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mickeymHeaders, etc. in Part One.
~~~~~
The sun's long since gone down, so the only light in the room is coming from the lamp still on out in the living room. It's mostly dark in the room, the golden puddle stopping at the door, leaving the room in shadows. It's getting chillier, too, since Sam turned the thermostat back earlier, but he's not about to get out of bed for something that trivial. He can turn the heat up a notch whenever they actually get around to moving. Hopefully that might be some time next spring.
"This is what's nice," Sam says finally, shifting so he can curl closer to Dean. He rests his head carefully, not wanting to chance bumping the spreading bruise, and listens to Dean's heart beat slow and steadily.
"What's nice?" Dean's combing his fingers through Sam's hair – time to get a haircut, pretty soon – and it feels so good Sam thinks about purring. That might be a little weird, though. At least for the first time.
"Cuddling after." Sam nuzzles Dean's jaw, tastes the salt left there from sweat and probably spunk, his tongue tingling from whisker stubble. "Sex is great, don't get me wrong. But I miss—this."
"Mmm." Dean tilts his head back and makes a low, pleased sound in his throat when Sam licks over a mark he put there earlier. "We are so not cuddling, bitch."
That makes Sam smile. "Totally are, jerk."
"Whatever. This is just—sharing body heat. We'll both probably fall asleep any minute now."
"Uh-huh." Sam goes back to licking at the bruise he sucked into Dean's throat earlier, smiling every time Dean shivers. When Dean closes his eyes and pretends to snore, Sam pokes him in the belly, then leans down and blows a raspberry there, which gets him a snort and a poke in the side.
"You are so weird." Dean resumes combing his fingers through Sam's hair, smoothing it back behind one ear. "You gotta work tonight?"
"Nope. Wednesdays and Thursdays are my nights off – not busy enough. Once winter gets here, I'll probably be off on Sundays, too." That's not a cheerful thought, because it means he'll likely have to work the corner more, to make up for it.
Dean's stomach growls then, and Sam snickers and pokes him again, then traces gently over the bruise he can't see now, but knows is there.
"Ah." Dean winces, so Sam draws back.
"Too sore?"
"Little, yeah." Dean rubs the back of Sam's neck, then leans in to kiss him. "Kinda forgot about it, there for a while."
"Good."
They trade lazy kisses back and forth until Dean's stomach growls again, with Sam's following suit shortly after. Sam doesn't want to move, doesn't want to leave his bed ever again. Doesn't want to break whatever spell this is, or change things. He's happy right here, right now, in bed with Dean. Dean, who he didn't even know existed three days ago, and who breezed into town and into Sam's heart; who's probably going to take Sam's heart with him, when he leaves again.
"Hey." Dean cups his cheek, fingers warm and steady. "Where'd you go, Sammy? What's goin' on in that head of yours?"
"Nothin'," Sam manages, feeling like he almost sounds nonchalant. "Just trying to remember what I have in the house that's edible."
It's pretty clear from the noise Dean makes he doesn't believe Sam, but he doesn't call him on bullshit, either.
"We could get dressed, go out." Dean's shifting around now, and that's that. Spell's broken, moment's gone. Sam misses it already.
"It's cold and dark out, man." Sam shakes his head and reaches for the lamp beside the bed. "I’m pretty sure I have a pizza in the freezer—that work for you?"
"Pepperoni?" The hopeful note in Dean's voice makes Sam smile.
"Yeah, probably. You wanna get the shower started while I get the oven going? We could share, conserve water."
"Or we could share, and I could blow you under the water." Dean raises an eyebrow and Sam feels a new tingle of heat spread through him.
"Or that. I could even return the favor." He grins at Dean's expression. "Towels are in the closet in the hallway; help yourself."
"Will do." Though Dean doesn't appear to be planning to actually move right away, judging by how he settles back against the pillows to watch Sam move around the room.
"It'll take about ten minutes for the oven to heat up, before I can put the pizza in." Sam pulls on a pair of sweatpants left hanging over the closet door, and straightens up, stretching the kinks out of his back. "The water takes a few minutes to warm up, just so you know."
"Or, we could always shower after we eat, instead." Dean says casually, eyes lowered, face arranged into an innocent expression. Sam's not fooled by that at all.
"What, make sure the pizza doesn't burn while we're conserving water?"
A smug smile spreads across Dean's face, and he opens his eyes to wink at Sam. "Absolutely."
"All right. But we are eating first. Now I'm up and moving around, I'm starved." Sam hopes he has two frozen pizzas in the house, otherwise they might end up ordering some in, later. "There's another pair of sweats in my closet, if you want to put those on instead of your clothes. Until you've showered."
"Yeah, I might do that."
It occurs to Sam then that Dean might be stalling so Sam doesn't see him wincing and shaking once he starts moving. He frowns, considers offering a hand, then rejects that idea. He hasn't known the guy that long, but Dean doesn't strike him as the type who likes anything to show that could be perceived as a weakness—even if it's something like being sore and stiff after getting the crap kicked out of him by a, well, ghost.
That whole ghost business is going to take some getting used to. And a lot of answers from Dean.
"Oh, when you use the toilet, you have to jiggle the handle after you flush, or the chain gets stuck. See you in a few."
"Yep."
~~~~~
Sam's puttering around the kitchen, waiting for the red light to go off so the pizzas can go in. Maybe if he works a couple of extra nights – days, whatever – on the corner, he could get a little money saved up, and then maybe he could take a couple days off from everything and hang with Dean. Heh. Hang out in bed with Dean, fucking each other's brains out.
Or maybe Dean would just want to hang around here for a little while. If there's one…ghost…in town, there might be others, and he'd have something to hunt while Sam worked at the bar. And if Dean's as good at pool as he says, Sam might not need to work his corner for a couple weeks—
A hard hand lands on his shoulder and whirls him around; Sam almost knocks them both over trying to catch his balance, and glares at Dean. "Dude! What the hell?"
"Where'd you get this, Sam?"
Dean's holding up a picture Sam keeps stuck on the side of his dresser mirror. It's two boys – well, one boy, holding the other, who's just a baby. The little boy is grinning at the camera, looking proud and happy to be holding the baby. The back of the picture, Sam knows because he studied it over and over looking for any hints or clues about his family, says simply, "D & S, 10/83".
"Sam! Where?"
"It's mine," he says, staring at Dean. "That, and a note with my name on it were the only things with me when I was dropped off at the hospital. Why?"
"What's your name? Your full name?"
"Samuel John Winchester," Sam tells him, a weird sense of unease beginning to crawl through him. "Why, Dean?"
Dean sets the picture down on the kitchen table and fumbles his wallet open, then hands Sam a picture.
