Title: Memories of Me
Author: Gillian
Middleton
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating:
R
Total word count: 25 600
Warning:
Wincest.
Authors notes: Amnesia story - which by
its very nature could be construed as containing a character unable
to give informed consent to sex. Not non-con, perhaps dubious-con?
(Also I totally made up the town this is set in.)
Summary:
While investigating a routine curse in a small California town
Dean loses his memory. With only his brother to lean on feelings
begin to develop that aren't exactly brotherly. How's Sam going to
cope with that?
Memories of Me
Part 4 of 4
Morning light assaulted him and Sam winced and lifted his head groggily. His pillow seemed decidedly warm and smelled oddly male and it took a few moments focusing before he realized it was his brother's bicep. It was also covered with drool and Sam guiltily wiped his mouth and smoothed his palm over the downy freckled flesh. He darted a look at Dean's face but the older man was still sleeping peacefully.
Sam pushed himself up on his elbow, still blinking and wincing against the harsh morning light. Dean's arms were flung out on each side of him in an attitude of total abandon, and Sam had found his pillow on the right one, curled up next to his brother's body.
His brother.
Weird... how the world could turn on a dime like that, spin on its axis and suddenly become this unrecognizable place where Sam Winchester woke up naked with his brother.
Weird... how young Dean looked when sleeping, all the cocky confidence of the day smoothed out.
Weird... how a million years had passed and even in the cold morning light Sam couldn't find it within himself to regret his impulsive decision.
This was weird, Sam decided. But weird he could do. His whole life had been pretty weird so far.
Sam was a quick thinker and a hundred more thoughts flashed through his mind in the next minute or so. How different it had been to make love with a man. How he'd wondered now and then, as people do, what it might be like. How, in his imaginings, he'd been in charge. How he so hadn't been in charge last night.
He wondered how Dean was going to be when he woke up. What was going to happen when - if - when he got his memory back.
How Dean's lips - surely as familiar to him as his own - now seemed immensely fascinating and had they always been that perfect?
How he really needed the bathroom.
With a gusty sigh Sam flung his long legs over the side of the bed and sat up, stretching his shoulders, a yawn taking him off guard. That had been the best night's sleep he'd had in months and Dean would doubtless have some coarse remark about how he'd told him getting laid would solve all his problems.
Scratching idly at his belly Sam chuckled wickedly. Who'd known his brother would have the solution and be the solution all along?
"Hope you're not laughing at me," Dean said in his honey-rough morning voice from behind him.
Sam turned his head and surveyed his brother over his shoulder. Eyes still closed, Dean was stretching in the warm morning sunlight, the downy hairs on his arms and legs catching the golden glow. For a moment Sam was assaulted by the memory of those velvety limbs between his legs, thighs rasping on the soft flesh of his inner thighs. He shivered and hurriedly stood.
"I need to pee."
"Go for me while you're there," Dean called after him sleepily as Sam shot for the bathroom. "I don't want to move."
"Don't get too comfortable," Sam called out, striving for normality. "We've got a job to finish." He scratched his belly again and flakes of dried semen clung to his nails. It happened, but it had never been someone else's before and Sam stared at his hands in fascination before looking down at the remnants of the night's passion decorating his flat stomach.
He washed his hands in front of the mirror, tilting his head and looking at himself. There was dried blood smeared on his chin, Dean's blood, and he rinsed it off while he brushed his teeth. He knew he'd never be able to think of those first deep kisses without recalling this copper tang. Squinting at himself in the mirror, and at the slight beard burns on his cheek and throat, Sam wondered if that worked the other way and the taste of blood would always bring last night back to his mind as clearly as it was there right now.
He needed a shower but he could hear Dean stirring and the day was getting on. They had work to do.
"You done?" Dean appeared in the doorway, leaning easily on the jamb and smiling. He was scratching idly at his stomach and Sam suppressed a smile at the sight.
"What is the joke with you this morning?" Dean asked as he crossed to the toilet and relieved himself. "You've been grinning like a loon since I woke up."
"What did you expect?" Sam said lightly. "Tears before breakfast?"
"I don't know," Dean said thoughtfully, nudging Sam away from the mirror and washing his hands. "A few hours of in-depth discussion at the very least. Followed by tears and recriminations perhaps." He looked at himself, smoothed down his hair with a damp hand. "Do I need to shave?"
Sam gave him a WTF look. "How should I know?"
Dean gave him a meaningful look back. "You know," he winked, lifting his hand and languidly rasping it over his morning stubble. "Do I need to shave?"
The waggling eyebrows weren't exactly subtle and Sam shook his head in disbelief. He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Jeez, Dean, no wonder your whole life is a series of one night stands if this is your idea of a romantic morning after."
"What an interesting thing to say," Dean mused, leaning back against the sink and crossing his arms, totally unconcerned with his nudity and the fact that his pose was accentuating... his...
Sam fled the room, cheeks flushing as Dean chuckled coarsely behind him.
"Not romantic enough for you?" he called.
