And again Sam is cramped into the elevator with Dean. Not cramped per se, per cramped in the sense that Sam could just reach over and stop the elevator between floors and play out the fantasy that has been running through his head for the last three days. The one where Dean sinks to his knees and...ok stop it Sam, concentrate.
“Set your cell phone on walkie talkie in case we get separated.” Sam doesn't like the sound of that. Doesn't like the sound of ever being separated from Dean. Ever again.
“How the hell are we going to find some ancient speck of DNA in a skyscraper?” Sam asks. Because seriously? How the hell are they going to find it? Not that running around the building in the dead of night with Mr Dean Uptight But Waiting To Be Unwound Smith doesn't have a certain appeal.
“The storeroom used to be Sandover's office right?” Dean says then leans forward and presses the button for floor 14. Sam takes the opportunity to check out his ass. And my god the man has a good ass.
But anyway, Sam is searching through the old man's desk when he senses a presence behind him. Crap. Its Rent A Cop.
“What the hell are you doing here?” He asks. Um...trying to find ancient DNA so we can salt and burn it and put to rest the homicidal ghost of P.T. Sandover who is making employees commit hari kiri.“Um...nothing. I just...” Crap. Sam knows he's babbling. He should be good at lying, he thinks, he can feel it. Feel that he is supposed to be good at lying. Maybe he should try the puppy dog eyes. That usually works. But Rent A Cop grabs his arm. Sam doesn't even turn to look at Dean who is no doubt hiding. Fucker. Sexy Fucker.
“Man...listen. I...its ok, I work here.”
“Whatever...tell it to the cops.” Does this guy have no sense of urgency? Seriously, Sam need to get back in there so he can hopefully check out Dean's ass again, possibly make another pass at him and see if Dean turns him down this time. Because Sam has caught him looking at him when he thinks Sam isn't looking, and he's seen lust in his eyes. Oh yeah, go Sam, still got it. Sam suppresses the urge to flex his muscles and is bundled into the elevator by Rent A Cop.
When the information screen starts to flicker and it get so cold Sam can see his breath, thats when Sam starts to worry. Because he hasn't done anything wrong. Well anything wrong enough by Sandover's standards to commit suicide in the name of the company. Neither has Rent A Cop. So when Rent A Cop starts to climb out of the elevator through the half open doors, Sam gets a feeling in his stomach that has nothing to do with anticipation of what he and Dean are going to get up to once the ghost has been vanquished.
And true to form, Sam's feeling is right. The guy, Rent A Cop who has done nothing wrong, in fact is protecting the company, gets sliced in half by the suddenly moving elevator. Sam thinks that weird. Ok so seeing a guy get sliced in half is, by definition, weird, because it doesn't happen every day. But the guy was protecting the company. He wasn't doing anything wrong. Why the hell was he sliced in half?
But then Dean's voice comes across the walkie talkie and Sam has never been more pleased to hear it. You know, in the three days that he has known him that it. Except maybe for earlier when Dean announced that Sam had big feet and asked if he knew what people said about men with big feet. Sam had liked hearing Dean's voice then.
“Hey...you ok?” No...he's definitely not. Not as bad as Rent A Cop though.
Dean's feeling pretty proud of himself. He's figured out where the DNA might be. But when he calls Sam, Sam sounds, well odd. His voice is higher than normal, not its usual deep timbre. And seriously...Dean needs to do something about the poetic crap that keeps coming to mind when he thinks of Sam because its not healthy and can only lead to...well it can lead to a number of things but all of them bad. Well not all of them, but you get the point.
Sam is tells him to take the stairs, so he does. Something which pisses him off as he gets to floor 21. And now there is no need to get in the elevator. But he wants to anyway, just to prove to himself at least that he didn't just obey a command from Sam without question.
Sam rounds the corner and god he's covered in blood. And no way should that be a turn on. But for some strange reason it is.
“Whoa...that's a lot of blood.”
“...Yeah I know.”
“Right...” Dean keeps shifting. Can't speak properly because what the hell? How can he be this attracted to someone who is covered in blood. He doesn't even ask where its from because honestly he doesn't care. He just wants to know ow far down Sam's chest it goes. “So, in there.” He says turning away from Sam and pointing at a glass case holding a manky old pair of gloves.
“P.T Sandover's gloves.” Dean is stupidly proud of himself again and is expecting a congratulations from Sam. All he gets is a statement. Yeah, big guy, I know they're Sandover's gloves. That's why I bought you up here. Jeez, what's a guy to do to get some kudos around here?