It's not the exact same picture – but it's close. Same room, same chair, same general feel. The same two boys, but this time there's a man in the picture as well, tall, with dark hair and laugh lines around his eyes like the crinkles Dean gets when he smiles, Sam thinks numbly. He's leaning over the back of the chair, big hands on the boy's shoulders, protective. Loving.
"Turn it over," Dean says, his voice sounding like it's far away and under water.
The back of the picture reads, "John, with Dean and Sammy. 10/83."
"Who—" Sam has to stop and clear his throat, and his voice still comes out rusty, uneven. "Who's John?"
"Our father." Dean clears his throat. "Our father, Sammy. Sam. You're—"
"—my brother," Sam finishes, staring down at the picture. When he looks up at Dean, he feels completely numb inside, though there's a wave of hysterical laughter climbing up his throat. He swallows over and over again until it's pushed back down again, though the effort makes his chest feel like it's going to burst open, trying to contain it.
In the space of three days' time, Sam's met the first guy he's ever felt an actual connection with, who treats him like a real person and not just some stupid kid who sucks dick for a living because he can't do anything else. He met Dean, who's smart, and funny, and dead sexy, and fucking hunts ghosts for a living. He met Dean, and he fell in love…with his brother.
Sam's ribs ache with the effort of breathing in and out.
"…thought you were dead," Dean's saying, when Sam can focus again on something besides breaking down. "He told me you were dead."
"What? Why? When?" Sam's glad there's a chair behind him when his knees give out, otherwise he'd be on his ass on the kitchen floor.
"Dad, told me you died. A few—few months after mom died. I dunno, you'd been sick, I think. Or he said you were sick. And we had to take you to the hospital—"
"Saints Mary and Elizabeth, in St. Louis, Missouri." Sam knows that name; he spent the first seven years of his life in and out of the orphanage by the same name, alternated with stints in foster homes.
There's so much information coming in, incomplete information like, their mom died? Of what? When? Obviously his dad -- their dad -- survived, lived, so why was he put in foster care? And Dean mentioned he had the Impala because his dad died, when and how did that happen--and God. Sam feels like his head's going to explode.
"Yeah." Dean puts the picture back in his wallet, fingers brushing tenderly over it. "Jesus. All those years—"
"I wondered," Sam says, thinking of dark days and darker nights. "I made up names for the boy. For you. Daniel, Douglas, David, Derrick. I never thought of 'Dean'—I don't know why. Guess I went with the names I heard, or knew." He glances up at Dean, at the beautiful face with brilliant, gorgeous eyes and the mouth that had kissed him and made him feel alive, at his brother, and sighs. "I used to pretend, for a long time, that someone was going to come. That there'd been a mistake, and someone was going to walk through the door and say, 'that's my brother!' and I'd get to leave wherever I was. I'd look at boys on the street and wonder if one of them was the boy in my picture, looking for me."
"I'm sorry, Sammy."
It's said quietly, almost a whisper, and it breaks Sam's heart more than anything else that's been said so far tonight.
"It's not--your fault," he says, blinking against the tears stinging his eyes. "You didn't. You didn't know."
Sam thinks Dean is the kind of guy (boyfriend, his mind whispers) who would be there, be good in a crisis. Clear-thinking, strong, take-charge. He'd be someone a person could lean on, count on.
And Sam can't lean on him. Can't have him.
"I'm gonna go--" Dean gestures toward the back of the house, and Sam nods.
"You can still shower, if you want. I'll--I'll stay out here."
Dean just shakes his head and leaves the room. He returns a few minutes later, quiet as a shadow, even wearing boots. He moves slowly, carefully, holding himself stiffly. Under the layers of clothes is a black-and-blue bruise that spreads over half his right side; Sam remembers tracing it, kissing around the edges of it, the muscles of Dean's stomach twitching and jumping under his lips and tongue.
"I don't want you to go," Sam says, standing when Dean just stays in the doorway. "Don't--don't go."
"I can't stay, Sammy." The look Dean gives him stops Sam in his tracks. "I want--I want things I can't have. I can't have you, not--we're brothers," he finishes, tone bleak.
"I know." And it's not fair. It's the most unfair thing in his life ever, because he's being robbed twice. Losing the brother he just found, and losing the lover he never knew he wanted.
"Here. If you need…anything. At all. Call me, okay?" Dean hands him a scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled on it, then reaches out and cups Sam's face. "Anything, any time. Sammy."
Sam nods.
One last touch, a whisper of a caress, and Dean's gone. Sam can still feel the warmth of that touch even after the sound of the Impala's engine has faded.
~~~~~
He doesn't call Dean. He wants to; he wants to badly. But the thought of talking to him, listening to that low, warm voice that he remembers saying his name with passion, with intent, it's too painful. So Sam texts him, instead. Not often, no pattern, just little random things from time-to-time.
Alice still talks about you. I think she's going to name her next cat 'Dean'.
Saw a black Chevy today. Like yours better.
Winter sucks. Going south next year.
I wonder if squirrels ever are afraid of heights?
Miss you. Think about you all the time.
Catch any ghosts lately? R u being careful?
Saw a guy today & thought it was you. He didn't turn around when I yelled your name.
He gets one text back in the midst of all of those, that simply says: miss u 2
The envelope shows up a couple days before Christmas, sent priority mail with a signature requested. Sam signs for it, curious, because the return address is somewhere he's never heard of out in Arizona and he doesn't know anyone from Arizona.
Inside the envelope are several stacks of bills, and a single sheet of paper, folded in half. Sam sets the money aside and opens the paper with shaking hands.
Sammy--
There's four thousand dollars in here. I want you to use it, so you can stay off the streets. Not because I don't think you can't take care of yourself. I know you can--and you did a damn good job of it for a whole lot of years.
Just use it to make things easier for you. Please.
Dean
It'd be really easy to let stubbornness get in the way here, and push the money aside. He can take care of himself, and he's done a perfectly fine job of it for years, now. Sam doesn't need Dean, or anyone else, coming in like that mythical knight-in-shining armor.
But. It's also a way to break the cycle he's been caught in for almost half his life, and Sam's not so stubborn that he can't see that.
He grabs his phone and hesitates, torn between wanting to call Dean, to hear his voice and talk to him -- ask him, hell, beg him to come back here. Come back not as a brother, but as the man Sam met and fell in love with. The man Sam still wants.
He types thank you. love you. come back please? and hits 'send'.
~~~~~
The GED test is in two days, and Sam's pretty damn sure he's going to ace it, no problems. He has brochures for about a dozen different colleges and universities, as well as some vocational programs spread across the kitchen table, Stanford and Harvard vying for space with Texas A&M, Ohio State and DeVry Technical Institute. His counselor at the Adult Ed Center assures him that student financial aid is available in a variety of different forms, from Pell Grants and scholarships, to student loans and work study programs.