"Jerk," Sam accused as he untangled his shorts from his jeans and pulled them up his long legs.
"I'm just teasing ya," Dean said from the doorway around a mouthful of toothpaste. "Hey, what's your hurry? I thought we could have a shower together."
"I know what you thought," Sam said, pulling on his shirt. "But we have a lot to do today. Or have you forgotten that we're on the clock here?" He tapped his head. "Before your brain attacks you again."
Dean sighed and disappeared to rinse and spit. "Believe me, I haven't forgotten," he called fervently. "And no one wants to avoid that more than me." He emerged from the bathroom and caught the shorts Sam threw at him. They were the ones from the night before that had made it out of the duffel but no further than the side of the bed.
"Is this a subtle hint?"
"Get dressed. We have time to grab some breakfast before the occult store opens."
Dean pulled on the shorts and the khaki shirt, his hair ruffling wildly as he tugged it over his head. "What store? When did we find a store?"
"There's an occult shop called New Moon down on Third," Sam said, pulling on his trainers. "I came across it when I drove over every square inch of this town looking for you last night."
Dean grimaced. "Sorry."
"Don't be sorry," Sam ordered, pocketing his keys and wallet. "Just don't do it again."
Dean smiled. "Promise."
Sam relaxed a little now his brother was dressing. As many times as he'd seen Dean casually naked it had a whole different meaning for him now. That was actually kind of a bad omen now that he thought about it. The wild impulsive intimacy of the night before had very much been about that moment, following his instincts to get through the night and into the next day.
And now it was the next day.
It could be hard sometimes, living in the moment. It could catch up with you.
"Hey."
Sam blinked and focused. Fully dressed, Dean stepped into his personal space and caught hold of Sam's lean hips, hands possessively firm. "Where were you?"
Sam caught his breath at the closeness, breathing in the intermingled scent of his brother and himself emanating from their bodies. He shook his head. "Just thinking."
"Regretting?" Dean asked softly. Soberly.
Sam flickered a frown. "No," he answered, straight from his gut. "No regret," he elaborated.
Dean leaned in and nuzzled his brother's neck. "Me either," he confirmed, the tip of his tongue tracing one rough little red patch. "Except about the stubble burn. Sorry, Sam."
"It's a new one for me," Sam laughed, breath hitching as that fire hot tongue tip traced a damp path from his neck to his throat, leaning into it as it tickled and teased. "Dude, we don't have time for this now."
Dean sighed and drew back, smiling winsomely. "We don't have an hour?" he coaxed. He pressed their hips a little more closely and now Sam wasn't the only one breathing just that bit more quickly. "Make that twenty minutes."
Sam couldn't help it, he had only got in one little kiss the night before and then Dean had jumped in the driving seat and had proceeded to kiss him pretty thoroughly. But now he felt the need to be the kisser, and those lips, his brother's lips, were driving him nuts. He bent that scant or inch or two and engulfed Dean's mouth with his own, taking charge right away, stroking with his tongue at that perfect bow before being accepted and taken into warm and welcoming heat.
No chaste kiss this time, Dean's hands swiftly slipped around his waist and burrowed beneath his layers of shirts, and before Sam knew it he had one hand cupping his brother's neck and the other his backside. They necked like teenagers until imminent asphyxiation forced them to draw back and draw breath.
"Holy crap," Dean breathed, eyes glazed.
Sam surveyed the well ravaged lips with satisfaction, proud that even in that explosion of passion he'd taken care not to put too much pressure on that jagged tear marring the lower one. Dean's hands had found the waistband of Sam's jeans and he was tugging him towards the bed and for a step or two Sam allowed himself to be led before memory jogged back into place.
"Dean, no," he protested. "The pendant, the curse. Your seizures," he managed desperately, fighting off the hand that was grabbing at his fly button.
Dean grimaced. "Aww, Sam."
"Come on," Sam returned, pulling out of Dean's grasp and stepping back a pace, trying to catch his breath. "You don't want another fit, do you? We have to get moving on this."
"Dammit," Dean muttered. "Stupid brain."
-666-
New Moon was pretty typical of its kind, in its window dream catchers and silver pentagrams hung side by side with dried herbs and carved stone skulls. Dean elected to make a coffee run to the Starbucks across the street while Sam asked some of his innocent faced questions. By the time the taller man emerged from the store Dean was sitting up on the hood sipping his morning black and sighing in appreciation.
Sam accepted his own latte and popped the lid. "Dude, you're not gonna believe this."
"You found our cult?"
"They're not just a cult, man. They're gamers."
"Say what now?"
"Satanic gamers. Like role-playing games? Dungeons and Dragons?"
Dean looked skeptical. "What, like that whole ten-sided dice deal?"
"Yeah. They're not Satanists, they just pretend they are."
"How can you be sure they're our jewel thieves?"
"Oh, it's them. Apparently they're having some kind of get together tonight. Check it out." Sam handed over a lurid yellow flyer printed in bold black Halloween style fonts.
