Chapter 3 Breaking the Rules
I do not own any of the characters, and I owe my Wincest sickness to one of the best writers I have ever had the privilege of reading, Candle Beck.
Step 3 happens in Adena, Ohio, two weeks after they brought the werewolf down and Dean came up with Rule Two.
Step Three is probably the most important step for Dean, because it is where everything becomes as clear as a placid pond in the middle of a dense, peaceful forest. The murkiness of his mind is suddenly afforded an insight that he needs and craves, that will doom him in the next instant.
The past two weeks had not been the easiest of Dean's life. Tortured soul never really suited him. That was more Sam's part to play.
Two weeks of constantly watching his every move, every gesture, every word uttered, every glance, and Dean was at once both exhausted in spirit, mind and body, and on the edge, ready to jump off. He was spoiling for a fight, but since the hunt they had chased to good old Adena hadn't worked out, and they couldn't find anywhere else to go just yet, he was stuck with only Sam as company and/or opponent.
Rules One and Two were firmly entrenched in Dean's psyche now, and he recited them over and over again like a calming mediation mantra. No looking Sam dead in the face, and no touching Sam if it could be avoided.
The two rules sound easy enough, but you try not looking at or touching the only human you have regular contact with that you spend every second of your life intertwined with.
So, yeah, Dean is pissy and tired, and frustrated and spoiling for a fight.
They are sitting at a high table in the middle of the room of a cheap, generic small town bar. Its 230 pm on a Tuesday so they are the only customers, with the exception of the old man sitting at the end of the bar nursing a glass of beer and playing cards with the overweight, mustached bartender.
Sam is on his laptop, frowning into the muted light it radiates, his head inside an article that might be something, but he isn't sure yet. Dean knows this because when he asked Sam if he had found anything, that is the response he got.
Dean downs his second shot of whiskey, enjoying the burn of it as it raced down his throat and warms his stomach. He is drinking a lot, and he knows it, but he has to be able to have some relief in this god awful situation he finds himself in the second he wakes up every morning. He is careful to keep it to a certain level, not trusting himself if he gets sloppy drunk. Drunk could mean the breaking or infraction of one of his rules, which he is now considering calling his lifelines.
Because Sam is concentrating so hard on his computer, Dean can look at him while keeping to his self imposed rules. Sam's hair has gotten even longer, falling in light, chestnut waves to his collar and Dean's fingers itch with wanting to brush it back from his forehead, so he actually half sits on one hand to keep it from happening, the other hand firmly clutching his drink at all times.
He notices how high Sam's cheekbones are, and how he bites his bottom lip as he types things into the computer. He is fascinated by Sam's long fingers and watches them endlessly while he works. He notices the gray soft fabric of Sam's tshirt pulled across his chest, articulating the muscular body it currently has the privilege of covering.
Dean has been staring at this kid most of his life, but he is only now seeing the true perfection of him.
Sam glances up at Dean suddenly catches his eye in what probably seems like a normal gaze to Sam, but for Dean it feels like he is crashing up on rocks in the sea. Dean slides his eyes away while he listens to Sam talk about the article he is reading, and hopes the kid won't notice.
Sam's voice rattles around in Dean's head, and he would never tell Sam this, but the sound of his voice is better than any music Dean has ever heard.
Sam lobs something at Dean vocally and Dean completely misses it, too involved in picking out exactly what part of Sam's voice is so amazing, and gets a kick under the table in true Sam fashion, which Dean immediately interprets as 'pay attention to me, dickhead'.
He manages a snappy comeback, surprising even himself with his ability to mask his own constant nagging, unbelievably weighted pain. He is rewarded with a 1000 watt smile from the face that he suddenly realizes is the only one that ever mattered.
A warmness breaks through Dean's chest so quickly, with such finality that he is sure he is about to break apart from the inside out, because there is no way in hell anyone could ever feel this much at one time and keep living. He feels the warmth spread through him, inching itself through every pore, every facet of his being, and Dean is suddenly blessed with a clearer mind than he has had since the moment he first saw Sam for the first time in the damned hotel in Butte.
Throughout these few weeks of constant minducking torture, the one thing Dean hasn't done is examine the reasons for the way he was feeling. He was too busy wanting to kill himself, drink them away, or pretend for up to one hour at a time that they didn't exist.
The moment he feels the warmth in him explode outward, Step Three is reached. Dean finally understands what is going on. It doesn't make it any better, because it is still the worst kind of torture, most awful thing to be feeling and thinking about constantly. But he finally gets it.
He has always loved his little brother. His life has been pretty much built around this fact, so the love isn't Step Three.
Dean has just realized that he is madly, irrevocably and totally in love with his brother. It was wrong, and it was terrible and it sucked worse than four months in fucking hell, but the innate happiness Dean feels swelling out of him is like a balloon being given too much air, and he grasped the edge of the table with the insane thought that he might fly away if he didn't anchor himself down.
He smiles wildly at Sam, breaking Rule One in the process, and sees a strange light in his brother's eye, before the smile is returned, at a dimmer wattage. Scared suddenly, Dean dials back the smile, hides it behind his beer glass, and his brain immediately comes up with Rule Three.
Rule Three is probably the simplest and hardest all at the same time. Sam can never know how Dean truly feels about him.
If anyone is actually reading this, please review, because I have no idea if it is making sense outside of my own tired, withered mind.