To The Waters And The Wild part 17
5/18/09 02:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle:To The Waters And The Wild
Fandom:SpN
Author:roxy
PairingsDean/Sam
Rating:R
Word Count: 2284
The next night, Sam was too restless to sleep. He felt like his skin was shrinking on his bones—he was worried, excited, hopeful—too full. He kept imagining Dean, sweating, twisting in the sheets, restless like he was. Needing—air, something. Touch. Something to ground him.
Sam pushed himself off the couch and walked to the bedroom, slowly. His throat was dry; the damn apartment was so hot it was hard to breathe. He tapped on the bedroom door, stepped in without waiting for a response, and Dean was leaning back against his pillows, top sheet and blanket pulled up to his t-shirt covered chest. Sam recognized it as one of his, a little loose in the arms for Dean, and that made his breath hitch….
Dean looked pleased to see Sam in the door way, nothing in his smile except the small pleasure at seeing him. "Sam. Hey. You not having much luck chasing sleep either—"
Sam shook his head, and climbed into the bed with Dean without speaking. Dean huffed, but not in an unfriendly way, and they jockeyed about for space for a few seconds, elbows and knees fighting for position until they finally settled comfortably.
"You excited about the trip?" Sam stroked Dean's arm where it lay out of the covers, and listened to his breathing even out, slow. He was quiet, and Sam had started to think he'd fallen asleep already when he spoke.
"Yeah. I am. I remember…I did always kind of like the traveling part. Didn’t like staying in one place too long."
Sam said, "I bet I know why, too," and Dean chuckled.
"C'mon Sam, was I all that bad?"
"Unh-hunh. What do you remember about back then—when we were kids?" Sam moved a little closer and nudged his knees under the back of Dean's, curled so he could rest his head in the dip between Dean's shoulder blades.
"I remember weird things, I think. Like…I remember Lucky Charms…liking them, I mean. You did too. Sometimes, when you were being a little shit, I'd give you my marshmallow bits to shut you up."
Sam nodded, felt his hair brush against Dean's back. "You didn’t like them," he said.
"That's what I told you," Dean said, his voice low and bland, relaxed. "If you'd known, you would have made that bitch face—you hated when I did stuff like that."
Sam stilled for a moment. Sure he'd known, he'd just not…*known*. "It's just that you never took anything for yourself—you acted like you were, but it didn't take a genius to figure out what you were doing, Dean." He rolled his forehead in that dip between Dean's wide, cotton-clad shoulders, felt Dean's shoulders shake a little with a stifled chuckle.
"Yeah, well, Dad woulda had my hide if I didn't keep you in check, which for some reason meant 'make Sam happy, no matter what it takes, for cryin' out loud'—not like you were some kind of whining little buzzsaw of self-pity, or anything." He nudged Sam with an elbow, and patted the hand Sam had clasped over Dean's waist, to let him know he there was nothing mean intended in what he'd said. "I didn't mind, though. Don’t you ever think I did."
"I know. Dean…I'm sorry." He fully expected Dean to know what he meant—there was only the one big thing between them, only one event that hadn't been spoken of between them. But Dean surprised him.
"For what, Sam? We have nothing to apologize for. Do we?" And he sounded so genuinely puzzled that Sam drew back, ignoring Dean's small sound of discomfort.
"Dean. Do you remember that time, when I went away?"
"Went away? I don't…" Dean was silent for a long moment and Sam was afraid that he'd unsettled Dean too much, enough to make him go into one of his unpredictable states, was sure he had, when Dean began to shudder.
"Sam—" Dean's voice shook a little with the tremors that wracked him, but he settled after a few minutes. "Sam, I'm don't remember. Maybe…maybe later."
Sam stroked his arm some more, and made soothing sounds…cursed himself for thinking that because Dean acted more like himself, that all was well, when he should know better. Dean was there, and trying, sure--but a lot of his Dean-ness was a thin veneer Dean wrapped around a person struggling to pull themselves out of the memory of hell, one painful day at a time…"Love you Dean," he whispered, nearly silently against his brother's back.
