The 'l' key and the period key have both stopped working on my poor, ancient laptop, so I had to cut&paste them all in. I combed it as carefully as I could, but I apologize if there's any missing!
Also, god damn this story is kicking my ass. Curse my love of angst and sad Sam eyes!
"Sam! Dean! Get down here, I'm makin' breakfast!"
Dean hadn't realized he'd fallen back asleep until Bobby's gruff voice echoed up from the floor below and jolted him back to consciousness. He's way too hot and he feels wet heat on his neck and is confused for half a second before the sleep-fog clears just enough from his mind for him to realize that there's a very warm, very heavy Sam almost completely on top of him. No wonder his lungs feel like they can't get enough air. Actually, the way Sam's got his face pressed into Dean's shoulder, he's not sure how Sam's managing to breathe either. Dean pulls his arms out from where they're pinned under Sam's, and wraps them around his giant, drooling puppy of a brother – one around his back and one in his hair. It's a little oily and sweat-matted, and smells like sleep and cotton sheets, and it makes Dean's mouth water. He kind of wants to lick it, or maybe actually take a strand into his mouth and suck on it, but he doesn't because that would be taking his maybe-sort-of kink for Sam's hair to a whole new (and highly disturbing) level. He does bury his nose in it and breathe deeply (or, as deeply as he can with the weight crushing his chest), because c'mon, it smells incredible and Dean's only human. And then there's the spot right at the base of Sam's neck, usually hidden underneath the longer curtain of hair, where there's all these kitten-soft curls that feel so incredible between his fingers. It's kind of wonderfully intimate, even after everything else that they do to each other, that he's the only person in the world who knows about that spot. Maybe it's stupid, but he's always loved feeling like he owns a little piece of Sam that no one else gets.
"Wake up, Sammy," he whispers into the skin behind Sam's ear.
"Mm?" Sam stirs a little but doesn't move, so to keep him from falling too far back into sleep Dean scratches his fingernails into Sam's scalp like he were scratching behind a cat's ears. It isn't just him who likes doing that – Sam secretly loves the very small obsession Dean will admit to having for his hair, and less than a minute later Sam is practically purring and licking at Dean's neck like he really is a freakin' cat.
"Feels good," he mumbles sleepily, clearly still not quite conscious as his hips roll down into Dean's.
Damn that feels fantastic, but they're in Bobby's guest bedroom and this can abso-fucking-lutely not start heading in that direction, as much as Dean really, really wants it to.
"You gotta get off me," he says, very reluctantly shifting under Sam so the heat from Sam's crotch isn't pressed into his anymore. "Can't breathe, Sasquatch."
Sam laughs a little, low and deep and right in Dean's ear. "Don't care, 'm comfy."
Dean can't help but smile. "C'mon, Sammy, time to get up." He pushes at Sam's ribs to get the body off of his, but then Sam tenses and hisses in pain and Dean snaps into his protective mode so fast it almost gives him whiplash.
"What?" he cries, trying to wriggle out from under Sam so he can see his face. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Sam wheezes, rolling off of Dean. "Just a little stiff from yesterday."
"Bullshit," Dean snaps. He pushes himself onto one elbow and grabs the hem of the old, grayish t-shirt Sam always sleeps in, yanking it up to Sam's armpits. Then he stops breathing. Sam's chest is peppered in bruises, purple and black and a sickly grayish-green around the edges. There's even a few splotchy red patches that look like broken blood vessels. Dean's own torso throbs, symbiotically feeling Sam's pain like he always does.
"Shit, Sam … " Dean breathes, his heart twisting up into his throat.
"It's – "
"It's not nothing!" Dean cries. "You're, oh god, Sam, what – " But then it hits him, like a wrecking ball straight to the gut and suddenly there isn't nearly enough air in the room. "It – it was throwing you around again?"
"I'm not sure, I guess so," Sam mumbles, trying to push his shirt back down and escape the scrutiny of Dean's gaze.
"Fuck, I should've – fuck!" Dean half-yells, shoving his body up off the bed and pacing angrily across the room. "Last time I tied you down, I should've tied you down! I can't believe I forgot!"
"Dean, you weren't exactly in the best frame of mind last night," Sam interjects, standing up gingerly. "It's okay, it doesn't hurt if I don't touch it."
"It's not okay!" Dean shouts, anger at himself turning unfairly into anger at Sam. "You never said anything! Why didn't you – " the words 'call for me' get caught at the back of his throat at the exact moment he realizes that Sam did. God damn it, he did. Sam yelled for him over and over again and Dean ignored it. How could he do that? His little brother needed his help, how could he just ignore it?