It's been four months since Sam sent the text message to Dean. In that time he's had two more envelopes show up -- neither one with as much as the first one, but more than enough to help Sam make the bills and buy groceries on just his bartending salary, without having to work the corner any more. The last envelope had a piece of paper in it, as well, with just three words: love you, too.
No sign of Dean, though, and Sam struggles daily with the urge to send text after text, begging him. He did call once, and got Dean's voicemail, but no call came in return.
Next step after his exam is applying for college, and while they all look good Sam's been eyeing Stanford. California will be expensive as hell, but it's also a lot warmer in the winter than here in the glorious Midwest.
Occasionally, when he allows himself to get lost in romantic notions and ideas, or just plain old flights of fancy, Sam will imagine himself enrolled in classes at Stanford, and maybe working in the library or a local coffee shop. He imagines coming home after a long day of work and school to an apartment he shares with Dean, where they fix dinner together and argue over whose turn it is to do laundry, and fuck on every available surface in their home, then go to bed at night curled around each other.
It's a fanciful notion, maybe, but it's as vital to him right now as the idea of someone finding him was when he was younger. More vital, maybe, because the someone isn't nameless or faceless this time; Sam sees Dean constantly in his dreams.
He's lost in contemplation of the different schools -- Stanford is his first choice, but it doesn't hurt to consider the pros and cons for all of them -- and trying to figure out how much he'll need to meet monthly expenses in Palo Alto against financial aid prospects, when there's a sharp knock on the door.
Sam absolutely isn't expecting to open his door and see Dean standing there, hands in his pockets, a hopeful look on his face.
He's pretty sure Dean isn't expecting Sam to just grab him and pull him into a tight hug, nor to slam the door shut by way of pushing Dean up against it and kissing him frantically.
It's an absolutely perfect kiss, too, and Sam wants to drown in it. Wants to drown in the heat of Dean's mouth, in the quiet noises he's making in his throat, in the way his hands feel, cupping Sam's face and holding on tight. Sam whimpers when Dean draws back, but he doesn't go far, just settles better against the door and kisses Sam again, slow and gentle, tongue stroking and teasing and promising until they're both breathless.
"I'm so glad you came back," Sam says, biting at Dean's jaw, licking at each spot he nips. "Never shoulda let you go."
"Sam. God, Sammy." It's the way Dean says it, voice hitching, that breaks something open inside Sam, and he kisses Dean again, trying to pour into it everything he isn't sure he can say with words. "Wait--wait. Sam. Wait." Dean pushes him away just a little, just enough that he's looking straight at Sam, fingers tight around Sam's arms. "I just--I should've come back sooner, but I." He shakes his head. "This, I shouldn't want this. You're my brother, it's wrong, it's--"
Sam meets his gaze steadily. "I don't care. I want you, man. The rest of it? The world can go screw itself. We're not hurting anybody." He believes that, too. No one will ever have cause to know they're related, and it's no one's business but theirs anyway.
Dean blows out a breath, but nods. "Like I said, I shouldn't want this…but I do. And fuck everyone else."
"How 'bout I fuck you, instead?" Part of Sam wonders if it's too soon, throwing that out there, but the rest of him, the part that's pressed up against Dean and can feel how much Dean wants him…that part knows it's not.
"Yes." The word is barely audible. "Now." Dean's already reaching for his belt, and Sam realizes his hands are trembling when he reaches for his own.
"Bedroom," Sam says, jerking at the buttons on his jeans. "I wanna fuck you hard and fast, then lay you out and do it again slow." He pulls his shirt up and off, heat winding through him when Dean does the same. He's just as gorgeous as Sam remembers, long and lean, body strong and muscled. "No bruises," he says, reaching out to touch where the bruise covered Dean the last time. "That's good."
"I've been careful." Dean's pushing Sam backwards, one hand already working down inside Sam's jeans. "Fuck, I forgot how big you are."
They bump into the door frame, then clear the bedroom and hit the bed, Dean following Sam down so he's straddling him.
"Gonna ride you, Sammy," Dean says, shifting around so he can pull Sam's jeans off. "Suck you wet and then slide down on your dick. Jack myself off and come all over you when you shoot inside me."
Sam swallows roughly and pulls Dean down for a kiss, all teeth and biting, until he tastes the sharp tang of blood. Dean sucks his lip until Sam feels the sting where Dean's teeth nicked him. "You want me—"
"Bare." Dean nods.
"You sure?"
Green eyes meet his, Dean's gaze steady. "Got any reason we shouldn't?"
For just a minute the trust Dean's putting in him makes it hard for Sam to breathe, and he has to focus on that, on drawing a breath in and letting it out, before he can answer. "No."
"Good." Dean pauses, then leans in closer, mouth brushing against Sam's ear. "I won't regret it." He backs downward, holding Sam's gaze, until he reaches Sam's dick, rising up thick and hard, swollen head shining with slickness. "Fucking huge dick; felt it every time I sat down for days afterward, last time." He leans forward and licks over the head, teasing the ring with his tongue, flicking at the slit with just the tip until Sam wants to grab his head and grind up into his face.
It must show on his face, because Dean laughs, low and rough, and just that soft touch has Sam arching upward, straining to get that mouth on him again.
"Please," he says, hissing the word through his teeth. "Dean—"
"Patience, Sammy." Dean licks again, then leans back and laughs when Sam whines, "fuck patience, c'mon."
This time when Dean leans forward, he doesn't tease. He fits his mouth around Sam's dick and sucks him in, wet and sloppy and so good. Sam fucks his hips upward, gentle thrusts so he doesn't gag Dean, and whimpers when Dean just takes him deeper.
His head's spinning by the time Dean pulls off, and it isn't until Dean's moving over him and raising up that Sam realizes Dean's already ready -- body open and slick with lube, and holy shit.
"You got—you, before you got here—" He can't even make the words come out in any kind of sense, but it seems like he doesn't have to. Dean nods at him and shifts, and then he's sliding down, letting gravity help fit Sam inside him.
"Oh, Jesus," he moans, and Sam echoes it, because God. Like this he's completely bottomed out, filling Dean completely. Dean's so hot around him, the slick easing the way just enough for movement, but still tight enough for delicious friction. And every time Dean shifts Sam's ring moves, rubbing inside Dean, but rubbing Sam, too. It's almost like fucking and getting fucked all at once, and it makes hunger throb inside him, thick and hot.
