He'd only eaten a muffin. Just one single muffin.
He'd thrown up just about every breakfast that he'd eaten in the past year.
At least that's what it felt like.
Sam pressed his forehead against the tile alongside the bathtub and tried to will the hangover away with very little success.
God, but if he survived the next few hours he would never drink again. Which was probably a lie, but not the first one that he'd told himself since waking up in the empty, dark apartment. No shoes. No sock. No idea what had happened before he found himself alone in Nick's bed. And for whatever it was worth, Nick had left him a big glass of water and a handful of painkillers- unfortunately, Sam had thrown them up along with everything else.
Now he was just alone in an unfamiliar bathroom and miserable, little thoughts other than how much he hated himself for willfully doing this when he'd sworn years ago to never get this drunk again.
Everything was quiet and dark.
That's really all he had going for himself at this point.
He almost wished that Nick was still here, honestly not even sure where the man had disappeared to in the first place. But it didn't really matter all that much… except eventually his stomach would settle down and he would be able to take pills without his body rejecting them and Nick was the only one who knew where said pills were.
Heaving himself to his feet, using the edge of the sink for leverage, Sam caught a dim glimpse of himself in the mirror over the sink. Glassy eyed and waxy pale. He looked away, down at the counter and the note that Nick had left beside the now empty glass.
It wasn't a particularly helpful note.
Sam,
Drink a fuck-ton of water and try to sleep it off.
I'll be back around ten.
-Nick
XXoxX
The glass got refilled with water from the tap and Sam sipped on it until he was certain he wasn't going to end up hunched over the toilet again. His head was still pounding along with each deafening beat of his heart- but his stomach held. Two more glasses of water later and Sam was crawling back into a foreign bed that smelled comfortingly familiar.
About two years later (no one could convince Sam's headache otherwise) Nick came home. Rattling fumble of the front door, a distant light switching on that didn't make it all the way down the short hall. Little noises that lent the dark and the pain a homier feel. Another year passed and the edge of the bed dipped down, creaking softly under the additional weight.
"No." Sam groaned and even that little noise made the pounding worse.
"Did you drink water?"
Sam curled away from Nick's voice, pulling a pillow around his head.
"Did you take the pills?" He sighed when he didn't get an answer, gently taking Sam's shoulder and rolling him back over. "Oh, hey there, sunshine."
Sam pried one eye open and glared up at Nick. "I threw up the pills. Couldn't find more. Please let me die in peace."
Nick's hands were cool, his skin smelling faintly of soap as he touched Sam's cheek then forehead. He hmmed softly, a deep baritone kind of noise before leaning down and kissed the younger man between the eyes. "How are you feeling?"
"How do you think I'm feeling?"
"You kicked off all the blankets."
"Don't talk so loud."
"You're sweating."
"I'm hungover."
"You've got a fever.
"I'm hungover."
"Open your mouth." Nick instructed softly and Sam started to tell him to go away, but that involved opening his mouth, and that was invitation enough for the man to push a couple pills past his lips. "Swallow. Shower. I got you a change of clothes… and your toothbrush. Then go back to sleep. When you wake up there will be some tomato-rice soup."
"My toothbrush?"
"Rescued from your very own house."
" You… went to my house?" The idea made his head hurt worse.
"Dean made a care package and told me to keep you for a few days." Nick carefully brushed hair from his eyes. "He said to keep an eye on you, said you look like you might be coming down with something… sorry for letting you get college-girl-drunk this morning. I'm a bad helper."
There was only one reason that Dean would tell a man he didn't particularly like to take care of his baby brother. John wasn't leaving and this was the only safe place to store Sam for the time being. He would have argued, but that actually sounded exactly like one of Dean's less than good plans. But Sam wouldn't argue. He'd rather be here and hung over than home and breathing the same air as his father.
"Tomato-rice soup?"
How did Dean know that Sam was getting sick? Sam didn't even know he was getting sick.
"I'm a fucking awful cook, but luckily your brother made some soup this afternoon and I'm real good at microwaving." He got off the bed, backlit from the hall and featureless in the dark of the room. "Shower and change. If you're going to be living in my bed for the next few days I'd like you not to smell like sweat and whisky."
Nick was a charmer.
Sam kind of didn't like him.
Sam also kind of wanted to pull him into bed and curl around him until the pills kicked in.
He settled for somewhere between the two feeling. Showering, changing into clean sweats and a tshirt, before crawling back into bed with a bowl of soup and then sleeping like he was getting paid for it. When he woke a few hours later he was somewhat horrified to realize that it hadn't all been hangover. Dean was right. He was getting sick. The next day blurred into something of a mess as a beautiful fever took hold. Little moments were punctuated with Nick bringing him pills or soup or tea. Blankets on, blankets off. NyQuil. More sleep.
As far as he could tell, Nick lived on the couch for the first while. Keeping some small and intermittent distance from the chest cold that had snuck up on Sam, a makeshift quarantine that didn't hold- and by day three, right when Sam was considering feeling human again, he found Nick curled up in a miserable ball beside him, stealing the majority of the blankets and coughing to the point that it sounded painful.
And even if it wasn't right, Sam debated leaving the man to his suffering and getting back home. He missed Dean even if he and his brother had spent the past few days texting each other, a careful combination of worry and dad-updates. He'd be getting shipped back to Kansas soon enough, and Dean thought it would be nice if Sam came home and said goodbye to the old man, but at the same time he'd made it clear that he wouldn't give Sam too much grief if he stayed away until it was safe.