"You too," came the sleepy answer, and Sam smiled and took it down into sleep with him.
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
Air roared past them through the rolled-down windows, cool and fresh, and Sam felt himself grinning into the wind like a gigantic dork, but for the first time in a long, long time, he felt—whole. He glanced over at Dean—and safe. Stupid, but true. Sitting in the car, with Dean smirking in the seat next to him, knee nudged up against Sam's hip, dollar store Ray-Ban knock-offs covering his eyes and the collar of that ancient, beat up leather coat pulled up around his face…it felt right, at last.
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
They'd been on the road for a while, out of the city and into the outskirts and in that almost total dark between the lights of towns, only the moon and stars, the headlights of the Impala sweeping over the ground and bouncing off the landscape providing any kind of illumination. A few hours went by before the sky began to glow again with artificial light. Signs let them know they were entering a small town. The headlights dimmed and the moon faded--the night sky suddenly exploded into color.
Multi-colored lights flashed and glowed, drowning out the stars overhead. Dean tilted his head toward them—towards the recorded sound of calliopes bleating out of a PA system. "Hey Sam, look—there's a fair over there." He looked kind of wistful, and Sam smiled to himself.
"You want to check it out? We need to stretch anyway."
Dean nodded, his eyes roaming over the site, wistful gone and an alert expression in its place. Sam could almost list what he was doing: checking exit-ways, checking cover, looking for any suspicious movements.
Sam angled the Impala into a space and cut the engine. A barely audible sniff caught Sam's attention, and he looked over, just as Dean jerked his chin up, and inhaled again. He had such a look of concentration, that it struck Sam as odd.
"What are you doing?
Dean started guiltily, looked confused for a moment before smiling. "Um…hungry? Smells like hotdogs—you know, fair food." He stopped and shot Sam a dazzling smile—so bright Sam blinked, startled. "Love it," Dean said.
Sam stopped himself from shaking his head, and just grinned back. Yeah, Dean really did. "Okay, great—maybe they have those giant bags of cotton candy, remember?"
Dean looked puzzled for as moment, and then flushed an angry red. "Shut up."
Sam laughed, "You puked pink for days, man!"
"You're exaggerating," Dean huffed. "Hours—tops."
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
They headed out to the field the fair was set up in, and along the way, Sam looped an arm around Dean's neck and Dean smiled—and shrugged him off.
"Samantha. I'm fine, I don’t need a handler."
Sam was about to explain that he'd had his arm around him because it felt good, but internal censors kicked in. He laughed in relief. "Gotcha. No baby-sitting."
Stepping onto the fair grounds brought a wash of conflicting feeling—Sam remembered fairs from when he was a kid--a teen--walking arm in arm with girls he barely knew, sometimes alone, sometimes catching sight of Dean. Who, if he saw Sam, would always wink, but walk away…fairs were good times, and they were bad times, were the site of defeat. Loose the girl, get ignored by his brother, teased by his friends…fairs.
They wandered in and out of the crowd, Dean thumbing through a fistful of tickets, and Sam trying to be unobtrusive about holding Dean's arm, or hand, or sleeve, whatever he could get. They slid around and through the crowd, watching people, watching each other…Sam bought Dean a hotdog and a coke, and Dean pointedly refused a bag of cotton candy. They pretended that they really were just taking in the sights, tourists out for fun, out to enjoy themselves.
They spent nearly an hour walking the fair, moving through clots of people, wandering around the rides, Sam making sure the fair was just a fair, Dean looking for Sam had no idea what, and then Sam decided that as long as they were there, they needed to take a ride on the Ferris wheel that dominated the park. The high wheel was trimmed with splashes of neon, flashing on and off and lighting up the night. Sam stumbled to a stop a few feet from the ride; Dean was behind him but tried to move past. Sam heard him growl, a soft warning to whatever had made Sam stop so abruptly. Sam turned quickly, and smiled, trying to project reassurance. "Ready to ride?"