Dean rides him slow and steady, then faster, each slide downward making both of them gasp. Sam holds Dean steady with one hand and strokes his dick with the other, feeling it throb with each stroke. The faster they fuck the faster Sam strokes him, until Dean's swelling, lengthening, his balls drawing upward toward his body. Sam holds Dean down on his dick while Dean comes, each spurt spattering across Sam's chest and belly, coating him in thick, creamy streaks of spunk.
He shakes through his own orgasm a few minutes later, Dean groaning above him while Sam thrusts up hard and fast. They hold still like that afterward, Dean laying forward, smearing his come between them while Sam's leaks out of Dean.
It's the first time he's ever had sex bare with anyone. Ever. Just the idea of it makes Sam feel a little dizzy, and a lot loved. Trusted.
"So glad you're back," he murmurs, sleepy and sated. He feels Dean's smile against his neck.
"Me too."
~~~~~
"So what do you think about California?" They're having a late-afternoon snack of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup – snack, because Sam still has to work in a couple hours, and he'll have dinner then.
"What do I think what about California?" Dean's slurping his soup out of a mug, because Sam only has one bowl and Dean insisted he didn't care what the soup was in, so long as he got some.
"Well, as a place to stay. Live. I was thinking—looking at schools there."
Dean pauses in his slurping and gives Sam a sharp look. "You were? Since when?"
"Since somebody sent me money and said 'stay off the streets'." Sam dunks his sandwich into his soup and ignores Dean's audible gagging noise. "I went and talked to a counselor at the Adult Ed Center, and enrolled in their GED program. I take the test in a couple days, and if I pass – which I totally will – I'll get my GED and I can go to college."
"You—really? For real?" Dean looks absurdly proud, which makes Sam feel warm all over. His faces falls, then, a small frown replacing the smile. "Huh. I guess I just assumed—"
"What?" That frown makes alarm grow inside, replacing the warmth with icy fingers. "Dean, what?"
"Oh, that you'd want to go with me. Hunt with me?"
Sam blinks. "I…can't do both? Go to school, and hunt?"
"You do remember me telling you I didn't settle anywhere, right? That my car's home?"
"Well…yeah. But why does it have to be that way?" More importantly, Sam wonders why anyone would want it to be that way. Why move all around all the time, when you could have a home base, or something. "Couldn't you, I dunno, get a place and hunt like, on weekends?"
Dean frowns. "Dad—dad did it all the time."
It's going to take them both some time to get used to some things, like the word 'dad'. "What'd you guys do for money?"
"Hustled pool, played poker, um. Credit card fraud."
Sam shakes his head, sure he heard that wrong. "Credit card fra—on purpose? That's what you did for a living?"
"We'd get odd jobs sometimes, but yeah. Hunting was pretty much dad's main focus." Dean sounds defensive, maybe even a little angry, and Sam really doesn't want to end up fighting with him over something like this.
"Okay, but you don't have to do it like that anymore, do you? I mean—I'm not saying give up hunting." It even feels weird to say that, 'hunting' like it's a real thing, though Sam has to remember that to Dean, it is. "But maybe it doesn't have to be the only thing? I really…want to go to college, Dean. And for the first time in my life, I feel like maybe I can. Like it's a possibility."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Sam pushes one of the brochures over to Dean; the one about Stanford, with all its different colleges and programs, and the prestige of the place. "It doesn't have to be California, I got school brochures from a bunch of places. But it's warm out there, and the ocean's nearby, and it's far from here."
"What would I do while you're at school?"
Sam shrugs. "Get a job? Take up macramé? What do you want to do?"
For a second, Sam isn't sure Dean heard him, because he's just staring down at the picture of Stanford's administrative building, fingers moving lightly over the faces of the students in the picture. "…no one's ever asked me that, actually."
"Really? Never?"
Dean shakes his head. "It never really came up. Dad hunted, so I hunted with him…and that was that."
"Do you—do you want to hunt?"
"It's all I've ever done."
Sam reaches out and traces over Dean's hand with the tip of one finger. "That's not really an answer, you know."
That gets him a half-smile, and Dean turning his hand over, palm up, and twining their fingers together briefly before letting go and going back to his soup. "I don't know anything else, Sam. I mean, I can do basic stuff, busboy and fry cook type stuff, I can wash dishes with the best of 'em, and I know my way around the engine of a car. But I dunno that any of those are really screaming 'life's work'. At least with hunting, I'm helping people."
"You can keep on doing that. I'll help you with that. I'm just saying, maybe there's more that you can do, too."
Dean nods. "Can I—sleep on it? Think about stuff?"
"Well, yeah." Sam returns to his soup, gone cold now. "It's all academic 'til I take the test, anyway. Then I have to apply to the schools, and see what's offered for financial aid, stuff like that. I'm not going anywhere for a few months yet, anyway." He hesitates, then sneaks a glance at Dean from under his hair. "You're not—gonna leave again, are you? I mean. If you go on hunts, I could come with, watch and learn, on my days off. But. Would you stay here? With me?"
Relief moves through Sam when Dean nods, a smile spreading across his face. "I've kind of been waiting for you to ask me, dude. Been here how many hours now, and you're just getting around to it?"
Sam smacks Dean on the shoulder. "It's not like we weren't busy doing other stuff—"
"Like fucking each other's brains out?"
"Something like that." Sam raises an eyebrow. "So? Will you stay?"
Dean gives him a grin that makes the smile lines around his eyes crinkle up, and says, "I'd love to, Sammy. I'd love to."
It's late afternoon, and the early spring sun is already starting a downward slant, but to Sam it feels like the beginning of a brand-new day, bright and rich with promise.
~fin~
The sun's long since gone down, so the only light in the room is coming from the lamp still on out in the living room. It's mostly dark in the room, the golden puddle stopping at the door, leaving the room in shadows. It's getting chillier, too, since Sam turned the thermostat back earlier, but he's not about to get out of bed for something that trivial. He can turn the heat up a notch whenever they actually get around to moving. Hopefully that might be some time next spring.
"This is what's nice," Sam says finally, shifting so he can curl closer to Dean. He rests his head carefully, not wanting to chance bumping the spreading bruise, and listens to Dean's heart beat slow and steadily.
"What's nice?" Dean's combing his fingers through Sam's hair – time to get a haircut, pretty soon – and it feels so good Sam thinks about purring. That might be a little weird, though. At least for the first time.
"Cuddling after." Sam nuzzles Dean's jaw, tastes the salt left there from sweat and probably spunk, his tongue tingling from whisker stubble. "Sex is great, don't get me wrong. But I miss—this."
"Mmm." Dean tilts his head back and makes a low, pleased sound in his throat when Sam licks over a mark he put there earlier. "We are so not cuddling, bitch."
That makes Sam smile. "Totally are, jerk."