So Sam weighted his options and in the end he made soup for Nick (not even half as good as Dean's, but it came from a can, so what can you do?) and kept the man tucked in even when he whined about being too hot, and gave him cough syrup even when he complained about the taste.
"I'm dying." Nick muttered, his eyes bright, gaslight shine to the blue.
"You're not dying." Sam told him gently, shaking the little plastic cup filled with cherry red medicine.
"You don't know that." He pulled the blanket up past his nose, eyeing the cup.
"I do know. Now take it before you hack up a lung."
"Why can't you just let me die?"
"Because you didn't let me and payback is a bitch."
Nick took his medicine, though he whined and moaned about it the whole time. However, he'd bought the damned evil tasting stuff and Sam felt that he'd earned his punishment.
"I am an adult you know." Nick mumbled, smacking his lips and sticking his tongue out. It was colored cherry red just like the medicine. "I can take care of myself. It's just a cold."
"I know. I got to spend two days right there where you are." He cleared his throat, by no means over his own coughing and hacking and wheezing. He poured himself a little shot glass worth of medicine and tossed it back. "And you took care of me through the fever part of it so I'm returning the favor." He pulled the blanket back up over Nick's head. "You're welcome."
"I promised to be your fake boyfriend. Not the incubator for your plague." He interjected from somewhere beneath his shelter, all muffled but still bitter.
"And I didn't whine nearly half this much as you, you big baby." Sam pointed out.
"Are you coming to bed or not?"
He sighed through a smile even as he curled up, pulling the blankets over his head as well and positioning the tablet so they could both see its lovely glow. He turned back on the movie they'd been watching and didn't even complain when Nick fell asleep against his chest shortly afterwards.
Maybe Sam could have gone back home. He was probably over the brunt of his cold at this point. It hadn't been anything too incapacitating and he was sure that he was over the worst of it. But this here with Nick was nice and his body wasn't complaining about all the extra sleep. School started back up next week and he was most likely just looking for any excuse to avoid thinking about the inevitable stress that it would spell for him.
Nick was clammy, sweating even though he was shivering. Unlike Sam, he wasn't over the worst of it. Not even close. He had only just started, and it was kind of all Sam's fault.
So he stayed.
He let the movie to run its course, a soft lullaby to keep Nick deep in the sleep that he obviously needed, and Sam emerged from the mess of blankets to find his phone.
"Hey, Dean." He said in soft surprise when his brother picked up on the second ring.
"Hey, Sammy." All warmth and affection. "You sound like hell."
"Believe it or not, I'm doing better." Which naturally was followed up by a rough chorus of moist coughing.
"Sure you are." Dean chuckled and Sam hadn't heard his brother's laugh in almost four days. It was a beautiful noise even if it had no right to be. "Is that jackass taking good care of you?"
"He was- up until he came down with a fever too and now he's pretty high on NyQuil and just trying to sleep it off."
"You two are useless." He sighed. "You, uh, want me to come get you. Let you suffer in the familiarity of your own room?"
Sam looked over at the lump in Nick's bed. "Dad still there?" He asked softly, not sure if the blonde was awake and could hear him, but really wanting to keep the awkwardness of family life to himself.
"His flight leaves tomorrow at three." Dean said just as soft, like they were kids again and sharing secrets, though Sam had a feeling that his brother was trying to be just as careful about who could hear them.
"Then I'll be home late tomorrow night, if Nick's feeling well enough to be left on his own."
"Dude, the guy can take care of himself."
"I know…" Sam smoothed a hand over the blankets and the warm lump beneath. "But he gave me soup. I can't just leave him."
"I made that soup and he'd better not be taking credit for it. That's treason."
"I know you made it." Sam soothed and ended up coughing again, clearing his throat and having to go all the way to the kitchen to get himself some water.
"You ok?"
" 'm fine. 'm fine. Thank you… for the soup I mean. It was perfect."
"Of course it was. I made it." Dean was all mock offence, bristling over the phone. "That soup's got god damned magic al restorative properties."
"It's probably all the drugs you put in it."
"Damn it, Sam. It's a secret recipe."
They shared a warm laugh and if felt like home. But the laughter turned into another bought of coughing and by the time he recovered Dean had grown quiet.
"I've never not been there when you've been sick." He said hesitantly and after a bit of consideration he added on, "I don't like it."
"I'm alright." Sam promised before clearing his throat. "Or, I will be."
"Go get some sleep, Sammy. I'll see you tomorrow night. I can come pick you up after I drop dad off at the air port."
"Ok." He agreed to all of the above, his throat feeling a little raw.
They said their goodbyes and Sam got himself another glass of water before laying himself back down in bed, careful of Nick's sprawling limbs. The man groaned softly, peering out from his blankets with eyes that were slightly more focused.
Sam put a hand to the man's forehead, shadowing his pale eyes from the light. "Meds must be kicking in. You feeling a bit better?"
"I don't feel better." He contradicted so easily, leaning into Sam's hand and sighing.
"You will."
"If you really loved me you would just put me out of my misery." He begged.
"Sleep it off." Sam instructed with whatever authority that he could muster.
For once someone listened to him. Nick managed to roll himself over, coughing quietly and making other pitiful noises before drifting back to what could almost pass for sleep.