Dean lifted an eyebrow, snorted, and Sam laughed softly, blushing a little. He turned his attention back to the ride. Everything was fine, perfectly fine…it was just, for a second, the people waiting in line had looked unreal, like corpses, or vampires. Brown skin gone gray, white skin bled out to blue-white, under the brightly acidic light flooding the ticket-taker's stand.
The ticket-taker leaned forward when it was time to take a ticket from Dean's hand, his kohl smudged, whiskey colored eyes sweeping Dean from head to toe hungrily, black hair like crow's wings fluttered across his face. He took the bright red ticket strip from Dean's hands and managed to brush his fingertips as he did…smiled right into Dean's eyes and when it was Sam's turn, he held his tickets out to the guy and said, "Christo."
The guy looked at him with a puzzled smile. "…'xcuse me?"
Sam frowned and curled his fingers around Dean's shoulder, and Black Hair shrugged. "Buckle up," and lifted the bar so they could get in the car.
It rose up into the night, Sam's stomach swooped and rolled, and Dean threw his head back and laughed, grabbing at Sam's arm. The tilt and shudder of the car made them bump against each other, thighs rubbed, shoulders rubbed as they swooped upwards. Dean's hands were tight on the bar holding them in, and despite his laughter, his knuckles were white with effort. Sam reached over and laid his hand on top of Dean's, rubbed the thin white scars inching out of his sleeves and over the back of his hands and around his knuckles, until his grip loosened….
The ride was surprisingly nice, just as Sam had hoped it would be--like revisiting a real good memory, and then Dean tilted his head towards Sam and broke his heart.
"Sam…aren't you tired of taking care of me, instead of how it's supposed to be?"
"What? No, I'm not, and besides, I'm hardly taking care of you, it's not like you need it…" Sam looked at his brother and willed him to see right into his heart. "Even if I were…it's only fair we get to trade jobs from time to time, don’t you think?"
Dean was looking out over the fairground, the lights made his face into a mosaic of colors, except for the flat jade coins of his eyes. "I guess," he whispered.
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
"…at the beep, an' I'll get back to ya."
"Hey, Bobby. How's it going? Um…I'm outside of Herndon, ah, I ah. Be at the cabin probably in a day or two. I'll call. Trip is going good. Anyway, I'm surprised you're not home right now. What's up? Any jobs come your way lately? I'm kind of looking forward to catching up. Yeah, yeah, I know. It's just…time. I think. Okay, take care. Talk to you soon."
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
Dean lay on his back, hands folded over his chest and on the bed next to him, Sam imitated his position. It was hot in the room, the air conditioner was ancient, and it wheezed out lukewarm air as its fans rattled and groaned loud enough to nearly drown out the TV set. Not that Sam cared, the show was stupid, some 'ghost hunters' who couldn't find a ghost with both hands and a corpse. Dean watched them and quietly recited rituals for putting ghosts to rest to himself, different ways to destroy violent spirits. He murmured the steps to breaking down and cleaning a gun, and Sam smiled. It was their family version of a bedtime story, pulled out of the past. He let his eyes close, and the steady, low drone of Dean's voice sent him into sleep.
In the middle of the night, he woke to the feel of something slick and wet rolling down his thigh, soaking into the bed sheets. Blood, he thought at first—froze. come? He fumbled awake, his head cleared and he realized with relief what it was. Sweat, just sweat. At every point they touched, sweat built up, overflowed with each slight shift. He murmured his brother's name, and felt a dim sense of shame that knowing it was Dean's sweat dripping down his thighs made him ache…knowing Dean was touching him, skin to skin, made his dick hard. Sam sighed, and moved so they weren't plastered to each other any more. Still, sweat inched down his belly and soaked into the waist of his boxers….
