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This is for all my amazing girls. Love you guys.
The noises Dean makes in his sleep are kind of funny when you actually sit down and listen to them. Sam sends his brother a fond smile as he snuffles and shifts in the bed. The sheet, that Dean demanded they use because “I am not showing my ass to the entire motel, Sammy”, slips down further as he turns over. The skin on Dean's back is smooth, but is marred by a few old bruises and pitted with scars. The most recent being the one that started all this. The long jagged slash that spans his shoulder blade. The skin is still healing, still pink, with a faint blush of purple around the edges. Sam has run his hands over it more times than he can count. Wondering each time if it hadn't happened, if Sam hadn't called to Dean and Dean hadn't automatically turned to him, if the Harpy hadn't slash across Dean's shoulder, maybe this wouldn't have happened.
Sam stifles a laugh when Dean shifts again, rubbing his face against the pillow and mumbles something about Buffy.
Looking at Dean now, all muscle and bone under that skin that Sam loves so much, Sam knows that this would have happened one way or another. Its like they had no choice in the matter and the more Sam thinks about it, the more he's convinced that its ok. That he can be with Dean, that he can want Dean and, heaven help him, love him. Because he does, love him that is. He loves Dean. He always has, loved in the “you're my brother so I am kind of genetically programmed to love you” way. He's always been willing to die for Dean, would lay his life on the line right this very second. Its the Winchester way after all. But its different now. And he keeps thinking that, keeps thinking its different. Everything is different. And it can't ever go back. Not know Sam knows that if he got up and ran his tongue down Dean's spine right now, Dean wouldn't kill him where he stood, Dean would arch his back into him and probably pull him into bed with him.
Sam looks over through the crack in the curtain to stop himself from doing just that, because he's working. Or trying to, but Dean keeps making stupid, adorable noises and its distracting. Hell, knowing that Dean is naked under that incredibly thin sheet is distracting. But the noises are worse somehow. Because Sam knows the noises dean makes when he's begging, when he's desperate, when he's about to come. He knows all those noises and how much his thinks this might be wrong, might eventually break them both, he wouldn't want to ever forget them.
“Sammy...” Dean shifts, fighting sleep and exhaustion, his arm sliding out from under the pillow and across the empty space that Sam was occupying until half an hour ago. The fact that Dean didn't wake up when Sam extracted himself from Dean's death grip around his stomach struck Sam more than anything. Dean was willing to relax, to fully let go of those instincts that have been drummed into him since he was four years old. Willing to let Sam take care of him. He knows that Dean would never admit it in the daylight, but right now its dawn and Dean can't argue with him right now, not when Dean's hand comes up empty in its search for Sam and he lifts his head and looks worried for a second before his sleep heavy eyes land on Sam at the small table in the corner.
“What'cha doing Sam?” He asks, voice thick and hoarse. He blinks furiously a couple of times before rubbing at his eyes with back of his hand.
“Couldn't sleep.” Sam replies, going back to his laptop. Dean sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He looks expectantly at Sam like he's waiting for a further explanation. Sam just continues to look at his computer screen because there is no way that he is going to tell Dean that he was up most of the night listening to him snore softly and trying to figure this whole brand new shift in their relationship in his head.
“What time is it?” Dean asks when its obvious that Sam isn't going to explain further. Sam glances at his watch.
“AM?” Dean asks, the horror at the early hour evident on his face. He stands and takes a few shaky steps towards Sam. Sam is once against struck by how the hunter training leaves Dean right now. Because he knows he's safe. And that makes Sam so pleased that he can't help but grin at his brother.
“Yeah.” Dean is behind him now, staring at the laptop screen, face screwing up because his eyes still aren't focussing properly. His hand lands on the back of Sam's neck and his fingers absently rub small circles into the skin.
“You find anything?” He asks, heat from his sleepy body seeping through the thin t-shirt Sam is wearing. And Dean is completely oblivious to the fact that he is naked right now. Or seemingly oblivious. Sam can't help but reach back and run a hand up the back of Den's thigh. Dean shifts closer.
“Not really.” Sam replies, fingers finding and ghosting over one of the many scar's on Dean's legs.
“Can't this wait till morning? You know, like actual morning with breakfast?” Dean asks. Sam cranes his neck back at looks at him. He's still sleeping, his eyes still scrunched up and hair sticking up all over the place.
“Good, cos I never thought I would actually ever say this...but Sam, come back to bed.”
Sam has never really realised how good in a suit Dean looks. Sure he's noticed the glances that he's got from passing women. But he's noticed them with a world weary expression. Now its with an appreciative eye. Dean is driving into town, shirt sleeves rolled up his arms, exposing his forearms and wrists and Sam has never thought about Dean's wrists before either, but there is something about them that makes Sam want to touch them, run his fingers over the veins and arteries, feel his brother's strong pulse under his finger tips.
“Stop objectifying me.” Dean says without taking his eyes off the road. Sam doesn't even bother trying to deny it. He's knows he's been caught. They have always been aware of what the other is doing, having an extra larger peripheral vision when it comes to each other. Sam laughs and Dean smiles, one of those easy smiles that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle.
But anyway, back to the suit. Over breakfast Sam filled Dean in on what he had found on the internet at stupid o'clock this morning. Found the addresses of the wife and girlfriends of the 3 victims. Posing as Insurance Inspectors, the usual, they hadn't really found out anything of specific case related interest. Non of the guys had anything in common. Except they all went to the same bar. But in a one bar town that isn't exactly a coincidence.
Dean is pissed. Gunning for a fight since the Harpy slashed at him and had him taking an enforced break from hunting for a week and a bit. Cut short only because Dean promised to withhold any future blow jobs if Sam didn't find them a hunt. But Dean is pissed right now, because he needs to kill something. He's got that excess energy vibration thing going on right now and Sam used to find it frustrating and stressful. Now its just a honest to God turn on. Sam wonders if anything Dean does is ever not going to be a turn on from now on.
“So we checking out this bar?” Dean asks. Sam nods because he doesn't think he can talk right now and his pants are uncomfortably tight and all he can smell is Dean and leather and yeah...everything is a turn on right now, like some morally wrong switch has been flicked in his mind.
“You ok Sammy? You look kinda...tense.” Dean says with a chuckle and a pointed look at Sam's crotch.
“Don't make me force you to stop this car again.” Sam says in a strangled voice. Dean chuckles again. Tension still vibrating off him but easing for the moment. Because killing something and fucking are apparently the same in Dean's mind.
“Dude, this is pissing me off. What the hell is going on here?” Sam asks. Dean flicks his gaze from the road to Sam and back again.
“I don't know.” And there is something in the way that Dean says it, closed off and quiet that has Sam turning in his seat and staring at Dean. It scares him sometimes how quickly Dean's mood change.
“I was talking about the case, Dean.” He says.
“I wasn't.” And just like that the tension is back.