.:.
It had been a little strange at first using another man's shower. But it sort of went hand in hand with the fact that he was also sleeping in someone else's bed. Smelling like Nick's shampoo and soap sort of completed the whole odd experience.
He turned off the water and clumsily grabbed one of the soft blue towels, scrubbing his face and briefly considering stealing a towel to take home with him. They were certainly nicer than the ones he and Dean had. And Nick wouldn't miss just one towel… but that was probably the cough medicine talking. Codeine in his blood whispering to him gently of theft and vandalism.
Looking back over the last few days all Sam had was a confusing, fevered jumble of sleeping, marathoning Netflix, and sitting in the bottom of Nick's shower while trying to let the steam clear his head. It was a reassuring cycle. All comfortable and quiet and good.
He tossed the towel over the top of the shower curtain and got dressed. Clean boxers and jeans, but his shirt wasn't in the pile of clothes that he'd brought with him to the bathroom. He must have dropped it when he was fumbling in the dark, trying not to wake Nick who was still wallowing in the midway point of his cold and needed all the sleep he could get.
Sam padded back down the hall, quiet at first, then giving up with a sigh when he saw that the light had been turned on, warm glow coming out from the crack beneath the door.
"Oh my god. You take the longest showers." Nick called out, voice a little uneven from all the coughing he'd been doing the past few days. It wasn't much more than a raspy whisper, his voice almost gone all together by this point.
"That's what Dean says- but you're both short, with short hair. There's a lot less of you to wash." He pushed the door open, smiling softly at the man. "How you feeling?"
He didn't get a smile in return.
The tablet was laying awkwardly on Nick's knees, abandoned, distant voices yelling and cheering, completely ignored. The man's eyes had gone round and intense the moment he saw Sam. An almost wild look to him with too much white showing. He didn't say anything. He just stared at Sam in a way that one feral animal would look at another who had suddenly wandered across his path.
And just like that- Sam felt defensive, wary, taking a small step back out into the hall. "Nick?"
It took a few seconds but he finally blinked, dragging his pale, pale eyes down Sam's body and grounding his gaze on the floorboards. "I wanna …" He glanced back up and the intensity had only gone down by the smallest of degrees, undermined by the fevered red in his cheeks and neck. "W-what was that?"
"Are you feeling alright, Nick?"
He swallowed roughly, watching every little shift Sam made. "Yeah. I, uh, can I ask something possibly very offensive?"
"Go ahead. I don't see how it will be any different from anything else you've said recently."
Sam braced himself, because Nick hadn't spoken much since getting sick other than to whine or say borderline deliriously confusing things when he was teetering on the brink between cough syrup and sleep.
Nick wet his lips and glanced away again with a shrug this time, studying the floor. "Hot damn."
"Ok. Not actually a question."
"Well I … I've never wanted to lick another man before. Cut me some slack."
Sam took a moment to process, for the sudden shock to wear off, to realize that the man was teasing him. And he rolled his eyes and pursed his lips, shaking his head before laughing. There was no point in getting angry at Nick for simply being… for being Nick.
"I'm serious. Look at you." He flapped a hand in Sam's general direction. "How is it that you don't have yourself a girlfriend?"
Self-conscious for the first time in what felt like forever, Sam looked away, face a little warm, but still chuckling to himself. He went and found his shirt where it had fallen on the floor beside the dresser and pulled it on over his head.
"And you just finish getting dressed and turn back into a giant, awkward nerd with a choir boy smile. It's a great disguise."
"Yep. I'm just like Superman and Clark Kent- only without the glasses."
Nick cleared his throat, looked like he was going to say something, then just sort of doubled over in a fit of painful sounding coughs. Hiding his face against his shoulder, back bowing as he curled in on himself.
Without being asked, Sam went and got the man a glass of water. He sat quietly on the edge of the bed, waiting for the spell to pass before he could catch one of Nick's hands and wrap it around the drink. Blue eyes flashed up gratefully and the man took small sips between coughs until he could breathe with only a little wheeze and grumble.
"Superman is an ass with no internalized set of morals. No compass." Nick took another drink. "He only behaves and doesn't use his powers for evil because people expect him to do good. That's not you."
Sam raised his eyebrows. Internalized set of morals?
"No one here is going to tell you to behave and look at you being all nice and sweet and honorable." He finished his water and clumsily set the glass on his nightstand.
"Did you take more NyQuil while I was in the shower?"
Nick shrugged.
"How much did you take?"
He laid back in his mess of blankets and pillows, looking very helpless and more than a little tired. Even if his cheeks were still a little red and his eyes a bit too bright. "I don't know. I just drank from the bottle. A few swallows I guess?"
Sam eyed the bottle on the nightstand, trying hard to remember how much had been there before he left to take his shower. "It's not whisky, Nick. You can't just take a few shots."
"It's got alcohol in it… I think. Isn't that why they have the little 'don't leave out where your kids will find it' label?"
"It's got a lot of things in it. Things that you aren't supposed to take in large quantities, you idiot."
"Hey. No name calling. I'm sick."
"You're dangerous when left unsupervised is what you are." Sam grabbed the medicine and took it over to the far side of the room, setting it down beside the little pile of clothes that his brother had sent along for him. Beside Nick's glasses, accidently knocking the bottle into the framed picture of Nick and his very happy looking, fair haired companion.