He was awake until dawn.
part 18
TBC
Fandom:SpN
Author:roxy
PairingsDean/Sam
Rating:R
Word Count: 2284
The next night, Sam was too restless to sleep. He felt like his skin was shrinking on his bones—he was worried, excited, hopeful—too full. He kept imagining Dean, sweating, twisting in the sheets, restless like he was. Needing—air, something. Touch. Something to ground him.
Sam pushed himself off the couch and walked to the bedroom, slowly. His throat was dry; the damn apartment was so hot it was hard to breathe. He tapped on the bedroom door, stepped in without waiting for a response, and Dean was leaning back against his pillows, top sheet and blanket pulled up to his t-shirt covered chest. Sam recognized it as one of his, a little loose in the arms for Dean, and that made his breath hitch….
Dean looked pleased to see Sam in the door way, nothing in his smile except the small pleasure at seeing him. "Sam. Hey. You not having much luck chasing sleep either—"
Sam shook his head, and climbed into the bed with Dean without speaking. Dean huffed, but not in an unfriendly way, and they jockeyed about for space for a few seconds, elbows and knees fighting for position until they finally settled comfortably.
"You excited about the trip?" Sam stroked Dean's arm where it lay out of the covers, and listened to his breathing even out, slow. He was quiet, and Sam had started to think he'd fallen asleep already when he spoke.
"Yeah. I am. I remember…I did always kind of like the traveling part. Didn’t like staying in one place too long."
Sam said, "I bet I know why, too," and Dean chuckled.
"C'mon Sam, was I all that bad?"
"Unh-hunh. What do you remember about back then—when we were kids?" Sam moved a little closer and nudged his knees under the back of Dean's, curled so he could rest his head in the dip between Dean's shoulder blades.
"I remember weird things, I think. Like…I remember Lucky Charms…liking them, I mean. You did too. Sometimes, when you were being a little shit, I'd give you my marshmallow bits to shut you up."
Sam nodded, felt his hair brush against Dean's back. "You didn’t like them," he said.
"That's what I told you," Dean said, his voice low and bland, relaxed. "If you'd known, you would have made that bitch face—you hated when I did stuff like that."
Sam stilled for a moment. Sure he'd known, he'd just not…*known*. "It's just that you never took anything for yourself—you acted like you were, but it didn't take a genius to figure out what you were doing, Dean." He rolled his forehead in that dip between Dean's wide, cotton-clad shoulders, felt Dean's shoulders shake a little with a stifled chuckle.
"Yeah, well, Dad woulda had my hide if I didn't keep you in check, which for some reason meant 'make Sam happy, no matter what it takes, for cryin' out loud'—not like you were some kind of whining little buzzsaw of self-pity, or anything." He nudged Sam with an elbow, and patted the hand Sam had clasped over Dean's waist, to let him know he there was nothing mean intended in what he'd said. "I didn't mind, though. Don’t you ever think I did."
"I know. Dean…I'm sorry." He fully expected Dean to know what he meant—there was only the one big thing between them, only one event that hadn't been spoken of between them. But Dean surprised him.
"For what, Sam? We have nothing to apologize for. Do we?" And he sounded so genuinely puzzled that Sam drew back, ignoring Dean's small sound of discomfort.
"Dean. Do you remember that time, when I went away?"
"Went away? I don't…" Dean was silent for a long moment and Sam was afraid that he'd unsettled Dean too much, enough to make him go into one of his unpredictable states, was sure he had, when Dean began to shudder.
"Sam—" Dean's voice shook a little with the tremors that wracked him, but he settled after a few minutes. "Sam, I'm don't remember. Maybe…maybe later."
Sam stroked his arm some more, and made soothing sounds…cursed himself for thinking that because Dean acted more like himself, that all was well, when he should know better. Dean was there, and trying, sure--but a lot of his Dean-ness was a thin veneer Dean wrapped around a person struggling to pull themselves out of the memory of hell, one painful day at a time…"Love you Dean," he whispered, nearly silently against his brother's back.