Dean perused it, shaking his head in disbelief. "A flyer? Satanists with flyers?" The page announced a Magickal Gathering that night, to distribute the items of power. "Dude they are kidding with this crap. And what's this? Gather at the Throne of Darkness?"
"Apparently it's their lair. The nice store lady with the razor blade earrings and spider web tattooed on her neck gave me that personal invite. You'll never guess where it is."
"Um, a spooky abandoned warehouse down in the meat packing district?"
"Good guess, Shaggy, but no cigar. Try Todd's beach house on Shoreline Drive."
Dean handed Sam the flyer back, shaking his head and chuckling. "California Satanists," he marveled. "What do you wanna bet they don't wear robes, they wear black board shorts?"
"Oh no," Sam disagreed with a smirk. "These are RPG Satanists. I predict black robes, silver pentagrams and dribbly candles aplenty."
Dean flipped on his shades. "Sounds like a gas. Let's book."
-666-
"Okay, I've counted six guys, a keg of beer and what looks like a catering pack of fried chicken." Dean dropped the binoculars and smirked at his brother. "Who caters a Satanic Ritual?"
"People who live in million dollar beach houses," Sam said, head bent over the trunk of the Impala. "Ah hah!" he said triumphantly, pulling out two steel canisters.
"Are they...?" Dean said in dawning delight, reaching for one.
"Smoke grenades," Sam said with a grin at his brother's childish glee. "We got them from Caleb when we stocked up on gear last month."
"I don't know who that is, but god bless him and all who sail in him," Dean said reverently. "I always wanted to hurl a few of these around."
"You've been dying for a chance to use them," Sam confirmed, leaning back against the back of the car and chuckling. "Dude, you look like a kid at Christmas."
Dean gave him a wicked grin. "You certainly know how to show a fella a good time," he said with a wink.
Sam felt his cheeks flush and hurriedly turned back to the trunk. "Okay, I figure we use buckshot inside, we don't want to kill anybody although I wouldn't mind peppering some yuppie butts with lead just on general principle."
"Bring it on," Dean enthused, stowing the grenade in his jacket pocket and accepting the sawn off. "Hey, I know this," he said happily as he popped the barrel, checked the sights and clicked it back into place.
Sam stowed his grenade and checked his own weapon. "We really should wait until tonight," he said uncertainly, squinting down the dunes to the sprawling beach house. "Until we know that the jewels are there."
"No way, Sam, we have do this now."
"Dean-"
"No, Sam, I'm serious. If my brain clock is on schedule then this afternoon I'll be dancing the fit fandango in that crappy hotel room. And then I won't be good for anything for hours."
Sam huffed a deep sigh. "I know," he said. But I won't take us in there blind." He frowned at a quick thought. "How about I scout around? See if I can get a look inside?"
"Uh uh," Dean said firmly. "Too dangerous. Just cos these guys look like a bunch of idiots doesn't make them any less crazy. Remember they robbed that museum."
"Only cos we didn't rob it first," Sam felt compelled to point out.
"And they hit that old man over the head."
"I guess."
"Look, Dean said thoughtfully. "Here's what I think. The place is buzzing with preparations for the social event of the Satanic season, right? All we have to do is get into the house, find someone who looks like he belongs there and kick the crap out of him until he tells us where the jewels are." Dean paused and looked innocent. "What?"
Sam just stared him down, head tilted to the side.
"All right," Dean sighed gustily. "We threaten to kick the crap out of him. Wuss. Then we smash the ruby, toss a couple of smoke grenades around and book it out of there. Pausing only to call the cops and drop their sorry asses in it, we head back to the motel for hours of fit-free sex, followed by fried chicken for dinner. Okay?"
Sam was sniggering by the end, especially at the hopeful 'okay'. He shook his head.
"No fried chicken?" Dean said, crestfallen.
"No, the chicken's fine," Sam laughed. "And the rest of the plan sounds pretty good too, except, will we really need the grenades?"
"Du-ude," Dean appealed as if it were obvious. "Of course we do. Don't try and take my grenade away now, man."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Dean wrinkled his nose at him and Sam couldn't help but reach out and cup his shoulder.
"And the fit-free sex?" Dean said, smile fading. "What are our chances of that, do you think?"
Sam sobered. "If the seizures come back we go to the doctor. We fix it."
Dean nodded but his eyes still held a question.
"I don't know," Sam answered, his words almost a whisper. "I don't know what's gonna happen next."
"Me either," Dean admitted lowly. "I just - I can't imagine this feeling going away. I can't imagine wanting it to. I'm scared."
Sam tightened his grip on Dean's shoulder, pulling his brother into an easy embrace. "It'll be okay," he murmured, wishing he was as sure.
"Remember what I said about hating that other Dean?" Dean said faintly into his neck.
"Don't look at it that way," Sam said, tugging his brother back and gazing down into his eyes. "Soon you'll be whole again, Dean. And we'll still be together, no matter what."
"Tell me again that you don't regret it," Dean said urgently.