"Nick?" Sam straightened the photo, clearing his throat, feeling a little muddle headed but brave.
The man only hummed softly from down in his nest of blankets.
"Who's the kid?"
"Kid?"
"The little girl." He lifted the frame and held it up so Nick could see what he was talking about. "I've seen her picture in your shop too. Who is she?"
Nick sat up on his elbows and looked confused. "Oh… that's … that's my June." He laid back, half vanishing into the mess of blankets and pillows. "She came out to visit me two years back. Took the plane all by herself. My little unaccompanied minor. God, she's beautiful though, isn't she?"
And Sam couldn't disagree so he didn't. Just kind of shrugging and nodding.
"You should have seen Lilith when she finally showed up. Fury like a hurricane. Madder than hell. She called the cops. Had me arrested for kidnapping. Fuck. I didn't even know I had a daughter. How was I supposed to kidnap her? She's the one who took three days to even notice June was gone- but somehow I'm the one who got in trouble for it."
Now, Sam's brain felt a little slow and he knew that he wasn't back to firing on all cylinders, but…
"I thought that... that your wife… you said that she lost the baby." It hurt something deep down inside Sam to say such a thing, then he saw the look that passed over Nick's face and the hurt grew worse.
"Come over here. I don't like having to talk so loud."
Reluctantly, and almost reverently, Sam set the photo back down- taking a second too long to look again at those round, freckled cheeks and that wide, reckless grin. She was beautiful. Happy smiling kid, the kind that you'd expect to see in a commercial for Disneyland or reasonably priced unicorns.
Sam came back to the bed, reclaiming his side, right where he had spent the last few days.
"Long story, or short story?"
Sam shrugged, but Nick's eyes were closed so he probably wouldn't have considered it much of an answer.
"You don't have to tell me anything." He offered instead, because this seemed like one of those things that might be better left alone. Nick had kind of lied to Sam, but the younger man realized that he couldn't find it in himself to be mad about that fact. It felt like self preservation from Nick more than malicious dishonesty.
"I dropped out of school when Lilith told me she was pregnant." He started in his distant sounding whisper. "I got a fulltime job because it would let me take care of them better than shoving all my money into college classes. Michael was pissed. Wasn't his god damned business, but he made sure I knew what a fuck up he thought I was. Deciding to take care of that crazy bitch and her kid that couldn't possibly be mine. Said that I was throwing away my life."
He opened his eyes, pupils a little too wide. "She left when she was seven months along. Told me she lost the baby. And I believed it. I believed it for years. And then one day June comes into my shop, dragging Gabriel with her." He cleared his throat, and it seemingly had little to do with his cough. "She'd found his name on the divorce papers… called him asking to see if he knew where her dad was. Gabriel never told me she existed, but then she was in California and he couldn't do it anymore.
"I got to keep her for three days. Thee fucking perfect days- and then there came Lilith. Michael… he'd been paying her for years. Paid her to leave in the first place. Paid her to stay away. And she wasn't mad that her kid had gone missing. No. She was mad that she wasn't going to be getting those checks from my brother anymore. But I guess it worked out for her anyway because now I send her child support and I'm not allowed to see either of them." He laughed, but it wasn't particularly happy sounding. "She got a restraining order. Pulled up some old domestic abuse charges from back when we were just out of high school and moved in together. Told the judge that she was afraid of me. Fucking bitch. I never raised a hand to her. I swear to god. Not even once. I've got the scars to prove it. But there's no such thing as battered husband syndrome. But the neighbors would always hear us yelling and throwing things and then she would cry when the cops showed up and I had to be the bad guy." The line of his mouth had gone sharp and painful. "I mean, look at me. Obviously I'm the bad guy."
Sam wanted nothing more than to just curl around Nick, and it was a stupid response that he resisted.
Nick huffed softly and rubbed a hand over his eyes before looking back up. "Sorry. I guess that was the long version."
"I'm so, so sorry, Nick." And that felt grossly underwhelming as a response, but it was all Sam had to offer up.
"Don't be. We send each other letters. Me and June. Pass 'em back and forth between Gabriel because he's not part of the restraining order. She's the most fucking gorgeous little girl and I'm so proud of her." He cleared his throat again. "Can I have a drink?"
"S-sure. You want some water or tea?"
"Whisky."
"You're not drinking whisky and cough syrup."
"Not yet, but I will be when you bring me back the bottle."
"No." He said with a bit more force before settling lower into bed, scooting over until his shoulder and hip and knee brushed against Nick's through the blankets. Close and closer. He expected some kind of argument, but instead Nick grunted softly and adjusted, pulling one of Sam's arms around his shoulder and resting his head on the younger man's chest.
"Leprechaun one through four are on Netflix." He whispered. "In the fourth one he goes into space."
"The Leprechaun goes… into space?"
"To marry a space princess." Nick nudged the tablet over to Sam's stomach, not so subtly making a suggestion.
It was better than letting the man drink. If his wide, dark pupils were any indication Nick was already higher than a kite, and should more than definitely be kept away from alcohol.
They got almost the whole way through the first movie before Nick's breathing evened out, soft, warm little puffs against Sam's chest. And even though he really wanted to escape the awfulness of the movie he didn't want to move. Too afraid of waking Nick who needed this. He probably needed a drink too. Sam didn't have to approve, but he could still understand.
