quick peck on the cheek and stood up, walking a few paces away, "There, feel better now?"
Sam looked perturbed, "You call that a kiss?"
"What would you call it?" Dean asked, annoyed.
"Pathetic," Sam snorted.
Dean's eyes narrowed dangerously, "Pathetic?"
"Dude, my very first kiss was better," Sam smirked. "That's even after I cut my lip on her braces but at least I was kissing her on the mouth."
Dean fumed, he was still stuck on "pathetic". Nobody called his kisses pathetic, not ever.
"I guess I just expected more from," Sam gestured at his older brother, "'Dean Winchester', y'know?"
"Pathetic?" Dean repeated in a low voice.
Shrugging once more, Sam said, "Sorry."
Dean squared his shoulders, stalked over to Sam, cupped his startled brother's face in his hands, and closed the distance between their lips.