"You too," came the sleepy answer, and Sam smiled and took it down into sleep with him.
Air roared past them through the rolled-down windows, cool and fresh, and Sam felt himself grinning into the wind like a gigantic dork, but for the first time in a long, long time, he felt—whole. He glanced over at Dean—and safe. Stupid, but true. Sitting in the car, with Dean smirking in the seat next to him, knee nudged up against Sam's hip, dollar store Ray-Ban knock-offs covering his eyes and the collar of that ancient, beat up leather coat pulled up around his face…it felt right, at last.
They'd been on the road for a while, out of the city and into the outskirts and in that almost total dark between the lights of towns, only the moon and stars, the headlights of the Impala sweeping over the ground and bouncing off the landscape providing any kind of illumination. A few hours went by before the sky began to glow again with artificial light. Signs let them know they were entering a small town. The headlights dimmed and the moon faded--the night sky suddenly exploded into color.
Multi-colored lights flashed and glowed, drowning out the stars overhead. Dean tilted his head toward them—towards the recorded sound of calliopes bleating out of a PA system. "Hey Sam, look—there's a fair over there." He looked kind of wistful, and Sam smiled to himself.
"You want to check it out? We need to stretch anyway."
Dean nodded, his eyes roaming over the site, wistful gone and an alert expression in its place. Sam could almost list what he was doing: checking exit-ways, checking cover, looking for any suspicious movements.
Sam angled the Impala into a space and cut the engine. A barely audible sniff caught Sam's attention, and he looked over, just as Dean jerked his chin up, and inhaled again. He had such a look of concentration, that it struck Sam as odd.
"What are you doing?
Dean started guiltily, looked confused for a moment before smiling. "Um…hungry? Smells like hotdogs—you know, fair food." He stopped and shot Sam a dazzling smile—so bright Sam blinked, startled. "Love it," Dean said.
Sam stopped himself from shaking his head, and just grinned back. Yeah, Dean really did. "Okay, great—maybe they have those giant bags of cotton candy, remember?"
Dean looked puzzled for as moment, and then flushed an angry red. "Shut up."
Sam laughed, "You puked pink for days, man!"
"You're exaggerating," Dean huffed. "Hours—tops."
They headed out to the field the fair was set up in, and along the way, Sam looped an arm around Dean's neck and Dean smiled—and shrugged him off.
"Samantha. I'm fine, I don’t need a handler."
Sam was about to explain that he'd had his arm around him because it felt good, but internal censors kicked in. He laughed in relief. "Gotcha. No baby-sitting."
Stepping onto the fair grounds brought a wash of conflicting feeling—Sam remembered fairs from when he was a kid--a teen--walking arm in arm with girls he barely knew, sometimes alone, sometimes catching sight of Dean. Who, if he saw Sam, would always wink, but walk away…fairs were good times, and they were bad times, were the site of defeat. Loose the girl, get ignored by his brother, teased by his friends…fairs.
They wandered in and out of the crowd, Dean thumbing through a fistful of tickets, and Sam trying to be unobtrusive about holding Dean's arm, or hand, or sleeve, whatever he could get. They slid around and through the crowd, watching people, watching each other…Sam bought Dean a hotdog and a coke, and Dean pointedly refused a bag of cotton candy. They pretended that they really were just taking in the sights, tourists out for fun, out to enjoy themselves.
They spent nearly an hour walking the fair, moving through clots of people, wandering around the rides, Sam making sure the fair was just a fair, Dean looking for Sam had no idea what, and then Sam decided that as long as they were there, they needed to take a ride on the Ferris wheel that dominated the park. The high wheel was trimmed with splashes of neon, flashing on and off and lighting up the night. Sam stumbled to a stop a few feet from the ride; Dean was behind him but tried to move past. Sam heard him growl, a soft warning to whatever had made Sam stop so abruptly. Sam turned quickly, and smiled, trying to project reassurance. "Ready to ride?"