Nick had spent years thinking he'd lost his unborn child, only to find out that his family had conspired to keep her out of his life. And that was pretty messed up, though not as much as the fact that he still couldn't see her. Legally wasn't allowed near her. And Sam thought to himself that maybe that was part of the reason that Nick didn't get along with Michael.
It was a pretty good reason.
The curtain in Nick's room had been drawn tight, making it very hard to tell what time of day or night it was. The fact that the two of them had spent nearly most of every day sleeping didn't help matters any- and Sam thought that his internal clock must have come unwound because he found himself waking up with the distinct feeling that it had to be about two in the morning, but that couldn't be right.
He couldn't even remember falling asleep in the first place. But there he was, opening his eyes to the dark room, not sure when the light had been switched off. Skewed shadows flickering over their corner of the room from the hesitant glow of Nick's tablet.
"Nick?" Sam groaned, mouth dry and unpleasant.
"Hmn?" He didn't even look up from where he was still resting against Sam's chest, the curve of his jaw fit perfect along the arch of ribs. Like they were made to lay like this.
"Why are you looking at pictures of naked people?" The screen was at an odd angle, but he could see enough to know that whereas it wasn't exactly porn- there was still an undue amount of skin showing.
"Not people. Men. Specifically their asses. You want to help?" He offered without even looking up.
If Sam didn't know any better he would assume that the man had downed the rest of the cold medicine, but the bottle was still a vague suggestion on the far side of the room. Half full and untouched.
"Why?"
"Because I figured that you would be an expert on your own ass, where as I've never really looked at it and have no real basis for comparison."
Sam pressed a knuckle to his left eye, rubbing away sleep and confusion as he took a slow breath. "Ok. That's fair. But again, one might ask why?"
And Nick explained. Sounding so logical with his rough, and torn voice. "Because Gabriel thinks it's weird that we don't sext, or at least weird that I'm not saving picture of you on my phone and he wants me to send him a picture of your hips, or ass, or… you know? I don't think he's actually all that picky."
Sam pressed a little harder against his eyelid, seeing stars, and the next pointedly slow breath that he took left him coughing weakly. He cleared his throat and risked looking down at Nick. "So you want to send him a picture of someone else's… else's and tell him they're mine?"
"He keeps asking." Nick patted around in the blankets and found his phone, passing it to Sam.
Indeed, there were texts with some fairly interesting requests. But Sam had only just woken up and it was too soon for something so strange. He felt a touch warm as he read the texts, because these couldn't be normal things to ask from your brother. Lord knew that Dean had never asked Sam to send him dirty pictures of anyone he'd ever dated.
"Your brother…"
"He's a dirty little pervert who wants to touch you. Or at least look at pictures of you while he touches himself. But don't worry, he doesn't mean anything by it."
Sam handed back the phone and once more considered the merits of just getting up and walking out.
"You, Sam, are a new toy and I'm not sharing with him." Nick said delicately, squinting at his phone before tossing it back down to be lost once more amidst the blankets.
"But you've been telling him about all the fake sex that we're not having." Sam knew this. He didn't like it, but he knew it. Those stories were far more than enough sharing to go around.
"That's like telling someone how awesome your new ten speed bike is and all the places that you ride it, and that it's great to take on sick jumps or whatever the hell kids with bikes do- but never letting anyone else see it or touch it or ride it."
"Why is it that in all these weird analogies I end up being something that's either ridden, played with, or eaten?"
Nick glanced up, eyes lidded and sleepy, a little too bright and his fever had probably come back. "It's all in your head. I've always respected you as a woman and would never suggest otherwise."
"I've figured it out," he jostled Nick slightly, but was too tired to put any real force behind it. "This isn't actually happening. This is a dream."
He glanced up, curious. "Is it my dream or yours?"
"If it's mine then there's probably a velociraptor in the kitchen."
And they both grew quiet for a moment, Nick raising his head just a little to peer down the hall with a look between worry and interest. But there came not tell tale clicking or chuffing of long extinct monsters.
"Must be my dream then." Nick said nuzzling back down against him, curling closer, tucking one leg between Sam's. "How about this one?"
Sam glanced down and quickly looked back away. "No. Definitely not." Yeah… this was definitely one of those weird dreams that he'd been having since he came to stay here. Fever dreams were the worst - even when they didn't include dinosaurs.
"I like this one." Nick held up the tablet.
"Oh my god. Nick. Stop."
"So that's a no." He shrugged one shoulder and returned to his quest, undaunted. He gave a few more suggestions, holding each one up in turn for Sam to groan at, negate and ignore as best as he could.
Very quickly the whole thing lost any sense of pornography or indecent-ness… and it just turned into more of a museum tour. A horrible kind of museum where every exhibit was nothing but bare asses as far as the eye could see. But it was just as sterile and non illicit as any fieldtrip that Sam had taken back in school.
"Just… god, Nick. Just send him that one," he pointed vaguely, "and be done with it."
Nick looked up, aghast at the suggestion. "No. That ass has no soul to it."
"Excuse me?"
"Whoever took that was a bastard, an unfeeling nothing. Just snapping a shot of some underage teen with low self esteem and a perky ass." He shook his head. "I would never, ever treat your ass so callously."
Sam snorted softly, not sure how to take that one.
"Like I said. I respect you."
"So what kind of picture are we looking for then?" He settled down a little, peering at the screen in earnest for the first time.