"I don't regret it," Sam assured him.
Dean gazed back at him and for the longest time they just stood there, locked in each other's arms, staring at each other. Curiously Sam felt as if Dean was trying to memorize him, as if attempting to imprint this moment and these feelings in his mind, his memory.
"Whatever happens in the next hour," Dean murmured. "I want you to know. Last night you pulled me from the edge of a dark place, Sam. No matter what I might say or do when my memory comes back, remember this. I love you."
Sam swallowed hard. "I love you too," he said hoarsely.
And this time neither was the kisser or the kissed, they just met together somewhere in the middle.
-666-
"Let's do this thing."
-666-
A man in overalls was trimming the grass that ran down the side of the house and the noise covered any sound they might have made on the concrete path. It was broad daylight, the rain gone as if it had never been, the sky brilliant blue above them.
It felt bizarre, doing this in the daytime, without the familiar shadows of the night as camouflage. Sam wondered if Dean felt it too as he tried the back door. It opened under his hand but there were voices calling from inside and Dean gave him a worried glance as they edged inside.
They were in a large tiled kitchen, gleaming with silver and shiny bench tops. A voice, a female one, called from the room beyond and they ducked through a door into what turned out to be a walk-in pantry. Sam felt a bead of sweat run down his back. He didn't like this, it felt like it could all turn bad any second and he tried to signal to Dean to abort, but the voice was already fading and his brother was peering out.
"Come on," he hissed, and shotguns pointing up they crossed the kitchen to the hallway. Backs to the wall they followed the cool blue passage through the center of the house. Then, without warning a man in a toweling robe stepped out of a door ahead of them and opened his mouth to yell.
Dean was on him in a moment, hand over his mouth, gun pressed warningly against his breast bone.
"Make a noise and you'll be seeing stars for a week," he hissed and the man's eyes widened above Dean's hand. He was short and stocky, but young, maybe on nineteen or twenty, with fair hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose.
Sam leaned in close and threatening. "Where are the jewels?"
The man blinked and shook his head as best he could under Dean's hold.
"The Brackett Collection," Dean said, shoving the gun harder until the man winced. "Believe me, buddy, you don't want to dick with us right now. Take us to the jewels or else."
Sam shot him a look and Dean quirked an eyebrow at him. Not his best threat, but it did the trick, the teen was trembling from head to foot and he blinked rapidly again and nodded.
"Which way?" Dean barked and the man tremblingly pointed, stumbling as Dean spun him and pushed him ahead of them down the hall.
"Study," the man said under Dean's loosened hand and Dean nodded at Sam and stood back slightly with the hostage as Sam braced himself then shoved the door open and rushed in, shotgun raised.
The room was empty and Sam breathed a sigh of relief as he signaled Dean and they manhandled the hostage inside and shut the door, locking it after them.
"Where?" Dean said, pulling the teen close and staring into his frightened eyes. Then he deliberately loosened his hand.
"The desk drawer," the man panted, eyes dilated with fear. "Please, don't hurt us, it was just a game, you know."
Sam was at the desk, carefully grasping the worn brass fitting on the polished wood and pulling carefully. A black velvet wrapped bundle lay casually in the otherwise empty draw and he breathed a sigh of relief. Without hesitation his pulled the drawer out and dumped the contents onto the slate tiled floor.
Dean and the hostage watched wide eyed as the velvet cover loosened and gleaming old gold scattered onto the hard surface. And there, tangled in their midst was the Blood Ruby pendant, its color living up to it's name.
"Do it," Dean said tersely, meeting Sam's eyes for one long moment. And then Sam pulled out the small heavy mallet from his jacket and slammed it down on the stone.
Ruby was tough, but he didn't have to smash it to smithereens to break the Curse, with one blow the stone cracked clear across and there was a sound like a sigh and the papers on the desk fluttered, the curtains on the sliding glass doors ruffled and a wind seemed to sweep the room.
And then everything stilled.
-666-
"Did it work?" Sam said urgently. "Did it? Dean?"
Dean lifted his head and turned a gaze on Sam so searing that the younger man almost stepped back.
"Put it this way, Sam. When we get out of here I'm gonna kick your ass."
-666-
"D'you think he'll call the cops?" Sam asked tentatively as they made their way back to the car.
"After he stops peeing his pants?" Dean reached the car and popped the trunk, tossing the shot gun in the back. "No, I think he'll dump those tacky jewels in the ocean and go back to being some rich man's spoilt brat of a son."
"So, I guess the Curse is broken then."
"Yeah," Dean said, spinning around and smiling sarcastically. "Another job well done. Cookies and milk for everyone."
Sam took a deep breath. "Look, Dean," he said, trying to sound reasonable.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean's voice was like a whiplash and Sam flinched. He shouldn't be surprised at this, he'd known it was coming.
"Do we have to do this right now?" he pleaded, hoping a little time and distance would cool Dean's hot temper off a little.