“Yeah, how much do you want to bet there's a little smidge of DNA in there? You know, like a fingernail clipping or a hair or two? Something.” Sam nods and swallows. Dean has the almost irrepressible urge to lick at his throat. But you know, gross, cos it's covered in blood.
“So you ready?” Sam asks. Dean take a breath.
“I have no idea.”
“Me neither.” Sam says. And Dean wants to smile at the fact that they are once again on the same page. And they bend down at the same time and Dean gets a nice look at the horrible khaki's stretched over Sam's crotch as they grab the pokers from the bag they bought with them.
“Go for it.” Right, Dean thinks, so I'm the guy in this relationship now am I? I have to do the bad stuff like break the glass and touch the grody gloves? Whoa, hold on, since when has this been a relationship? But he does it anyway, smashes the case, because he wants to show his manly side.
Suddenly, like the time in the bathroom, its freezing cold. And Sam's eyes widen in fear right before Dean is grabbed by the shoulder's again and thrown across the room. He lands, in an undignified heap at the foot of the wall in time to see Sandover standing over Sam, electricity sparking from his finger tips again. But Sam grabs the salt from the floor and swipes the canister through the air, sending an arch of salt at the ghost. The ghost dissipates.
“Nice.” He praises Sam as he hauls himself to his feet. His head hurts and he's pretty sure he;s bleeding but he feels good. That is until Sam shouts his name and throws a poker at him. Dean catches it one handed and on instinct turns and swipes at the ghost.
“Huh...nice catch.” Sam says hauling himself up. Dean grins at the poker.
“Right?” Sam grabs the other poker and once again his eyes widen. Dean turns again and swipes. The host appears between them and they both swipe at it, knowing, on instinct, that word again, that Sam will go for the lower half and Dean go for the upper half. The ghost then reappears behind Sam and Dean doesn't even have time to notice it himself before Sam turns and the ghost is gone. Only to appear again behind Sam, grabbing his shoulders and throwing him, once again, into the wall and then grabs Dean and throws him down the corridor. Dean is once again left in an undignified heap as Sandover looms over him, cracking blue sparks from his hand. Dean's vision is unfocused as he sees the blurred image of Sandover standing in front of him. Sandover reaches for him. His arm bursts into flames, the flames lick up his sleeve and Dean cover's his face as the ghost burns.
Sam appears at the end of the corridor, out of breath, with a grin plastered on his face.
“That was amazing.” He says, pleasure evident in his voice.
“Right?” Dean says. “Right?” Sam is at his side in an instant as Dean struggles to his feet. Sam's hands are under his arms, helping him up and Dean stumbles slightly into him. Sam catches him, his hands lingering slightly longer than normal on Dean's arms as Dean finally rights himself and relearns how to use his legs. Dean's hands seem to have a mind of their own though and they are wandering up Sam's chest. Sam looks down at them, eyes wide, but in a different way to when Sandover was standing behind him. Sam reaches up and covers Dean's hands with his own and Dean finds himself backed against the wall, Sam's heavy, hot and large body holding him in place.
Sam looks down at him, eyes heavy now, half shut and watching him as Dean licks his lips and looks upwards. Sam lifts the hand that was wrapped around Dean's wrist and touches Dean's forehead.
“You're bleeding.” He says. All camaraderie gone, his voice is dark and lust filled and sends as shiver down Dean's spine. What the hell is it with this guy? He thinks. How the hell does he manage to reduce me to a gibbering wreck who can't speak properly. Because all that comes out of Dean's mouth now is...
“Sammy...” Said in a pathetic whimper that makes Dean flush with embarrassment. Sam doesn't seem to notice though and leans forward even more. His lips millimetres from Dean's.
“Better look at that. Don't want you passing out from lack of blood.” He says with a dark chuckle in his voice. Dean nods dumbly and Sam lets him go. Finding that he can talk again now that Sam isn't crowding into his personal space Dean lets out a small laugh.
“Want me to pass out for any other reason?” He says ad nearly faints at the look in Sam's eyes which says hell yes.
“If I had my way, we'd be up against that wall right now. But we've gotta check that cut.” He says indicating at Dean's head. And even though Dean really wouldn't mind Sam taking him against the wall right now, he's feeling slightly giddy and not just because he can still taste Sam's breath on his lips.
“Man, I gotta tell ya, I've never had so much fun in my life.” Sam wonders if he should tell Dean that his accent slips in when he's excited. Its kind of endearing really. And Sam might tell him. Well he would have if he hadn't just admitted that he wanted to take him up against the wall a few minutes before.