"Ideally? Well, I'm not hoping for perfection, I mean- this is a Google search after all and we're well into the no man's land of page twenty." He tilted his head up, eyes closing halfway in deep though. He went on to describe an oddly specific picture, complete with the exact over the shoulder angle he wanted, the best lighting, how he'd crop it turned on a sharp diagonal to create a stronger composition.
"You've put some real thought into this, and I feel like I should be worried." Sam interrupted.
"I'm an artist. I think about these things."
"You tattoo people." Which, in Sam's opinion, wasn't exactly the same thing.
"I paint too."
"You paint?"
"Hell yeah, I paint. You've been in my shop. You've seen my work." He coughed softly, little barking noises.
Sam had only the smallest recollection of those paintings, of thinking that they were… they were really good. "You did those?"
"I did those. Most of them anyways. And I won't settle for some half assed picture of your ass. If I'm going as far as to send my brother fake pictures of you then they've got to be good."
And Sam considered the odd dream that he was in. That in all fairness it wasn't any stranger than the one he'd had last night that involved Muppets and Dean owning a plane named Sharon that he kept in the kitchen.
This one felt almost real.
Almost plausible in its weirdness.
He nudged Nick. "Up."
Nick hmmd and opened his eyes a little more.
"Up." He repeated.
So, like the confused, still slightly ill man that he was, Nick sat up. Unfocused gaze in the half-light of the room.
Sam sat up, patting around in the blankets until he found Nick's phone and handed it over. "How do you want me?"
"I- how do I … what?" And he was blinking at roughly the same rate that a humming bird flaps his wings. "What?"
"If I have to pick between watching your awful movies or watching you searching for the perfect naked man's ass- I'd like to go back to the movies."
Nick made a soft clicking noise in the back of his throat.
"So take your picture and let's move on."
Now, Nick was a grade A troublemaker at best. But the worst thing that he'd ever done to Sam was pretending to kiss him with no forewarning for the sake of upsetting Dean. Despite the occasional lapse in his understanding of personal space and his best protests to the contrary- Nick was, for all accounts and purposes, a gentleman. A cuddly teddy bear of a man hiding behind his tattoos and bad manners. And Sam trusted him.
"Do you need me to turn on the light?" He had already swung a leg off the bed.
"No. I've, um, the light on my phone'll be fine." He looked down at his thing in his hand for some kind of clarification, then back up at Sam. "You're serious?"
"Yeah, just don't be weird about it, and promise me that once you send it you'll delete it off your phone."
"I can't promise that Gabriel will."
"I trust that you'll take care of it next time you see him."
Nick looked to be deeply considering this proposition, pressing his phone from hand to hand almost nervously. "Ok. Yeah. Ok. Come 'ere."
And Sam did, laughing awkwardly as Nick sat back against the headboard and pulled him in close.
"Hey, I said take a picture, not take me."
"It's got to look good." He pointed out with his very rough voice, and leaning against Nick's chest Sam could feel the words rumble down though him, settling somewhere low in his stomach. "Like a candid shot. Over your shoulder so we can get the long line of your back, your shirt pushed up to show your Venus dimples and just the littlest curve of -"
"My Venus dimples?"
"Your lumbar indentations… the little dips over your sacroiliac joints." Nick looked at him, half startled by the interruption to his train of though.
A few hours ago he'd been waxing philosophical about Superman's moral compass, not he was talking about sacroiliac joints?
"Who are you?"
"A man who's taken too many biology classes to still appreciate the human body aside from the analytical. And you've got back dimples." His hand slid up Sam's lower back, tugging up his tshirt, the beads of his stupid bracelets scratching gently along Sam's bared skin. "Here and here." He turned his phone with his other hand to shine a pleasantly blue tinted light over the little dips.
Sam looked awkwardly over his shoulder and could see the smallest little shadows that Nick was pointing to.
"Well I'll be damned. Venus dimples?"
"Venus dimples." Nick assured, his bracelets clacking as he hooked two fingers through Sam's belt loops and pulled his hip sideways, crashing the younger man against the inside of his left knee. He held his phone up above his head where Sam could see it too.
Through the camera Sam could watch the pale stretch of his own skin, the strange arch that his lower back was making as he knelt between Nick's crooked knees. It looked very much like many of the photos that they had been browsing for the past half hour or so.
Nick was still holding his belt loops, still tugging. And like it was happening to someone else, like watching a movie, Sam could see in the camera just a hint of boxers, colorless in the odd lighting. The firm curve of muscles hugging the base of his spine. His skin looked bleached white against the dark flannel of Nick's pajama bottoms.
And even through the oddly detached feeling, Sam felt his nerve start to slip. He was just about to tell Nick to stop. To start laughing and shying away because every day couldn't be the day that they set a new benchmark for the weirdest, most uncomfortable thing that two guys can do together.
"Hold it." Nick warned. His voice gone so sharp that Sam dared not budge for fear of somehow ruining everything.
And just like that- the picture was taken. Then Nick was tugging Sam's jeans back up the whole suggestive little inch and a half that they had been displaced- giving him a firm little pat on the rump to signal the end of it all.
"That's it?"
"That's it." Nick wore a pleased little smile, lowering the phone so they could both see it without gazing up towards the ceiling.