"When would be a good time to do this, Sam?" Dean snarled. "You tell me. When would be a good time to discuss the freakin' mess you've made of our lives?"
"I was just doing what felt right at the time."
"What felt right?' Dean said incredulously. "In what universe could that have felt right?"
Sam stood his ground bravely. "You know. You were there."
"Oh, no," Dean warned him. "You don't get to blame me for this, Sam. I wasn't in my right mind. I didn't know what the hell I was doing!"
Sam ducked his head in acknowledgement. "I know that."
"You made the decision for both of us, Sam, and that was just way out of line."
"I couldn't think about that."
Dean stepped closer, tilting his head and trying to catch his brother's eye. "You couldn't think about that?" he repeated scathingly. "Then what could you think about, Sam? What the hell was going through your head?"
"You needed me," Sam said thickly. "You needed me and I could give that to you." He looked up, meeting Dean's eyes at last. "I wanted to give that to you."
"But you're my brother, Sam," Dean said heavily. "How could you just forget that?"
"I didn't forget." Sam's voice was a whisper of sound. "I didn't forget for one second."
Dean stared at him as if he'd never seen him before. "Then what kind of sick sonuva bitch does that make you?"
Sam shook his head. "I don't know," he said bleakly. "I just... I did whatever it took at the time to make it right. Isn't that what we do, man? Break the rules, walk all over the taboos? Whatever it takes to get the job done? I've stood by and watched you break the rules for months. I've let you take care of me for months. Well this time it was my turn to take care of you. And to break whatever rule it took to do that."
"Jeez, Sammy. Couldn't you have started with jaywalking or something?"
Sam, torn between hysterical laughter and tears, dropped his head in his hands.
Dean stepped forward and shoved him, hard, and Sam stumbled against the car. "There are some rules we just don't break, Sam! Some lines we just don't cross over!"
Sam spat a bitter laugh, hating this, hating this pain in his chest and the pain in Dean's eyes. "Rules? For the Winchester's? What rule can't we break? Name me one?"
"Incest," Dean threw back, eyes deadly.
Sam shook his head in instinctive denial. "No, you know what? Screw incest. And screw you, which is pretty much the same thing, I guess. It's just another rule, Dean, and we've been breaking them all our lives. Lines? We drive right over them."
"Not this one!" Dean bellowed. "This is too important, Sam, don't you get that? This is the rest of our lives!" Dean's voice softened and he stepped closer, as if trying to convey his sincerity. "The rest of our lives, Sammy. We have to live with this."
Tears pricked Sam's eyes at the childhood nickname. It occurred to him that Dean hadn't called him that once while he'd suffered from the amnesia. Why should he? He didn't even remember Sammy.
"I trusted you to take care of me and you..." Dean broke off as if the words were too much for him.
Sam felt his throat close up. "I did take care of you," he managed. "And yeah, I disregarded the fact that you weren't in your right mind to consent, because I wasn't sure right then and there whether you'd ever be back to yourself again. I didn't know if we were gonna find these damn jewels, I didn't know whether you were gonna leave me or fall over and die in the middle of a seizure."
Dean shook his head in disbelief. "I just don't even know what to say to you," he said, eyes bewildered.
Sam looked at him pleadingly. "Don't you remember how it felt?"
"No," Dean said firmly, stepping away, shaking his head. "Don't do that."
Sam pushed away from the car. "To feel that way, Dean? Don't you remember how much you needed me?"
"Stop it!" Dean said, spinning around, grabbing Sam's shirt front and shoving him back against the side of the car. "Stop talking about it."
"You were the one that started it!" Sam said wretchedly. "You started it, Dean, and that's what you can't admit to yourself."
"It wasn't me!" Dean spat back, face wild. "Damn you, Sam, you know that!"
Sam's anger drained away. Dean's knuckles were digging into his chest and the back of the car was hard against his spine, but all he could feel was empty. "It was you," he corrected quietly. "Don't you get that, Dean? You remembered everything but me. And even then you loved me."
Dean stared him down for a moment before pushing him away in disgust. "Don't think I don't know what this is all about," he sneered. "Yeah, I remember. I remember how you looked when I told you I loved you."
Sam winced.
"And you're right, Sam, I may have forgotten who I was but I was still me. A dog and a sleaze, remember? Kinda slutty? Do you think I didn't know exactly what buttons to push to get you into the sack?"
Sam clenched his jaw. "Don't say that."
"Cos that's all you were to me, dude. Just a tall drink a water with great shoulders and a six pack to die for. Just another potential one night stand and I've had more of them than you've had home cooked meals. Literally."
"It wasn't like that," Sam denied, stomach churning.
"How the hell would you know?" Dean said sarcastically.
"You told me you loved me," Sam managed through his pain.
"Huh!" Dean tossed back his head and laughed. "Like I've never said that before."
And now Sam grabbed Dean, one handed, swinging him around and slamming him against the car so hard the breath left his lungs in a rush. His fists were clenched, his heart felt as if it were about to burst out of his chest. He'd been trying to hold onto his certainty all this time, trying to hold onto Dean's words to him, god, had that only been an hour ago? But now in the harsh light of day he could see it all for what it really was.