"Whatever. This is just—sharing body heat. We'll both probably fall asleep any minute now."
"Uh-huh." Sam goes back to licking at the bruise he sucked into Dean's throat earlier, smiling every time Dean shivers. When Dean closes his eyes and pretends to snore, Sam pokes him in the belly, then leans down and blows a raspberry there, which gets him a snort and a poke in the side.
"You are so weird." Dean resumes combing his fingers through Sam's hair, smoothing it back behind one ear. "You gotta work tonight?"
"Nope. Wednesdays and Thursdays are my nights off – not busy enough. Once winter gets here, I'll probably be off on Sundays, too." That's not a cheerful thought, because it means he'll likely have to work the corner more, to make up for it.
Dean's stomach growls then, and Sam snickers and pokes him again, then traces gently over the bruise he can't see now, but knows is there.
"Ah." Dean winces, so Sam draws back.
"Too sore?"
"Little, yeah." Dean rubs the back of Sam's neck, then leans in to kiss him. "Kinda forgot about it, there for a while."
"Good."
They trade lazy kisses back and forth until Dean's stomach growls again, with Sam's following suit shortly after. Sam doesn't want to move, doesn't want to leave his bed ever again. Doesn't want to break whatever spell this is, or change things. He's happy right here, right now, in bed with Dean. Dean, who he didn't even know existed three days ago, and who breezed into town and into Sam's heart; who's probably going to take Sam's heart with him, when he leaves again.
"Hey." Dean cups his cheek, fingers warm and steady. "Where'd you go, Sammy? What's goin' on in that head of yours?"
"Nothin'," Sam manages, feeling like he almost sounds nonchalant. "Just trying to remember what I have in the house that's edible."
It's pretty clear from the noise Dean makes he doesn't believe Sam, but he doesn't call him on bullshit, either.
"We could get dressed, go out." Dean's shifting around now, and that's that. Spell's broken, moment's gone. Sam misses it already.
"It's cold and dark out, man." Sam shakes his head and reaches for the lamp beside the bed. "I’m pretty sure I have a pizza in the freezer—that work for you?"
"Pepperoni?" The hopeful note in Dean's voice makes Sam smile.
"Yeah, probably. You wanna get the shower started while I get the oven going? We could share, conserve water."
"Or we could share, and I could blow you under the water." Dean raises an eyebrow and Sam feels a new tingle of heat spread through him.
"Or that. I could even return the favor." He grins at Dean's expression. "Towels are in the closet in the hallway; help yourself."
"Will do." Though Dean doesn't appear to be planning to actually move right away, judging by how he settles back against the pillows to watch Sam move around the room.
"It'll take about ten minutes for the oven to heat up, before I can put the pizza in." Sam pulls on a pair of sweatpants left hanging over the closet door, and straightens up, stretching the kinks out of his back. "The water takes a few minutes to warm up, just so you know."
"Or, we could always shower after we eat, instead." Dean says casually, eyes lowered, face arranged into an innocent expression. Sam's not fooled by that at all.
"What, make sure the pizza doesn't burn while we're conserving water?"
A smug smile spreads across Dean's face, and he opens his eyes to wink at Sam. "Absolutely."
"All right. But we are eating first. Now I'm up and moving around, I'm starved." Sam hopes he has two frozen pizzas in the house, otherwise they might end up ordering some in, later. "There's another pair of sweats in my closet, if you want to put those on instead of your clothes. Until you've showered."
"Yeah, I might do that."
It occurs to Sam then that Dean might be stalling so Sam doesn't see him wincing and shaking once he starts moving. He frowns, considers offering a hand, then rejects that idea. He hasn't known the guy that long, but Dean doesn't strike him as the type who likes anything to show that could be perceived as a weakness—even if it's something like being sore and stiff after getting the crap kicked out of him by a, well, ghost.
That whole ghost business is going to take some getting used to. And a lot of answers from Dean.
"Oh, when you use the toilet, you have to jiggle the handle after you flush, or the chain gets stuck. See you in a few."
"Yep."
Sam's puttering around the kitchen, waiting for the red light to go off so the pizzas can go in. Maybe if he works a couple of extra nights – days, whatever – on the corner, he could get a little money saved up, and then maybe he could take a couple days off from everything and hang with Dean. Heh. Hang out in bed with Dean, fucking each other's brains out.
Or maybe Dean would just want to hang around here for a little while. If there's one…ghost…in town, there might be others, and he'd have something to hunt while Sam worked at the bar. And if Dean's as good at pool as he says, Sam might not need to work his corner for a couple weeks—
A hard hand lands on his shoulder and whirls him around; Sam almost knocks them both over trying to catch his balance, and glares at Dean. "Dude! What the hell?"
"Where'd you get this, Sam?"
Dean's holding up a picture Sam keeps stuck on the side of his dresser mirror. It's two boys – well, one boy, holding the other, who's just a baby. The little boy is grinning at the camera, looking proud and happy to be holding the baby. The back of the picture, Sam knows because he studied it over and over looking for any hints or clues about his family, says simply, "D & S, 10/83".
"Sam! Where?"
"It's mine," he says, staring at Dean. "That, and a note with my name on it were the only things with me when I was dropped off at the hospital. Why?"
"What's your name? Your full name?"
"Samuel John Winchester," Sam tells him, a weird sense of unease beginning to crawl through him. "Why, Dean?"
Dean sets the picture down on the kitchen table and fumbles his wallet open, then hands Sam a picture.
It's not the exact same picture – but it's close. Same room, same chair, same general feel. The same two boys, but this time there's a man in the picture as well, tall, with dark hair and laugh lines around his eyes like the crinkles Dean gets when he smiles, Sam thinks numbly. He's leaning over the back of the chair, big hands on the boy's shoulders, protective. Loving.
"Turn it over," Dean says, his voice sounding like it's far away and under water.
The back of the picture reads, "John, with Dean and Sammy. 10/83."
"Who—" Sam has to stop and clear his throat, and his voice still comes out rusty, uneven. "Who's John?"
"Our father." Dean clears his throat. "Our father, Sammy. Sam. You're—"
"—my brother," Sam finishes, staring down at the picture. When he looks up at Dean, he feels completely numb inside, though there's a wave of hysterical laughter climbing up his throat. He swallows over and over again until it's pushed back down again, though the effort makes his chest feel like it's going to burst open, trying to contain it.
In the space of three days' time, Sam's met the first guy he's ever felt an actual connection with, who treats him like a real person and not just some stupid kid who sucks dick for a living because he can't do anything else. He met Dean, who's smart, and funny, and dead sexy, and fucking hunts ghosts for a living. He met Dean, and he fell in love…with his brother.
Sam's ribs ache with the effort of breathing in and out.