Sam turned, sitting down instead of kneeling, leaning back into the warmth of Nick's chest and trying not to smile too as he felt an arm settle around his waist. "It's… it's not much."
Mostly just Sam's back, the arc of his spine, those surprising little dimples, the press of his skin against Nick's thigh, the little shadow cast by his knee, the obnoxiously colored beads of the man's bracelet, the sharp curve of his wrist where he'd twisted his hand to tug down Sam's jeans- just the smallest, teasing peek of firm muscle.
"It's subtle." Nick said proudly. "Suggestive. What were you expecting?"
"Something more like what we were looking at. A lot more ass in a picture of my ass… but that's why we ended up twenty pages deep in Google- because you wanted something more like this." He chuckled, slowly understanding the deliberateness of it all. "You really are weird. You know that?"
"Yep." Nick agreed easily and sent the text to his brother. "But if I'm going to be sending a real picture of your real body to my gross little brother, it's going to be tasteful. Not you spread out and X rated."
"Thank you… I think."
Nick hummed again, turning his head away as he coughed quietly. And Sam watched the man deleted the only slightly incriminating photo from his phone.
Like it had never happened.
Sitting there, feeling Nick's fever warm skin against his, Sam wasn't sure that he hadn't imagined the whole thing. Like he was waking just now, opening his eyes for the first time to find himself settled against his friend in nearly the same comfortable position that they'd spent the last few days in.
Nick was a very good big spoon.
Sam was ok admitting this, if only to himself, because maybe it had been just what he needed while he struggled to get back to wellness. And he felt better than he had in days. Good enough to go home with Dean when his brother came to fetch him tomorrow night.
But for now he liked it right here. Where his thoughts could be simple and everything was warm and nice, and good. With Nick gently kissing the top of his head. Nick kissing his temple. Kissing right behind his ear…
the side of his neck…
"Nick?"
And the man leaned back, rigid, silent for a few breaths. "Yeah?"
Sam reached up and touched his neck, feeling the little spot where he could have sworn Nick's lips had just been. "How are you feeling?"
"Warm." He cleared his throat. "Chest is a little tight and my eyes hurt."
"Want some more NyQuil?"
"No. That stuff knocks me loopy and it's not actually as fun as I thought it would be."
Sam half turned, trailing his hand from his own throat up to Nick's cheeks, his forehead. "Your fever's back. Let me go get you something." And he crawled out of bed, his back immediately growing cold without the contact, and he went to go find something a bit more innocent and less habit forming.
But before Sam found any medication, he found himself sitting alone at the table with his face in his hands.
Just breathing.
Breathing a little too hard. Enough to make himself light headed- and that was part of the reason that he was holding his face, somewhere down near his knees. Because someone had once told him that if he was going to have a panic attack that sitting like this would help somehow.
It wasn't helping.
His heart as still racing.
His stomach was still up in his throat.
Fluttering with butterflies. Squirming with something far less pleasant.
He touched his throat again, trying to find any lingering traces of warmth left from Nick's mouth.
What was he even doing?
He should be back at home, regardless of whether or not his dad was still lurking around. He should be home in his own bed. Safe and sound.
And this wasn't safe.
This was oh so far from safe.
What was he even doing here?
He should be sleeping.
He should be doing literally anything other than what he'd just been doing with Nick. Rolling around in bed, playing grab ass, laughing and joking- and they were friends for god's sake.
You don't do that with friends.
You don't suggest that your friend take an indecent picture of you to send to their unsettling brother for who knew what purpose. But Sam had. And what was worst, he'd enjoyed the feel of kneeling between Nick's knees, leaning into his chest, of the man's hand sliding along his bare skin.
And Sam hadn't had any of that dangerous cough medicine in hours. He didn't have a fever anymore. He couldn't blame anything other than his own body running treacherously after impulses that he hadn't given it permission to have. Looking for something that Nick wasn't offering.
The man was tired. He was fevered and had been borderline delirious for the past few days.
So what? So he'd kissed Sam's neck. It didn't mean anything- at least it didn't mean what Sam's dizzy head was telling him that it could mean. What he wanted it to mean.
Oh no. No, no, no.
NO
What was wrong with him?
Nick was his friend. A strange friend, yes. But a good friend. A good man. Even if he tried not to show it.
It had just been a while. Too long of a while. And Sam was young with a body that didn't always listen to his head, to logic and reason. It just felt another warm body in proximity and reacted in encouraging ways.
Stupid body.
Stupid hormones.
Stupid Sam.
Slow, shaking breaths were forced out between his teeth as Sam tried to calm himself down. Tried to talk himself down. To talk himself out of the idea of going back to the bedroom and crawling back into Nick's arms. Kissing his fevered lips. Tasting the salt on his skin.
Sam felt very broken.
What was he even doing here?
This was nowhere near safe and sound.
He choked down the last few hiccoughs of his panic attack and went to find those damn pills. Nick took them without complaint or comment as to why it had been nearly ten minutes since Sam left on such a simple task.
Sam got back in bed, though he didn't let himself lay as close as he had been lately. Nick didn't have anything to say to that either. He just pulled up Netflix on his computer and settled it where they would both be able to watch, pushing play. His arm came to rest in the space between them, fingers gently brushing against the back of Sam's hand.
They weren't really worried about germs at this point. They both had the same sick. It was fine if they touched- couldn't really make it any worse, right?