“Me neither.” Sam says. Because he really hasn't. And he still can't shake the feeling that he should be doing this with Dean. Dean. Jesus, how has this guy got so far under his skin in such a short space of time?
Dean sits down next to him, the first aid box in his lap.
“Hell of a work out too.” He says with a grin. Sam can think of a hundred different ways to get his heart rate up. Most of them involve a lot less clothing and sweeping the things from the top of the desk onto the floor in a very manly fashion.
“We should keep doing this.” Sam says. He's gotta say it. Its the thought that has been flying around his mind since they began researching together. Hell since Dean ordered him up to his office and started honestly talking about ghosts.
“I know.” Dean says with a lightness in his tone that makes Sam know he doesn't really mean it.
“I mean it. There have got to be other ghosts out there. We could help a lot of people.”
“Yeah, right, we'd be like the Ghostfacers.” Dean says, holding a pad to he cut on his head. Sam resists the urge to take the pad and do it for him. It just feels...right. Feels like he should be doing it for Dean.
“No...really. I mean...for real.”
“What? Quit our jobs and hit the road?” Dean says it with a incredulity but Sam hasn't heard a better idea for a long time.
“How would we live?” Dean asks. On love alone. Sam nearly scoffs at himself because good lord he is starting to sound like a girl.
“You've gotta be kidding me, how would we get by? Stolen credit cards huh? Eating diner food drenched in saturate fats, sharing a crap motel room every night.”
“That's all just details.” Sam says. Because he seriously likes this idea. Like the idea of being in Dean's space, day in day out, sharing a car, sharing a bed even. The thought of being close to Dean cancelling out all the sensible thoughts.
“Details are everything. You don't wanna go fighting ghosts without any health insurance.” That sounds nothing like the Dean that Sam knows is under the surface. Nothing at all. And Sam needs to keep pushing to get the real Dean out. He takes a deep breath.
“Alright...uh...confession.” Dean looks warily at him. Like Sam was about to tell him that he set the whole thing up.
“What?” Dean asks, arching one eyebrow. Sam swallows and tries to ignore the way the Dean watching him when Sam licks his lips.
“Remember those dreams I told you about? With the ghosts?”
“I was fighting them.” Sam says. Dean looks confused. And incredibly wary.
“Ok.” Dean elongates the word, makes it sound like he thinks Sam is crazy and honestly he might be because he wants Dean, wants him like he wants to quit his job and go running off into the sunset with him. Like he wants to pull him towards him and kiss along his throat, bite at his pulse point.
“With you. We were...these like...hunters, and we were friends, more like lovers. I mean more like brothers really. I mean what if that's who we really are. I mean you saw us back there, working together, the ghost was scrambling peoples brains what if it scrambled ours.” Sam poses the idea and Dean gets up from the desk and walks around it. Unconsciously putting distance between himself and Sam. Sam sighs.
“Is it? Think about it for just one second. What if we think this is our life...but its not.”
“Hey man, the ghost is dead and we're still standing, look I'm sorry man...”
“Look all I'm know is this isn't who we're supposed to be. We're supposed to be more than colleagues who pass each other in the hallways never knowing the others name. We're supposed to be more than that.” Sam says and he finds himself once again pinning Dean again a wall. Only this time its a window and he's not pinning him, merely keeping him in place with the weight of his gaze.
“No.” Dean says. Far too quietly for it to hold any conviction, his deep green eyes locked on Sam's. “I'm Dean Smith, head of Sales and Marketing. I went to Stanford. My father's name is Bob, my mother's name is Ellen and my sisters name is Jo.”
“When was the last time you talked to them?” Sam asks. Because he needs to know if Dean, has the same thoughts, lurking in the back of his mind and he can't help pushing. Feels like he should push, like the little brother that he is. No, he thinks, I'm not his brother, I can't be. I can't feel like way about my brother. “Any of them.” He asks. Because he;s got to get back on track here.
“Ok man, you're upset, you're confused...” Dean tries to placate Sam, struggling against Sam.
“Yeah cos I only moved here because I broke up with my fiancé Madison. But I called her number and I got a damn animal hospital.” And there is something strangely ironic about that, something that Sam can't quite plce. And a flicker of figures flits across Dean's face for a second.
“Ok, what are you saying? Are you saying that my family isn't real?” Dean pushes Sam away. I'm your family, he wants to say to Dean, I'm al you've ever needed, all you've ever wanted. “That we've been injected with fake memories? Come one.” Those two words sound so familiar coming out of Dean;s mouth that it almost makes Sam cry.