Dean was right. He'd been out of his mind. It had practically been rape for Christ's sake. And Sam had been so willing, hadn't he, so eager to climb beneath the sheets, to feel his brother's hands on him. Dean was right. What the hell did that make him?
Love? What a frickin' joke.
Dean's defiant face swam before his eyes and suddenly Sam couldn't do this any more. He felt as if something had died and he had the horrible sinking feeling it was his relationship with the one person on earth he loved more than life.
Worse than that, he was beginning to realize that he'd been the one to kill it.
Unlocking his fist Sam let his brother go, trying to find the words and realizing he just didn't have any. Dean was still staring at him but now the anger on his face had died and there was only a blank pain that Sam found he couldn't bear. Wanting only to escape the accusation that seemed to sear him Sam turned and ran for the dunes.
The wind felt like it was rushing in his ears and the sea air seemed to fill his throat. But he still knew that Dean didn't call after him.
-666-
Sam awoke cramped and cold and wondering where the hell he was. The sand at his back was chill and he lifted his head from his knees, finding himself gazing at the blaze of sunset on the water. The evening breeze was freshening and in the distance a dog barked, children called and the fragments of their laughter drifted towards this quiet little place among the dunes.
Memory filtered back and Sam groaned deep in his throat. What the hell was he supposed to do now? The hotel keys were still in his pocket, digging into his hip through the well washed fabric of his jeans. But would Dean be waiting for him back there? Sam knew he wouldn't blame his brother if he'd just grabbed his gear and booked. What did he have to hang around for? A brother he couldn't even trust to watch his back?
Stiff and tired and cold Sam picked his way through the dunes to the shoreline where he stood for long moments gazing out at the restless ocean. He remembered loving the beach as a kid. One year Dad had been laid up in Galveston and they'd stayed in this shack by the shore. He and Dean had run wild, dressed in nothing but ragged cut-offs all day. Even through the ache in his heart he could smile at the memory, him burning and peeling, Dean going golden brown and freckling all over. They'd collected driftwood and in the evening Dad had hobbled out and sat with them around the bonfire, roasting weenies from a can and chugging Dr Pepper.
Without conscious thought Sam began to walk. The shore would take him back to town, back to the motel. He didn't have anywhere else to go. Would Dean be there? Probably. Even now Sam couldn't imagine a scenario where Dean would drive off and leave him. Not unless he wanted him to.
And Sam knew that he didn't want him to, he didn't want that at all. No matter how bad he felt, how guilty, he didn't want to part with Dean this way. All bitterness and anger and years of not speaking. Once in a lifetime was enough.
"No matter what I might say or do when my memory comes back, remember this. I love you."
Grief shuddered through him and he drew a painful breath. It shouldn't hurt so much, that Dean's words had all been a lie. It had all seemed so real at the time. Even now, looking back, it was hard to believe that it had all been some kind of line to reel him in. When just the night before Dean had leaned over him, touched him so tenderly, tried to kiss him. There had been tears in his eyes, one had run down his cheek. His voice when he asked how he could love Sam so much, when he was the one person he could never have...
Sam stopped, head coming up as if he were a hound scenting something on the air. No, that hadn't been a lie. Those words, his tears, that broken little confession. Dean might not have remembered Sam but he was still Dean and Sam knew Dean. Knew him better than anyone else on earth.
Sam tilted his head, smothering a curse under his breath. Of course he knew Dean. And what he knew of Dean was that his brother would rather be torn apart by wild horses than admit to anything even remotely resembling feelings. For Dean to stand there, to say that, to shed a tear...
That was no lie.
"No matter what I might say or do when my memory comes back..."
And Dean must have had some inkling, some kind of sense about how it might be once he regained his memory. How he might try to deny those feelings.
"...remember this. I love you."
But Sam hadn't remembered, he'd done what he always did with Dean, allowed himself to be goaded the way he'd always allowed himself to be goaded - into another prank, another dare. "Chicken."
Oh, Dean knew what buttons to push all right, and he'd pushed them, but it hadn't been last night, when the truth and honesty of what they'd both been feeling was sharp as a knife blade between them. It had been this afternoon, when the truth was too sharp and bitter for Dean and he'd done what he'd always done, pushed it away, deflected it, until Sam had been drowning in his own guilt and shame and had forgotten that all this had started with Dean, with what he wanted and needed.
The lights of town were up ahead and Sam realized he was half jogging and half walking as he left the beach and cut across the path that led to the main drag. By the time he reached the main road he was running, shoes striking the pavement, people around him staring. All he cared about was reaching the motel before Dean left, talking to him, grabbing him if necessary and holding him down until he listened.
Sam reached the motel sign and caught hold of it, bending over at the waist and breathing hard as equal measures of joy and fear coursed through him. The black Impala was parked directly in front of their room.
Dean was still here.