"Dean … " Sam begins in that kind, gentle way of his; his head tilted a bit to the side and his expression so full of sorrow and sympathy he could probably make a damn Nazi cry, but Dean can so not handle the sad Sam eyes right now.
"No! Fuck!" Dean all but bellows at pretty damn near the top of his lungs.
"Dean!" Bobby's rough voice rings out sharply from downstairs. "Would you quit yelling and get yer sorry ass down here!"
"I – " Dean starts to yell back, but then thinks the better of it. He throws a authoritative 'don't move' expression at Sam and then steps into the hall. He leans down, resting his elbows on the banister so he can see Bobby at the bottom of the stairs.
"We'll be right there, okay? Just give us a minute." It comes out more annoyed-sounding then he meant it to.
The older man points a warning finger at Dean. "You'd better not be givin' him hell for what happened yesterday. The kid's been through enough, he doesn't need you on his case too."
Dean holds his hands up in something like surrender. "I'm not, I swear," he promises, his tone more civilized now. "Just, please. One minute."
Bobby peers up at him, looking concerned and a little suspicious, but then waves his hand as if to say 'yeah, aright' and wheels himself back towards the kitchen. Dean sighs and moves back into the room to find Sam sitting back on the bed, hands in his lap and looking exhausted and dejected.
"Sam," he mutters. Shit, he hadn't meant to lose it like that, but sometimes he's such a ticking time bomb lately that he can't help it. He sinks onto the mattress beside his brother and puts an arm gently around his shoulders, pulling Sam's body toward his so he can rest his forehead against Sam's temple. "I'm really sorry, I should've remembered."
Sam just shakes his head and squeezes Dean's thigh. "It's okay. They're just bruises. Kind of the least of our worries right now, don't you think?"
Dean exhales heavily. "Yeah, I guess so." Man, Dean really hates how hopeless that feels.
"That was a really nice way to wake up," Sam murmurs, "you know, for the whole two minutes we managed to not be fighting."
And Dean laughs softly, not because that's particularity funny but because he's so emotionally strung out that laughing is the only reaction he has left.
Sam places a curved finger under Dean's chin and Dean allows his head to be tilted up to meet the rough bluish-green waters of Sam's gaze. Sam smiles a little sadly and then leans in and kisses Dean, a barely-there press of lips but Dean grabs Sam's neck and holds on, not allowing his brother to pull away for a moment. It's not really a kiss at all at first, just his mouth resting against Sam's and swallowing Sam's puffed sighs. Then Sam leans in just that last inch and brushes his soft lips dryly back and forth on Dean's. For just a few seconds, Dean closes his eyes and focuses on nothing but the feeling of Sam beside him. But then he hears a bang from the kitchen below and he's brought back to himself enough to remember he promised Bobby they'd be right down.
"Bobby made breakfast," he whispers against Sam's lips, and then unwraps his limbs from Sam and stands. "I gotta take a leak, I'll meet you down there."
"Yeah, okay." Sam stands and follows Dean to the door but then stops him again before Dean can start down the hall toward the bathroom. "Hey, can you give me a minute with Bobby before you come down?"
"Uh, sure, okay," Dean shrugs. "What for?"
"I wanna apologize to him."
"Sam, you don't – "
"Yeah, I do have to," Sam interrupts, holding up a hand to indicate that his mind is already made up. "I couldn't control what happened yesterday, I know that, and I appreciate you being so insistent that wasn't my fault, I really do. But whether I meant for it to happen or not doesn't change the fact that it happened. Bobby's like a second father to us and Cas, well okay, I'm not sure exactly what Cas is, but – I mean, he's at least a friend. And I hurt them, so they deserve an apology."
Dean nods, more than a little stunned, and chuckles nervously. "Wow, that's really … mature. When the hell did you get so grown up?"
Dean meant for his tone to be light and playful, but Sam clearly takes it the wrong way – huffing back a completely humorless laugh. He looks away for a second and licks his lips, taking a deep breath before he fixes his eyes on Dean's.
"A long time ago," he says seriously. "You just never wanted to notice."
Dean groans. God, he just can't do anything right today, can he? "Sam, I didn't – "
"I – I know," Sam sighs, shaking his head a little, "leave it, okay? I didn't mean that the way it sounded. It's not, just, never mind. I'll meet you down there?"
Sam reaches out hesitantly, brushing his fingertips lightly on the back of Dean's hand. Then he smiles and Dean returns it, but both are so fake that it feels like a kick to the gut and he thinks it'd almost hurt less if Sam actually hit him or something. Everything's so messed up at this point, he isn't sure why they even bother pretending it's not. Sam turns and starts down the stairs (limping a little, Dean notes with whispers of your fault, your fault, your fault spinning around him), and as he makes his way down the hallway, he swirls Sam's words around in his head.