Nick's phone chimed somewhere in the midst of the bad 80's horror movie. He looked up from where his head had come to rest on the pillow beside Sam's. "It's Gabe." His arms slapped around on the bed, looking for the phone that had gone silent again.
Sam found it first, holding it up victoriously.
"What's he say?"
And for a second Sam almost pointed out that he had absolutely no way of knowing, but then he saw that Nick's phone wasn't locked. Who even does that?
"He , um… sent a picture of him and his lovely wife. They're in bed and I'm not sure I should be seeing this. He says 'you have our attention' smiley face."
"Let me see." Nick made grabby hands at the phone until Sam turned it so he could see the picture of Gabriel sitting in bed beside his wife. Gabriel was wearing an ear to ear grin, his small frame enveloped in a college sweatshirt nearly three sizes too big, looking like an eager little kid. Rehka was glancing sideways at the camera phone and her husband, open book in her lap, obviously not really part of this.
Nick might have laughed, but it sounded like just more coughing. "Tell him no."
So Sam did. Simple little text before he set the phone down between them.
The phone chimed again within seconds and Nick kicked his feet beneath the blankets in a small tantrum. "He always interrupts the best parts." He said despite the fact that all that was happening was a Leprechaun was tormenting a bunch of teens on the computer screen, the same as he had been doing for quite some time now. Nick took the phone and held it up above his face as he squinted at the screen and sent a few more quick, aggressive messages to his brother.
"You did start it." Sam pointed out gently.
"That's what he's saying- but it was just one picture. Not an invitation- or me volunteering us for a competition."
"Competition?"
"Yeah. I send a bit of you, he sends a bit of his wife. We try to one up each other."
"Is this a normal game for you guys?"
"Not for a long time. No."
"Here." Sam took the phone without permission, but also without any resistance. He turned the camera on and held it up, finding himself in the screen, scooting closer until his cheek touched Nick's. "Smile." He instructed then laughed. "No. Not like that."
"Like what?" Nick turned to peek at him.
Sam could see it on the camera. Nick's pale eyes looking over at him curiously, his nose brushing Sam's cheek. And without little thought to all the thundering reason why he shouldn't, Sam turned too, looking away from the camera and whatever quickly abandoned intention he'd had there. He looked instead at Nick, from only inches away. He let their noses bump clumsily. He could practically taste the faint combination of minty toothpaste and cherry cough syrup on Nick's breath, all that the man had come in contact with over the past few hours.
"Like what?" Nick repeated his question, much more softly.
"Like you're happy. Not like you're about to bite someone, you lunatic."
"But that is my happy smile."
Sam thought that Nick was probably one of the few people on the planet who could manage to look more attractive when sick. His expression was sleepy like normal but his skin was flushed and eyes dancing fever bright. Beautiful and tousled like he'd just woken up from a particularly good dream.
Forcibly, Sam looked back up at the camera, back somewhere far safer than at Nick. Though he could still feel the man breathing soft fire against his cheek. Could still see him on the phone that he held above them.
"Nick,"
"Take your picture. Tell him that we're busy. Tell him that we're going to sleep. It's got to be almost four in the fucking morning after all."
Sam tried not to wince, or shiver, or whatever weird reaction that his body was determined to have in response to Nick whispering into his ear.
"Why are they still awake so late?"
"Why are we?"
Sam shrugged and tried to take a picture of the two of them, all sleepy beside each other, but Nick kissed his cheek (or more accurately licked it) and the picture ended up being of Sam dropping the phone as he rolled away laughing.
"You're like a little kid." Sam half lectured, half laughed while curling away from Nick, who was slowly but surely wrapping his arms around the younger man.
"Yep." He agreed easily as he rested his head against Sam's.
"You're supposed to be sick. We're supposed to be resting."
"I am. We are." He promised, voice just as soft, still whispering against Sam's ear, and oh, but that did funny things to Sam's insides. "But I feel like we should get a more accurate picture to send."
"This is accurate?" Sam was on his stomach, Nick clinging to his back like some kind of sea creature, body too warm, arms too long.
"Yep." He fumbled the phone that he'd retrieved somewhere during the rolling around and took an easy picture of Sam laughing, hiding his face in a pillow. " 'hnm. I'm telling him that he's too late. We only do one show a night. Sorry he missed it."
Sam rolled Nick off of him, still laughing a little, and very pleased that whatever awkwardness he'd brought back to the room with him had been so easily dispatched. This was them. Yes, it was a little more physical and a lot more inappropriate than any other friendship that Sam had ever experienced. But it was still good, even if it rattled his cage from time to time.
It was a cage that needed rattling.
Just not by Nick. Sam reminded himself firmly.
"He has sent back a sad face." Nick turned the phone for Sam to see an overly emoting Gabriel with a full blown pout and big puppy eyes.
"Just tell him goodnight."
Nick took a picture of himself blowing a kiss and sent it to Gabriel with the gentle parting of 'go the fuck to sleep'.
"You're so classy."
"Classy as fuck-all." Nick agreed before gently kissing Sam's cheek and going back to his movie, rewinding it a little so that he wouldn't miss anything.
And Sam watched Nick instead of the movie. Memorizing the gentle planes of his face and neck, the slope of his shoulders, watching the rise and fall of his chest until they both fell asleep.
But there was no harm in it, right?
No sin in that quiet study.
In all those unreconciled daydreams.
Right?
…right?