“All I know is...” Sam says, taking a step towards Dean again and wrapping his fingers around the tops of Dean;s arms, hard enough to bruise. “I've got this feeling...in my gut, and I know...I know...” He reiterates when Dean's gaze wanders away from his. “That deep down you gotta be feeling it too....we're supposed to be something else. You're not just some corporate douche bag, this isn't you. I know you.” Sam says, his fingers ghosting along Dean's jawline. Dean's eye flutter closed for a second before he opens them, the gaze is hard and so is the shove that he administers that sends Sam sprawling backwards against the desk.
“Know me? You don't know me pal. You should go.” Sam searches Dean's face for any hint of uncertainty, any hint tha he doesn't really want Sam to go. But all he sees is walls.
When Dean next sees Sam, he really doesn't want to. Because of last night, the argument, the way that having Sam that close made him feel and the fact that he practically threw himself at Sam before ordering him out of his office. And the look that Sam had given him, like a kicked puppy dog had tugged on the heart strings just a little too much for Deans comfort.
Plus, to top of a freaking fan-crappy-tastic day, another bloody dick with wings, well not another one because Castiel isn't a dick, but you get the point, has just done some weird finger mumbo jumbo, left Dean knowing everything, well remembering everything. And goddamit he's hungry. And he's pissed. And he's tired, he remembers being tired, and broken. And wanting the world to just stop, give him a break.
He remembers Sam pushing him against a wall, a number of times. Remembers the way he breathed out his name. Remembers wanting to take him on the kitchen floor in his high rise apartment. Remembers wanting Sam to take him against the wall on the 22nd floor. What is it with wanting Sam and high places? He thinks briefly before shoving the thoughts of wanting Sam so far down he hopes they never come back up.
But Sam is lounging on the Impala, which is magically, or angelically Dean thinks, outside the office building. The yellow shirt is untucked and Sam is leaning back, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his head leaning back against the roof of the car. The early afternoon sun is shining down and Dean just knows that Sam has his eyes shut. He wonders how close he can get to Sam before he knows Dean is there.
It isn't far. Sam lifts his head and smiles briefly at Dean. Dean knows the same thoughts of oh god I nearly kissed my brother are running through his head, and he hopes oh god I nearly kissed my brother and wanted to are there too.
“So you dreamt about me?” He can't resist the dig. And Sam shifts nervously.
“What? No. Well, yeah...” Sam shrugs and Dean cocks his head to the side in the way that he knows irritates Sam.
“Dude...that's kinda naughty.” He says with a false grin. Sam can see right through it though, Dean knows that, but he's still gotta try. Otherwise, so help him god, he;s going to trap his brother between him and the car and slip his thigh between Sam's and watch his brother's eyes go wide.
“Shut up...jerk.” Sam says pulling his hands out of his pocket and opening the door.
“Bitch.” Dean says as he slips into the drivers seat and starts the engine. The keys to the car are miraculously on his keyring, miraculously in his pocket and he thanks the angel briefly. Before cursing him again for maknig him want his brother in ways that no brothers should.
“Dean...I...” Sam begins and trails off. Dean knows what he wants to say but shuts him up. He doesn't want to talk about it right now. He wants a cheeseburger, a shower and wants to sleep for a month.
“It's ok Sammy. It wasn't us.” He says. Sam turns in his seat as Dean negotiate the traffic.
“But it was Dean. Ok, not really. But deep down it was us.”
“Sammy...” Please don't do this to me, I can't take it.
“No. Dean, it was us. And...I'm kinda freaking out here but I'm also kinda...ok with it.” Sam says the last three words quietly. Dean isn't sure that he's heard him right and pulls the car across the on coming traffic, ignoring the honking of horns and the screeching of tires.
“You're ok with it?” He asks. Sam doesn't look at him. Just stares out of the window. Dean leans forward and grabs Sam's chin, forcing his brother to look at him.
“Yeah Dean. I'm ok with it.” He says.
“Ok.” Dean replies, because what the hell is he meant to say. Ok Sammy, lets get a civil partnership and have wild sex and hunt demons for the rest of our lives. Ok so the hunting demons is a given.
“Ok?” Sam asks. Dean curls his hand along Sam's jaw and the back of Sam's neck, giving it a small tug. Sam comes willingly. Dean brushes his lips over Sam's.
“Ok.” He reiterates. And honestly, Dean has no idea what he's doing. But he's running on instinct right now, and every single fibre of his being is telling him to kiss Sam. So he does. And Sam kisses him back. And Dean curls the fingers of his free hand into the yellow shirt.
Somewhere in the back of Dean's mind, he hopes that Sam keeps the uniform.