When did you get so grown up?
A long time ago, you just never wanted to notice.
Dean's pretty sure Sam meant that exactly the way it sounded, and even though it smarts a bit he's not entirely sure Sam isn't right. He's aware that he babies Sam; that he gets over-protective and hovers a little too close over his shoulder. That sometimes he doesn't treat his brother like they're equals, but he never wanted to make Sam feel that way. That just sort of … happened. And isn't that just the worst excuse he's ever come up with. After Dean comes out of the bathroom (purposely avoiding the mirror; he has no interest in seeing how crappy he looks right now) he throws on the pair of jeans he'd been wearing yesterday, now a bit wrinkly because he hadn't moved them from the floor when they'd fallen off his body last night. Then he makes his way down the creaky, wooden stairs.
"Hey, Bobby?"
Sam's tentative voice floats around the corner, and Dean recognizes that tone so he pauses behind the door a minute to let Sam say what he needs to say.
"I just – wanted – to say that I'm sorry. For putting everyone through this again."
"Yeah, I know you are, kid," Bobby answers, his voice more kind and warm then Dean's ever heard it. "And it's okay. Dean told me what went down. Gettin' affected by a horseman of the damn apocalypse isn't somethin' you can fight against."
"Yeah, well, still," Sam says quietly, "it must suck for you guys to have to lock me up and everything, so … I'm sorry."
"I ain't gonna lie, you gave us a real good scare. You two chuckleheads are all I got left in this ol' world."
There's silence ringing in the room and Dean can just picture Sam nodding contritely and staring at the floor.
"But you're okay," Bobby continues abruptly, "so we can put this whole mess behind us now, move on to the next one."
Sam still says nothing, and Dean imagines maybe now he's picking at a loose thread near his knee and hiding behind his bangs like he does when he's beating himself up on the inside, but doesn't want anyone to know how upset he really is. There's pretty much only two ways to get Sam happy again when he gets like that, and changing the subject is the option Dean chooses because Bobby definitely wouldn't be okay with the other one. Dean almost laughs at that – the idea of bursting in there, throwing his brother down onto the kitchen table and ravishing him, and watching the old man freak the fuck out – but actually, on second thought, that really isn't funny at all. It's more like halfway between hot and really, just, no.
"Smells great!" he says loudly, clapping his hands together and walking brusquely into the room.
"Just scrambled eggs and bacon, nothing to write home about," Bobby answers gruffly, setting a third plate down on the table.
"Well that's lucky, since we don't have a home," Dean jokes.
Dean gets two separate 'that is not funny' looks thrown at him at the same time, and even though Bobby and Sam don't look anything alike, their faces are almost carbon copies of each other for a moment. Dean holds back a chuckle, because he's pretty sure he's the only one who finds that amusing.
"Ah, well, good to see we're all in a bad mood this morning," he cracks, smiling at the glare on Bobby's face.
"Just eat your damn breakfast," the man grumbles and then rolls his chair back to the stove to turn it off.
Dean takes a glance to make sure Bobby's back is turned, and then presses a quick kiss to the top of Sam's head. "I'm proud of you," he whispers in Sam's ear.
Sam smiles up at him, and while he's still got sad eyes, there's the hint of a real smile in there too, and that dulls the ache in Dean's gut just a bit. Then Dean sits down beside him and takes a few bites of the surprisingly good meal.
"This is pretty damn good, Bobby. Since when do you cook?" Dean asks with a raised eyebrow.
"Since I've become Ironside and can't do damn near anything else."
"Ah, so you can't beat demons and vampires anymore," Dean says with a 'who-cares' wave of his hand. "At least now you beat a mean egg."
Sam chokes on a laugh, spiraling into a coughing fit as Bobby brandishes a wooden spoon threateningly at Dean.
"You don't watch it, boy, I might just beat you."
Dean smiles as cheekily as he can manage while Sam snorts into his eggs, and Bobby shakes his head and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like 'Idjit'.
They finished their breakfast mostly in silence, but every so often Dean reached over to brush his fingers on Sam's thigh under the table. It made Sam smile every time, but honesty, that's not why Dean did it. Almost everything he ever does is for Sam, but that one act was entirely selfish. The whole world just seemed to be crumbing on him lately, and then coming so close to losing Sam last night has him a little bit more shaken than he's comfortable admitting. He could see Sam in his peripheral vision and he could hear Sam swallowing so he knew his brother was there, but he still kept feeling the need to make absolutely sure. He really hopes Sam didn't know that's what he was doing, because it's so needy and pathetic that he cringes even admitting it to himself. But then, as they did the dishes together, Sam kept bumping his shoulder against Dean's, so maybe Sam needs to be reassured just as much as Dean does.