"…thought you were dead," Dean's saying, when Sam can focus again on something besides breaking down. "He told me you were dead."
"What? Why? When?" Sam's glad there's a chair behind him when his knees give out, otherwise he'd be on his ass on the kitchen floor.
"Dad, told me you died. A few—few months after mom died. I dunno, you'd been sick, I think. Or he said you were sick. And we had to take you to the hospital—"
"Saints Mary and Elizabeth, in St. Louis, Missouri." Sam knows that name; he spent the first seven years of his life in and out of the orphanage by the same name, alternated with stints in foster homes.
There's so much information coming in, incomplete information like, their mom died? Of what? When? Obviously his dad -- their dad -- survived, lived, so why was he put in foster care? And Dean mentioned he had the Impala because his dad died, when and how did that happen--and God. Sam feels like his head's going to explode.
"Yeah." Dean puts the picture back in his wallet, fingers brushing tenderly over it. "Jesus. All those years—"
"I wondered," Sam says, thinking of dark days and darker nights. "I made up names for the boy. For you. Daniel, Douglas, David, Derrick. I never thought of 'Dean'—I don't know why. Guess I went with the names I heard, or knew." He glances up at Dean, at the beautiful face with brilliant, gorgeous eyes and the mouth that had kissed him and made him feel alive, at his brother, and sighs. "I used to pretend, for a long time, that someone was going to come. That there'd been a mistake, and someone was going to walk through the door and say, 'that's my brother!' and I'd get to leave wherever I was. I'd look at boys on the street and wonder if one of them was the boy in my picture, looking for me."
"I'm sorry, Sammy."
It's said quietly, almost a whisper, and it breaks Sam's heart more than anything else that's been said so far tonight.
"It's not--your fault," he says, blinking against the tears stinging his eyes. "You didn't. You didn't know."
Sam thinks Dean is the kind of guy (boyfriend, his mind whispers) who would be there, be good in a crisis. Clear-thinking, strong, take-charge. He'd be someone a person could lean on, count on.
And Sam can't lean on him. Can't have him.
"I'm gonna go--" Dean gestures toward the back of the house, and Sam nods.
"You can still shower, if you want. I'll--I'll stay out here."
Dean just shakes his head and leaves the room. He returns a few minutes later, quiet as a shadow, even wearing boots. He moves slowly, carefully, holding himself stiffly. Under the layers of clothes is a black-and-blue bruise that spreads over half his right side; Sam remembers tracing it, kissing around the edges of it, the muscles of Dean's stomach twitching and jumping under his lips and tongue.
"I don't want you to go," Sam says, standing when Dean just stays in the doorway. "Don't--don't go."
"I can't stay, Sammy." The look Dean gives him stops Sam in his tracks. "I want--I want things I can't have. I can't have you, not--we're brothers," he finishes, tone bleak.
"I know." And it's not fair. It's the most unfair thing in his life ever, because he's being robbed twice. Losing the brother he just found, and losing the lover he never knew he wanted.
"Here. If you need…anything. At all. Call me, okay?" Dean hands him a scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled on it, then reaches out and cups Sam's face. "Anything, any time. Sammy."
Sam nods.
One last touch, a whisper of a caress, and Dean's gone. Sam can still feel the warmth of that touch even after the sound of the Impala's engine has faded.
He doesn't call Dean. He wants to; he wants to badly. But the thought of talking to him, listening to that low, warm voice that he remembers saying his name with passion, with intent, it's too painful. So Sam texts him, instead. Not often, no pattern, just little random things from time-to-time.
Alice still talks about you. I think she's going to name her next cat 'Dean'.
Saw a black Chevy today. Like yours better.
Winter sucks. Going south next year.
I wonder if squirrels ever are afraid of heights?
Miss you. Think about you all the time.
Catch any ghosts lately? R u being careful?
Saw a guy today & thought it was you. He didn't turn around when I yelled your name.
He gets one text back in the midst of all of those, that simply says: miss u 2
The envelope shows up a couple days before Christmas, sent priority mail with a signature requested. Sam signs for it, curious, because the return address is somewhere he's never heard of out in Arizona and he doesn't know anyone from Arizona.
Inside the envelope are several stacks of bills, and a single sheet of paper, folded in half. Sam sets the money aside and opens the paper with shaking hands.
Sammy--
There's four thousand dollars in here. I want you to use it, so you can stay off the streets. Not because I don't think you can't take care of yourself. I know you can--and you did a damn good job of it for a whole lot of years.
Just use it to make things easier for you. Please.
Dean
It'd be really easy to let stubbornness get in the way here, and push the money aside. He can take care of himself, and he's done a perfectly fine job of it for years, now. Sam doesn't need Dean, or anyone else, coming in like that mythical knight-in-shining armor.
But. It's also a way to break the cycle he's been caught in for almost half his life, and Sam's not so stubborn that he can't see that.
He grabs his phone and hesitates, torn between wanting to call Dean, to hear his voice and talk to him -- ask him, hell, beg him to come back here. Come back not as a brother, but as the man Sam met and fell in love with. The man Sam still wants.
He types thank you. love you. come back please? and hits 'send'.
The GED test is in two days, and Sam's pretty damn sure he's going to ace it, no problems. He has brochures for about a dozen different colleges and universities, as well as some vocational programs spread across the kitchen table, Stanford and Harvard vying for space with Texas A&M, Ohio State and DeVry Technical Institute. His counselor at the Adult Ed Center assures him that student financial aid is available in a variety of different forms, from Pell Grants and scholarships, to student loans and work study programs.
It's been four months since Sam sent the text message to Dean. In that time he's had two more envelopes show up -- neither one with as much as the first one, but more than enough to help Sam make the bills and buy groceries on just his bartending salary, without having to work the corner any more. The last envelope had a piece of paper in it, as well, with just three words: love you, too.
No sign of Dean, though, and Sam struggles daily with the urge to send text after text, begging him. He did call once, and got Dean's voicemail, but no call came in return.
Next step after his exam is applying for college, and while they all look good Sam's been eyeing Stanford. California will be expensive as hell, but it's also a lot warmer in the winter than here in the glorious Midwest.
Occasionally, when he allows himself to get lost in romantic notions and ideas, or just plain old flights of fancy, Sam will imagine himself enrolled in classes at Stanford, and maybe working in the library or a local coffee shop. He imagines coming home after a long day of work and school to an apartment he shares with Dean, where they fix dinner together and argue over whose turn it is to do laundry, and fuck on every available surface in their home, then go to bed at night curled around each other.
It's a fanciful notion, maybe, but it's as vital to him right now as the idea of someone finding him was when he was younger. More vital, maybe, because the someone isn't nameless or faceless this time; Sam sees Dean constantly in his dreams.