After the miles he'd traveled to get here these last steps were the hardest of his life. When he fitted his key in the lock he didn't even know what he was going to say. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
-666-
The motel was just as they'd left it, Dean's clothes lay scattered all around, the sheets were crumpled, the covers tossed. Dean was sitting on the side of the bed, elbows on his knees, head resting in his hands. He looked up at the sound of the door opening, his eyes wide and unguarded.
Sam stopped dead, arrested by what he saw in those wide expressive eyes. The love in his brother's eyes, the fear, the sheer relief. He shut his own eyes for a moment, feeling his panic drain away into a quiet certainty. They would get through this, he and his brother. When he opened his eyes again Dean's face had shuttered, his eyes had grown cool, his mouth become a straight line, but Sam knew what he had seen, there was no mistake.
It told him what he needed to know.
It would get them through this.
"I thought you'd be gone," Sam said, almost collapsing against the door frame as relief coursed through him.
"I wondered if you were coming back," Dean said quietly.
Sam carefully closed the door behind him and crossed the room, dropping onto the edge of the bed opposite his brother.
"Dean," Sam murmured, breaking the silence.
"I didn't mean what I said," Dean interrupted him flatly. "About you just being a one night stand."
"I know," Sam acknowledged softly.
Dean shook his head blankly. "I don't know what to do, Sam. I don't know if we can get past this."
"We've gotten past worse," Sam reminded him and Dean shot him an incredulous look, his damp eyes wide.
"Worse than this? Name me one thing we've gotten past that was worse than this?"
"Me leaving you," Sam said simply.
Dean frowned and shook his head. "I told you I understood why you left. That I came to understand it anyway."
"I know. And it was the right thing for me to do at the time," Sam agreed steadily. "But understanding doesn't make it any easier to forgive, does it? It doesn't take the pain away."
Dean met his gaze. "Maybe not," he eventually whispered.
"We came back from that, Dean. We can come back from this."
"But this isn't a matter of forgiving, Sam." Dean smiled bleakly. "There doesn't seem to be much I wouldn't forgive you for."
Sam considered this. "Yeah," he finally nodded. It was an acknowledgement of Dean's sentiment, and an agreement as well. That it cut both ways. He caught Dean's glance for a moment and knew his brother got that.
"It's understanding I'm having trouble with," Dean said carefully. "And not just your part in it." He took a deep breath. "Because you were right, Sam. You were right. I was as mad at myself as at you. I started all that stuff. You would never have thought about it if it weren't for me."
"You were right too, Dean," Sam admitted, shame stinging his cheekbones. "You trusted me and I betrayed that trust."
Dean nodded. "Yeah, you did kinda. But I understand why, Sammy. Like you said, I was there. And I know that it wasn't just..." he shrugged and rolled his eyes. "You know."
Sex, Sam took that to mean. "Yeah."
"I know that there really was..." And he gave his best god-save-me-from-this-conversation squirm. "You know."
Love, Sam took that to mean. "Yeah," he agreed, catching Dean's eye and trying to convey how very much... you know, there had been.
Dean flushed a little and ducked his head. "Jeez," he muttered. "How the hell did we get here anyway? Where the hell did that come from, Sammy? Because I swear to god I never felt that way about you before. Except I must have, right? Because it was right there under the surface waiting to burst out the minute my back was turned."
"Imagine how I feel," Sam said fervently, sheer relief at the turn the conversation had taken making him light headed. "I was being all noble and careful of your sensitive feelings and telling myself I was finally going to give something back to you, and all I ended up doing was taking from you. Again." He grimaced. "I'm sorry about that, Dean."
"It's okay," Dean shrugged. "You..." he broke off, looked a little uncomfortable, a sting of red across his nose. "You know it can't happen again though, right? I mean, I'm not saying you want it to, I'm just saying, well... you know. Right?"
Sam felt a catch in his chest and he nodded, clenching his jaw against the sudden swift pain. Of course he knew that, of course he did. An hour ago he'd thought he was going to lose his brother for good, nothing was worth risking that relationship over.
But still, he couldn't help remembering the easy sweetness of that morning. The way Dean had reached for him. How it had felt to be able to just lean down and capture his brother's lips with his own...
Yesterday he'd been longing for his Dean back, and now he was here, complete, whole once again. Now today here Sam was longing for that other Dean, who'd told him he loved him and then given him a glimpse of a whole new world.
Irony sucked.
"Sam?" Dean said, the beginnings of panic on his face. Sam gave him a lopsided smile of reassurance.
"I know," he said firmly. "I do know that, Dean."
Dean looked dubious. "You sure? Cos you looked a little spacy just then."
"I'm just glad I didn't ruin things completely," Sam said, revealing a little of the truth. He wouldn't lie to Dean, but he was going to fall back into one old habit and not share everything with him. It was pretty obvious that his brother couldn't take much more tonight. However there was one thing he wanted to say. Had to say.
Dean looked relieved. "Yeah, well, like I said. You weren't alone."