Now, Dean's sitting on the fraying couch in the living room, watching Sam help Bobby put the dishes away. They're chatting easily and Dean's completely content to just watch. He doesn't really have the energy for small-talk right now. He feels a slight gust of air and hears a faint fluttery sound that he should know too well by now, and even though he knows what's coming half a second before it does it still manages to startle him when Castiel's deep monotone sounds behind him.
"Hello Dean."
Dean huffs a half-annoyed-half-amused laugh. "You do that on purpose, don't you?"
"I apologize. I considered knocking on the door, but I wanted to speak to you privately before Bobby and Sam were aware of my presence."
Well, that can't be good. "Okay, what's up?"
Dean feels Cas's weight sinking onto the sofa beside him but doesn't move his gaze from the kitchen because now Bobby's telling what sounds like a dirty joke, and Sam is actually laughing. It's been way, way too long since Dean's heard Sam laugh.
"How is he?" Cas asks quietly.
Dean isn't gonna say it, but it's sort of making him feel a little warm on the inside that Cas seems to suddenly care so much about Sam. He'd seen the same sentiment echoed on Sam's face earlier when Bobby mentioned that Cas was planning on coming back to check on him.
"He's alright I guess," Dean shrugs.
"Has he been sick?"
Dean shakes his head. "Don't think so. Is that good?"
"I imagine so, although I'm hardly an expert on the subject. I've never met another human in this situation."
Dean tears his eyes away from his brother to stare incredulously behind himself at the angel. "Never? Like, never?"
Cas shakes his head, eyebrows knit in confusion at Dean's obvious astonishment. "An addiction to demon blood is not exactly a common-place ailment, Dean, surely you knew that."
"Course I knew that, but, I figured, I mean, you're telling me Sam's the only person who's ever … ever?"
"The only one I've ever heard of," Cas answers. "I cannot speak for my brothers, but I'm not exactly able to walk back into heaven and ask them."
Dean shakes his head in disbelief. "Shit. There really isn't a god-damn thing normal about us, is there?"
"The two of you are rather extraordinary," Cas agrees solemnly.
"Yeah." Dean exhales sharply through his nose. "Guess I'll take that as a compliment."
A really freakin' twisted one, he doesn't say out loud.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, watching as Bobby takes a book from off the counter and opens it on the kitchen table, and then Sam leans over to read whatever Bobby's pointing at.
"He looks well enough," Cas comments after a long moment.
Dean nods, that dull ache returning in the pit of his stomach. "He said he was a bit shaky, and he's bruised all to hell cause I didn't remember to tie him down. But I think he's gonna be okay."
"And how are you?" Cas asks.
Dean shrugs again and focuses intently on the fraying rug near his feet. "I'm okay too. Yesterday was shitty but it's done now, so."
"Will the two of you be alright?"
"Yeah, sure," Dean says nonchalantly. "Just gotta keep the kid away from bleeding demons and we'll be fine."
Dean can feel Cas's gaze boring into the side of his skull. "You know that isn't what I meant."
Of course Dean knows what Cas meant, but he's pretty damn sure he doesn't want to have this conversation. He considers brushing the whole thing off like it was nothing, like he normally would – shrugging casually and spouting some drivel about how they just need to keep at it and everything will work out. Even in his mind the words taste like a lie, but hell, isn't that what he does? He lies and he pretends and he pushes people away when they try to get close to him. And besides, if he was right about what the angel did or didn't see last night, this little chat is probably heading somewhere he really, really doesn't want to go. But deep down he knows it's useless to lie to Castiel. Somehow he always knows when Dean's lying, as annoying as that is. Regardless of what Dean says he knows Cas wouldn't call him out on it, but damn it, he's sick of lying and acting like everything's okay. Nothing's okay right now.
"I don't know," Dean says heavily. "I really don't."
Cas nods wordlessly, and Dean is compelled to keep going, if only because the ringing silence is worse.
"I mean, I hope so, but … all the shit me and Sam have been through lately … it's not exactly easy to bounce back from."
"Dean, the horsemen are very powerful – " Cas begins, but Dean cuts him off.
