What Dreams May Come
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: 18+
Warnings: incest
Summary: Dean held the still form until the sun rose, staring at the handsome features.
AN: The sequel, which is from Sam's POV will be up in a few days.
What Dreams May Come
Dean watched as the body in front of him fell in slow motion. Vibrant red blood arced in a graceful line from the gaping wound in his brothers chest. Ignoring it, Dean dropped to his knees beside the still form cradling Sam to his chest. Rocking back and forth, Dean uncomprehendingly saw the blood slowly flowing from the large wound, saw how every heartbeat just hastened his brother toward death.
Sam's chest rose once. Twice. And stilled. Dean held the still form until the sun rose, staring at the handsome features. As bird song sounded in the grey light of dawn, he gently placed his brother on the ground, pillowing his jacket beneath his head. He brushed a strand of hair away from his face, leaning over to kiss the smooth brow. As his warm lips met the cooling flesh, Dean
Woke up. Shaking slightly in the aftermath of the vivid dream, he looked wildly to the bed on his right. In the soft glow from the digital clock, he could make out the form of his brother, moving restlessly in sleep.
'It was just a dream.'
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Dean moved slowly in and out of the warm body below him. Moving his hand slowly over the smoothly muscled torso, he stared into his lovers dark eyes. "God, Sam. I love you." He punctuated each word with a slow twist of his hips, feeling as the man under him arched and bucked. Hands clawed his back as Dean moved faster, feeling the warmth surround him with every thrust.
Sam closed his eyes as Dean lowered his head, gently moving his lips over warm chapped skin. He drew Sam's lower lip into his mouth, nibbling and sucking at the flesh. Dean thrust his tongue into the warm cavern, mimicking their lovemaking. He moved his hand down, wrapping it around his brothers hardness. Already slick with precum, he drew his hand up, smoothing the fluid along the shaft. Slowly he began to pump in time with his movements, listening as Sam gasped with each downward stroke.
Dean could feel Sam jerk in his hand, crying out as his climax hit him. Hearing the words his brother cried, he felt the familiar tingle explode through him. Clenching his jaw, he dropped his head to Sam's neck, breathing heavily. Raising his head, Dean
Sat up in bed. He was surrounded by a tangle of sweaty bedsheets. He felt his wet boxers cling to him as he silently glanced at his brothers sleeping form. He noiselessly got up, heading to the bathroom to wash and change. He sighed to himself as he thought,
'It was just a dream.'
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Walking through the thick fog, Dean began to get worried. He hadn't heard any noises beyond his own breathing and heartbeat for hours. The fog surrounding him was thick, making him unable to see beyond his own face. Earlier he had tried calling out but his voice had just returned to him, echoing strangely. The air was dead around him, chill and menacing.
His heart began to beat faster, worried about his brother. There was nothing around him to point him in the right direction, only the hard ground beneath his feet and the fog. Unable to get his bearings he continued to wander, calling out now and then hoping to attract someone, anyone.
The temperature began to drop, forcing him to draw his collar up around his ears. Hunching his shoulders, Dean stuck his hands in his pockets and continued walking. And walking. Feeling as though eyes were following him he began to run, unable to turn around to see what followed him. He still heard nothing but himself in the grim stillness. The hair on the back of his neck prickled and Dean spun around. Seeing nothing he turned away again, taking another step forward, and he tripped. Putting his hands in front of him, Dean landed hard on the
Floor. Disoriented, he looked at the bed above him, wondering how he had managed to fall off. He heard quiet snickers coming from the other side of him and grabbed a pillow. Flinging it toward the laughing man, he muttered,
"Fuck off. It was just a dream."
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"I can't take this anymore, Dean! All the hate, the anger, the death! We're not going to find dad. Face it, he just doesn't want to be found, Dean! If he wants to talk, he can damn well call us! I'm through, Dean! I'm out of here." Sam said in disgust. Dean watched as Sam grabbed his bag and stormed out of the hotel room.
Sitting on the end of his bed, Dean felt empty. 'Well, fuck him,' he thought viciously. 'I can't do anything right in his eyes. I am going to give him the beating of his life when he comes back' Dean sat on the end of the bed for several hours, half expecting Sam to walk back into the room. He stared at the door as twilight fell, waiting and wondering. His shoulders slumped as the night passed, exhaustion in every feature. His only movement was the slow blink of his red rimmed eyes as he stared at the door, silently willing it to open.
He sighed as dawn broke, slowly pulling himself to his feet. He shuffled to the bathroom to relieve himself, then returned to his bed. He continued to watch and wait.
Eventually exhaustion won, forcing him to curl into a ball in the centre of the bed. Several hours passed while Dean lay unmoving. He groaned softly as he came to, putting his hand to his head as he tried to ward off the headache. He rolled onto his back and stared at the drab grey ceiling. 'He's not coming back. He's never coming back.' Dark thoughts swirling in his head, Dean got off the bed and made his way to the bathroom. For the first time in days he shaved and showered, feeling somewhat like himself again. He gathered up his things and moved toward the door, pausing.
His only regret was never telling Sam how much the other man meant to him, how much he cared. He took one last look at the room where he had last seen the man he viewed as the other half of himself and closed his eyes. Opening the door, he stepped out into the afternoon sunshine, thinking,
'I wish it was just a dream.'
fin.