He's lost in contemplation of the different schools -- Stanford is his first choice, but it doesn't hurt to consider the pros and cons for all of them -- and trying to figure out how much he'll need to meet monthly expenses in Palo Alto against financial aid prospects, when there's a sharp knock on the door.
Sam absolutely isn't expecting to open his door and see Dean standing there, hands in his pockets, a hopeful look on his face.
He's pretty sure Dean isn't expecting Sam to just grab him and pull him into a tight hug, nor to slam the door shut by way of pushing Dean up against it and kissing him frantically.
It's an absolutely perfect kiss, too, and Sam wants to drown in it. Wants to drown in the heat of Dean's mouth, in the quiet noises he's making in his throat, in the way his hands feel, cupping Sam's face and holding on tight. Sam whimpers when Dean draws back, but he doesn't go far, just settles better against the door and kisses Sam again, slow and gentle, tongue stroking and teasing and promising until they're both breathless.
"I'm so glad you came back," Sam says, biting at Dean's jaw, licking at each spot he nips. "Never shoulda let you go."
"Sam. God, Sammy." It's the way Dean says it, voice hitching, that breaks something open inside Sam, and he kisses Dean again, trying to pour into it everything he isn't sure he can say with words. "Wait--wait. Sam. Wait." Dean pushes him away just a little, just enough that he's looking straight at Sam, fingers tight around Sam's arms. "I just--I should've come back sooner, but I." He shakes his head. "This, I shouldn't want this. You're my brother, it's wrong, it's--"
Sam meets his gaze steadily. "I don't care. I want you, man. The rest of it? The world can go screw itself. We're not hurting anybody." He believes that, too. No one will ever have cause to know they're related, and it's no one's business but theirs anyway.
Dean blows out a breath, but nods. "Like I said, I shouldn't want this…but I do. And fuck everyone else."
"How 'bout I fuck you, instead?" Part of Sam wonders if it's too soon, throwing that out there, but the rest of him, the part that's pressed up against Dean and can feel how much Dean wants him…that part knows it's not.
"Yes." The word is barely audible. "Now." Dean's already reaching for his belt, and Sam realizes his hands are trembling when he reaches for his own.
"Bedroom," Sam says, jerking at the buttons on his jeans. "I wanna fuck you hard and fast, then lay you out and do it again slow." He pulls his shirt up and off, heat winding through him when Dean does the same. He's just as gorgeous as Sam remembers, long and lean, body strong and muscled. "No bruises," he says, reaching out to touch where the bruise covered Dean the last time. "That's good."
"I've been careful." Dean's pushing Sam backwards, one hand already working down inside Sam's jeans. "Fuck, I forgot how big you are."
They bump into the door frame, then clear the bedroom and hit the bed, Dean following Sam down so he's straddling him.
"Gonna ride you, Sammy," Dean says, shifting around so he can pull Sam's jeans off. "Suck you wet and then slide down on your dick. Jack myself off and come all over you when you shoot inside me."
Sam swallows roughly and pulls Dean down for a kiss, all teeth and biting, until he tastes the sharp tang of blood. Dean sucks his lip until Sam feels the sting where Dean's teeth nicked him. "You want me—"
"Bare." Dean nods.
"You sure?"
Green eyes meet his, Dean's gaze steady. "Got any reason we shouldn't?"
For just a minute the trust Dean's putting in him makes it hard for Sam to breathe, and he has to focus on that, on drawing a breath in and letting it out, before he can answer. "No."
"Good." Dean pauses, then leans in closer, mouth brushing against Sam's ear. "I won't regret it." He backs downward, holding Sam's gaze, until he reaches Sam's dick, rising up thick and hard, swollen head shining with slickness. "Fucking huge dick; felt it every time I sat down for days afterward, last time." He leans forward and licks over the head, teasing the ring with his tongue, flicking at the slit with just the tip until Sam wants to grab his head and grind up into his face.
It must show on his face, because Dean laughs, low and rough, and just that soft touch has Sam arching upward, straining to get that mouth on him again.
"Please," he says, hissing the word through his teeth. "Dean—"
"Patience, Sammy." Dean licks again, then leans back and laughs when Sam whines, "fuck patience, c'mon."
This time when Dean leans forward, he doesn't tease. He fits his mouth around Sam's dick and sucks him in, wet and sloppy and so good. Sam fucks his hips upward, gentle thrusts so he doesn't gag Dean, and whimpers when Dean just takes him deeper.
His head's spinning by the time Dean pulls off, and it isn't until Dean's moving over him and raising up that Sam realizes Dean's already ready -- body open and slick with lube, and holy shit.
"You got—you, before you got here—" He can't even make the words come out in any kind of sense, but it seems like he doesn't have to. Dean nods at him and shifts, and then he's sliding down, letting gravity help fit Sam inside him.
"Oh, Jesus," he moans, and Sam echoes it, because God. Like this he's completely bottomed out, filling Dean completely. Dean's so hot around him, the slick easing the way just enough for movement, but still tight enough for delicious friction. And every time Dean shifts Sam's ring moves, rubbing inside Dean, but rubbing Sam, too. It's almost like fucking and getting fucked all at once, and it makes hunger throb inside him, thick and hot.
Dean rides him slow and steady, then faster, each slide downward making both of them gasp. Sam holds Dean steady with one hand and strokes his dick with the other, feeling it throb with each stroke. The faster they fuck the faster Sam strokes him, until Dean's swelling, lengthening, his balls drawing upward toward his body. Sam holds Dean down on his dick while Dean comes, each spurt spattering across Sam's chest and belly, coating him in thick, creamy streaks of spunk.
He shakes through his own orgasm a few minutes later, Dean groaning above him while Sam thrusts up hard and fast. They hold still like that afterward, Dean laying forward, smearing his come between them while Sam's leaks out of Dean.
It's the first time he's ever had sex bare with anyone. Ever. Just the idea of it makes Sam feel a little dizzy, and a lot loved. Trusted.
"So glad you're back," he murmurs, sleepy and sated. He feels Dean's smile against his neck.
"Me too."
"So what do you think about California?" They're having a late-afternoon snack of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup – snack, because Sam still has to work in a couple hours, and he'll have dinner then.
"What do I think what about California?" Dean's slurping his soup out of a mug, because Sam only has one bowl and Dean insisted he didn't care what the soup was in, so long as he got some.
"Well, as a place to stay. Live. I was thinking—looking at schools there."
Dean pauses in his slurping and gives Sam a sharp look. "You were? Since when?"