"God, I know that! Why does everybody – ?" He glances quickly over to the kitchen to make sure they aren't being overheard. He's pretty damn irritated by the fact that all three of them; Sam, Bobby, and now even Cas; all assumed he'd be angry at Sam after yesterday. He's not that much of an asshole! And then he realizes that it's more so a sad commentary on the kind of person he seems to have become – the kind of person who'd think being mad at Sam was more important than taking care of him.
"Look, I'm not blaming him, Cas, just – everything's really messed up with us right now, that's all, and not just because of what happened yesterday."
"You know that he loves you, don't you?"
Dean's knee twitches and he can feel heat rising in his cheeks. This is going to be ridiculously awkward, no matter which way he plays it.
"Yeah, I know that," he sighs, squeezing the bridge of his nose. He really wishes he could just sink into the floor right now so he doesn't have to ask the question that's burning the back of his throat. He'd like more than anything to just ignore it and go on believing it's just his and Sam's dirty little secret and pretending that they won't be spending the rest of forever in the pit for what they do together in the darkness. But he knows what he saw on Cas's face last night, and he's so damn tired of pretending; he's just … tired.
"You – know about us, huh?" he mutters.
"You're referring to the homosexual relationship that you have with Sam?" Cas asks in that blunt, straight-shooter way of his, and Dean bristles.
"Jesus," he breathes, "yeah, that's what – but god, don't, don't just say things like that." Dean chuckles nervously and scratches at the back of his neck.
Cas cocks his head and his blue eyes go wide and confused. "Are you embarrassed by it?"
"Am I – n-no, not …" Dean stutters. "I just, I mean, aren't you supposed to be condemning us to eternal hellfire or something right about now?"
"Why?" Cas has this utterly perplexed look all over his face, and it would be hilarious if Dean wasn't so uncomfortable.
"Because, you know," Dean gestures vaguely with his hand, "brothers, the bible or whatever."
"I'm not the one who decides whether people go to heaven or hell, Dean," Cas says simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Yeah, but … I mean, you don't … care?"
"Why should I care? When I was assigned to you, my job was to keep you safe and whole for Michael. As far as I can tell your carnal relationship with your brother causes you no physical harm, so I see no reason to be bothered by it," Cas recites evenly, like he's a newscaster reading off a cue card, and that isn't really the kind of answer Dean was hoping for.
He blows out an exasperated breath. "Yeah, alright. Whatever."
"I've upset you again."
"No, just …" Dean sighs for what feels like the millionth time today, and it isn't even noon. He scrubs a hand over his face and can't quite hold back a small growl of frustration. "Could you just shut the damn angel manual for half a second here and talk to me as, like, my friend?"
Castiel is silent for a moment as he considers Dean. "As your friend. Alright," he begins, with a hint of quiet determination in his voice as if he isn't quite sure how to just be someone's friend but really wants to try anyway. "Well, as your friend, I am aware that a relationship such as yours is unusual and that perhaps it would disturb others, but it doesn't disturb me. You live a difficult life, Dean. I think you deserve the chance to have some happiness and most of the time Sam seems to be the only thing that brings you any."
Dean's suddenly a bit shell-shocked, so he just nods.
"He also seems to bring you a lot of unhappiness," Cas adds, "and while I'm not sure how those two emotions can coexist, I believe that's just something I'm not able to understand."
And wow, if that doesn't just define their whole damn, screwed-up relationship in an irritatingly simple way that only Cas could come up with.
"Tell me about it," Dean laughs weakly.
"How could I tell you about something I don't understand?" Cas looks at him quizzically, but Dean just shakes his head dismissively, throwing an implied 'never mind' between them. There's no point in trying to explain the vernacular.
"It's just an expression."
"Oh, I see." Cas nods thoughtfully.
Dean scratches uneasily at the back of his neck. He hated having to have this conversation, but he's really freakin' grateful it turned out the way it did, even if it was all kinds of embarrassing. Cas has been an extremely strange presence in Dean's life in the year and a half that they've known each other; showing up randomly with weird news or tasks for him and Sam that Dean can always tell Cas wishes he didn't have to ask of them. He can be frustrating, probably the most frustrating friend Dean's ever had. But then he makes jokes without realizing it and tries his best to be empathetic, and really, honestly tries to care about Sam even though it's Dean he's connected to, and Dean has to admit that he likes the man a lot. He'd been really dreading having this conversation because he wasn't sure how he'd deal with it if Cas wasn't okay about everything.
"Cas … thanks."
"You're welcome. You should continue to have a sexual relationship with Sam and not worry that it bothers me."
Dean chokes on a noise in his throat that's halfway between a laugh and a shudder. "And now it's awkward again," he says, clapping Cas on the back. "Did the best you could, big guy. C'mon, lets go see Sam and Bobby."