"I'm sorry that I betrayed your trust. I can't even plead ignorance on that one, I did it and I knew I was doing it. But..." Sam paused for a second. Should he just leave it at that? Dean was already a lot calmer, maybe he should just let this go. But something was driving him on, something he and Dean had both said earlier. He needed to say this, so he took a deep breath and went with it.
"But I can't regret... I just can't bring myself to regret last night, Dean." Sam hung his head guiltily. "I'm sorry."
When Dean didn't answer Sam looked up and caught the question in his eyes that his brother wouldn't ever put into words. Deft at interpreting the emotional shorthand that was his brother's method of communication, Sam answered the unasked question.
"Because I guess... I just missed being that close to someone," he said, groping for words to express his vague feelings. "I missed you those years when we were apart. And losing Jess was like having half of myself cut away. But for just a while there last night..." Sam broke off in frustration. "I don't know. I'm not explaining this very well."
He looked up nervously, unsure what Dean would be thinking of all this. His brother was frowning, head tilted a little to the side. But there was something in his eyes that Sam felt mirrored his own feelings. Dean truly did want to understand what his brother was saying to him. He needed to. Emboldened by the silent encouragement Sam found the words he needed. He looked into his brother's eyes.
"For a while last night it was like we were as close as two people can be, you know? I've had two real lovers in my life now, Dean, Jessica and you. And I've loved you both. And you both loved me. How many people, I wonder, get to feel that? Being that intimate with someone you love more than your life? I guess I just feel lucky. And I can't regret that."
There was silence for a long time and then Dean took a deep breath. "You can be a real girl sometimes, you know?" he said hoarsely. But he didn't look away and his eyes... spoke volumes.
They spoke of love and forgiveness and understanding. And in that silent communication that had carried them through the hardest times in their lives the brothers looked, and forgave. Then they smiled and finally they grinned.
"Right," Dean said briskly, standing up and reaching for his empty duffel bag. "Let's draw a line under this. I suggest we pack up and leave this crappy little motel and this crappy little town far behind us."
"No arguments from me," Sam said, climbing to his feet with a slight groan. He was still feeling the effects of hours asleep hunched over in the dunes.
Dean slanted him a half concerned, half impatient look. It was one he'd inherited from their father. "You all right to travel?" he asked, which in Dean-speak meant, 'I want to travel, get over it, whatever it is.'
"I'm fine. Are you sure you should be driving? We never were sure those seizures-"
"It was the Curse," Dean interrupted. "In fact, Sammy, from now on we can attribute everything that happened here to that Curse, okay?"
Sam looked doubtful but obediently began to pack up his stuff. "Everything?"
"Everything," Dean said firmly.
"And you're really sure we can put it behind us?" Sam asked dubiously.
"We can if you stop talking about it all the time," Dean said waspishly.
"O-kay," Sam said, taking the hint. He paused for just a second and couldn't help smiling while Dean zipped around the room stuffing his clothes in his bag, groping under the bedside table for stray socks. Even though everything was far from normal. Even though it would take a long time for normal to come back. And even though they still had a lot of talking to do, although Sam wasn't holding his breath about that. It was gonna be like pulling teeth.
He smiled because they weren't teetering on that knife edge any more. They'd scaled the first hill..
Dean leaned over and the back of his shirt rose up, exposing a tanned swath of skin bearing four very clear fingerprint bruises. Sam flushed red hot and turned away, bending over his bag and contriving to look busy.
Maybe there were still a few more hills to climb.
-Epilogue-
Dawn the next day, four hundred miles away. "Now I could sleep," Dean said, popping the top off a paper mug of coffee and flicking it onto the dashboard.
"Mm," Sam agreed sleepily, even though he'd dozed most of the night away. He cupped the welcome brew and sipped appreciatively.
"So, we find a motel and crash?"
"Laundromat first, dude," Sam said, suppressing a yawn. "I can't spend one more day sniff testing everything I wear. It's gross."
"Can't we sleep first?"
"Come on, Dean. I'm not putting this stuff back on. We either wash now or I wash later wearing only a towel."
If he blinked he might have missed it - the slight widening of Dean's eyes, they way they darted across to him, flicked across his shoulders and down his chest. That little hitch in the breathing. He might have only caught the rosy blush that colored Dean's cheeks under the two day growth of beard.
Something sang in Sam, a door he'd thought closed opened just a crack and he saw a glimmer of something he was sure had been put behind them.
"Don't do that," Dean growled and Sam flicked him an innocent look.
"What?"
"Don't look at me like that. Like you're remembering,"
"I can't help what I remember, Dean," Sam protested, but inside he was still singing, a small and quiet song.
"You better learn," Dean ordered.
"Anyway, I wasn't remembering."
"No?"
"I was thinking."
Dean shot him a suspicious glance, as well he might. "Thinking what?"
Sam tilted his head in consideration. "Just that you're cute when you blush."
Dean's face was outraged. "Sam!"
Sam shrugged innocently and turned back to look out his window. "I'm just sayin', is all."
The End.
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