"Since somebody sent me money and said 'stay off the streets'." Sam dunks his sandwich into his soup and ignores Dean's audible gagging noise. "I went and talked to a counselor at the Adult Ed Center, and enrolled in their GED program. I take the test in a couple days, and if I pass – which I totally will – I'll get my GED and I can go to college."
"You—really? For real?" Dean looks absurdly proud, which makes Sam feel warm all over. His faces falls, then, a small frown replacing the smile. "Huh. I guess I just assumed—"
"What?" That frown makes alarm grow inside, replacing the warmth with icy fingers. "Dean, what?"
"Oh, that you'd want to go with me. Hunt with me?"
Sam blinks. "I…can't do both? Go to school, and hunt?"
"You do remember me telling you I didn't settle anywhere, right? That my car's home?"
"Well…yeah. But why does it have to be that way?" More importantly, Sam wonders why anyone would want it to be that way. Why move all around all the time, when you could have a home base, or something. "Couldn't you, I dunno, get a place and hunt like, on weekends?"
Dean frowns. "Dad—dad did it all the time."
It's going to take them both some time to get used to some things, like the word 'dad'. "What'd you guys do for money?"
"Hustled pool, played poker, um. Credit card fraud."
Sam shakes his head, sure he heard that wrong. "Credit card fra—on purpose? That's what you did for a living?"
"We'd get odd jobs sometimes, but yeah. Hunting was pretty much dad's main focus." Dean sounds defensive, maybe even a little angry, and Sam really doesn't want to end up fighting with him over something like this.
"Okay, but you don't have to do it like that anymore, do you? I mean—I'm not saying give up hunting." It even feels weird to say that, 'hunting' like it's a real thing, though Sam has to remember that to Dean, it is. "But maybe it doesn't have to be the only thing? I really…want to go to college, Dean. And for the first time in my life, I feel like maybe I can. Like it's a possibility."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Sam pushes one of the brochures over to Dean; the one about Stanford, with all its different colleges and programs, and the prestige of the place. "It doesn't have to be California, I got school brochures from a bunch of places. But it's warm out there, and the ocean's nearby, and it's far from here."
"What would I do while you're at school?"
Sam shrugs. "Get a job? Take up macramé? What do you want to do?"
For a second, Sam isn't sure Dean heard him, because he's just staring down at the picture of Stanford's administrative building, fingers moving lightly over the faces of the students in the picture. "…no one's ever asked me that, actually."
"Really? Never?"
Dean shakes his head. "It never really came up. Dad hunted, so I hunted with him…and that was that."
"Do you—do you want to hunt?"
"It's all I've ever done."
Sam reaches out and traces over Dean's hand with the tip of one finger. "That's not really an answer, you know."
That gets him a half-smile, and Dean turning his hand over, palm up, and twining their fingers together briefly before letting go and going back to his soup. "I don't know anything else, Sam. I mean, I can do basic stuff, busboy and fry cook type stuff, I can wash dishes with the best of 'em, and I know my way around the engine of a car. But I dunno that any of those are really screaming 'life's work'. At least with hunting, I'm helping people."
"You can keep on doing that. I'll help you with that. I'm just saying, maybe there's more that you can do, too."
Dean nods. "Can I—sleep on it? Think about stuff?"
"Well, yeah." Sam returns to his soup, gone cold now. "It's all academic 'til I take the test, anyway. Then I have to apply to the schools, and see what's offered for financial aid, stuff like that. I'm not going anywhere for a few months yet, anyway." He hesitates, then sneaks a glance at Dean from under his hair. "You're not—gonna leave again, are you? I mean. If you go on hunts, I could come with, watch and learn, on my days off. But. Would you stay here? With me?"
Relief moves through Sam when Dean nods, a smile spreading across his face. "I've kind of been waiting for you to ask me, dude. Been here how many hours now, and you're just getting around to it?"
Sam smacks Dean on the shoulder. "It's not like we weren't busy doing other stuff—"
"Like fucking each other's brains out?"
"Something like that." Sam raises an eyebrow. "So? Will you stay?"
Dean gives him a grin that makes the smile lines around his eyes crinkle up, and says, "I'd love to, Sammy. I'd love to."
It's late afternoon, and the early spring sun is already starting a downward slant, but to Sam it feels like the beginning of a brand-new day, bright and rich with promise.
~fin~
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no subject
Date: 2010-01-01 12:25 pm (UTC)Their instant connection to each other and the respect and affection they had for each other really came across.
Smokin' hot and both of them came across masculine. They seemed very much canon Sam and Dean in their characterization.
I loved the negotiating at the end and compromising so they both got what they wanted and Dean fianlly having a chance to figure out what he might want.
And the wonderfully happy ending - a perfect way to start a new year!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-01 02:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-01 02:29 pm (UTC)This is so damn good; I love AU's where they don't know they're brothers. I also love the way Dean tried to take care of Sam as best as he could, while staying away from him. That's such typical Dean behavior! Loved it!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-01 03:50 pm (UTC)And you write gorgeous porn that's so integral and so frakking hot, sheesh!!
What a great way to start out the new year! Thanks for this. :D
no subject
Date: 2010-01-01 05:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-01 06:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-01 08:33 pm (UTC)I am so happy that Dean came back, that he was able to get beyond them being brother and let them have their relationship. And yay for Sam for asking what Dean wanted to do with his life. Someone should!
Bravo, great story! I would love to read more of this 'verse if you are so inclined to continue it.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 12:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 01:25 am (UTC)The sex was awesome too! And the tender moments afterward.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 03:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 04:38 am (UTC)Okay, I'm back. That was utterly in character for both of them and so very incredibly hot. In the non-anatomically-detailed way. More in the scorching way. And I love happy endings, so, win all 'round for me!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 07:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 08:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 08:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 10:04 am (UTC)THe ending was so hopeful, and so happy, potentially - just lovely. s
It filled me with smiles.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 12:09 pm (UTC)I love it so, so much. How Sam and Dean just FOUND each other and that Dean still wanted to come back even though they were brothers. Their love for each other is so beautiful and fahfjkahfjka. *draws hearts around them*
Dean leaving was so heartbreaking. Their text messages hjhfsa.
And OMG Sam has a nipple ring AND a Prince Albert. I think I PASSED. OUT reading that bit. *bites fist*
Memming for SURE. Thank you so much for writing! <3333
no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 01:02 pm (UTC)I've always had a thing about fics where the boys find out they are brothers just that little bit too late. This was a great version of that. Thank you so much for sharing :)
no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 01:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 01:46 pm (UTC)Amazing..
*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 02:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 02:59 pm (UTC)Cat
no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 03:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 05:41 pm (UTC)*pets them*
But i rather love their instant connection and that Sam still has a picture.
*sniffle*
Loved it!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-02 07:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-03 04:34 am (UTC)