Dean lifted an eyebrow, snorted, and Sam laughed softly, blushing a little. He turned his attention back to the ride. Everything was fine, perfectly fine…it was just, for a second, the people waiting in line had looked unreal, like corpses, or vampires. Brown skin gone gray, white skin bled out to blue-white, under the brightly acidic light flooding the ticket-taker's stand.
The ticket-taker leaned forward when it was time to take a ticket from Dean's hand, his kohl smudged, whiskey colored eyes sweeping Dean from head to toe hungrily, black hair like crow's wings fluttered across his face. He took the bright red ticket strip from Dean's hands and managed to brush his fingertips as he did…smiled right into Dean's eyes and when it was Sam's turn, he held his tickets out to the guy and said, "Christo."
The guy looked at him with a puzzled smile. "…'xcuse me?"
Sam frowned and curled his fingers around Dean's shoulder, and Black Hair shrugged. "Buckle up," and lifted the bar so they could get in the car.
It rose up into the night, Sam's stomach swooped and rolled, and Dean threw his head back and laughed, grabbing at Sam's arm. The tilt and shudder of the car made them bump against each other, thighs rubbed, shoulders rubbed as they swooped upwards. Dean's hands were tight on the bar holding them in, and despite his laughter, his knuckles were white with effort. Sam reached over and laid his hand on top of Dean's, rubbed the thin white scars inching out of his sleeves and over the back of his hands and around his knuckles, until his grip loosened….
The ride was surprisingly nice, just as Sam had hoped it would be--like revisiting a real good memory, and then Dean tilted his head towards Sam and broke his heart.
"Sam…aren't you tired of taking care of me, instead of how it's supposed to be?"
"What? No, I'm not, and besides, I'm hardly taking care of you, it's not like you need it…" Sam looked at his brother and willed him to see right into his heart. "Even if I were…it's only fair we get to trade jobs from time to time, don’t you think?"
Dean was looking out over the fairground, the lights made his face into a mosaic of colors, except for the flat jade coins of his eyes. "I guess," he whispered.
"…at the beep, an' I'll get back to ya."
"Hey, Bobby. How's it going? Um…I'm outside of Herndon, ah, I ah. Be at the cabin probably in a day or two. I'll call. Trip is going good. Anyway, I'm surprised you're not home right now. What's up? Any jobs come your way lately? I'm kind of looking forward to catching up. Yeah, yeah, I know. It's just…time. I think. Okay, take care. Talk to you soon."
Dean lay on his back, hands folded over his chest and on the bed next to him, Sam imitated his position. It was hot in the room, the air conditioner was ancient, and it wheezed out lukewarm air as its fans rattled and groaned loud enough to nearly drown out the TV set. Not that Sam cared, the show was stupid, some 'ghost hunters' who couldn't find a ghost with both hands and a corpse. Dean watched them and quietly recited rituals for putting ghosts to rest to himself, different ways to destroy violent spirits. He murmured the steps to breaking down and cleaning a gun, and Sam smiled. It was their family version of a bedtime story, pulled out of the past. He let his eyes close, and the steady, low drone of Dean's voice sent him into sleep.
In the middle of the night, he woke to the feel of something slick and wet rolling down his thigh, soaking into the bed sheets. Blood, he thought at first—froze. come? He fumbled awake, his head cleared and he realized with relief what it was. Sweat, just sweat. At every point they touched, sweat built up, overflowed with each slight shift. He murmured his brother's name, and felt a dim sense of shame that knowing it was Dean's sweat dripping down his thighs made him ache…knowing Dean was touching him, skin to skin, made his dick hard. Sam sighed, and moved so they weren't plastered to each other any more. Still, sweat inched down his belly and soaked into the waist of his boxers….
He was awake until dawn.
part 18
TBC
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(no subject)
5/19/09 02:48 am (UTC)*gigglegiggle*