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savingfaith333 for her help with this. A collection of drabbles spanning a year in the life of Sam and Dean.
It is blisteringly hot mid August in Phoenix. The sun is high in the sky, beating down on his neck as he watches his brother, always watching his brother. And Dean steps away to admire his baby, dripping sponge in hand, sweat damp hair, a streak of dirt across his cheek bone and stretches, shoulders and neck cracking, strip of tanned skin exposed, begging to be touched.
And suddenly Sam can’t breath.
And he doesn’t know why and he certainly doesn’t want to analyse why when Dean turns and flashs a grin in his direction, the world suddenly seems brighter.
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It is September when, hunting vampires in Ohio, Sam gets shot by some jittery local who thinks Sam is responsible for the dead townsfolk. And Dean immediately goes into protective overdrive.
“We were here to help, you redneck bastard.” He shouts wrenching the shotgun out of his hands.
Sam can’t bring himself to mind the pain with Dean’s hands trailing over his skin, touching lightly, muttering angry words like stupid and gonna kill him, the anger seeping out when his mouth formed Sammy.
And Sam watches his brother’s eyes, wondering, before darkness over takes him, why they look so afraid.
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October, back in Palo Alto for Halloween, Sam fidgets in his seat, and only Dean’s hand on his knee makes him stop.
“Dude, you’re making me nervous.” But his eyes are smiling. “Just a simple salt and burn, get in, get out, you don’t have to see anyone.” Dean is staring straight ahead, jaw muscles quivering, and Sam shakes his head.
It is Dean’s hand, warm and discreet, on his lower back that makes him walk through the door of the bar, and his fingers applying light pressure that makes him smile, pretending the smile is for his old friends.
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It is November, standing in a godforsaken graveyard in the middle of nowhere, under a gibbous moon, that Sam realises his brother is beautiful. All false arrogance, pouting lips, freckles and eyes which hold too much pain for someone so young and Sam can’t take his eyes off him.
He wonders why he had never noticed it before as Dean salts the remains of a spirit that had left him broken and bleeding and Sam shaking and blinded by anger.
And when Dean lights the match, the fire lights up his face in a way that makes Sam’s chest hurt.
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December is strained, an argument over what they are trying to hunt has them ignoring each other unless absolutely necessary. His brother’s angry sighs permeate every crevice of the motel room, making the atmosphere as icy as the Nebraska air outside.
And Sam hates it.
And he tries to ignore the need to try to think of a way to fix it, them, but Dean’s hand brushes against his by accident and he doesn’t pull away.
Sam can’t quite figure out if he imagines Dean’s fingers caressing his knuckles or if it was just wishful thinking.
But Sam likes it.
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January brings a new year and Sam decides to once and for all put a stop to the unfamiliar feeling that pits in his stomach whenever Dean smiles, properly smiles, his eyes creasing up at the corners.
But Dean gets hurt and Sam can’t see straight through the panic. He doesn’t even aim as he points the sawed-off at the spirit and fires. Before it disappears he is on his knees beside Dean, eyes searching as hands frame his face, fingers gently stroking Dean’s neck.
“I’m fine Sammy.” He tries to smile.
Sam trembles hearing his brother's cracked voice.
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When February rolls around, Sam has a nightmare, the first for a long time, and this one isn’t about Jess, pinned to the ceiling, bloody, flames licking around her body. This one is Dean dying, ripped to shreds by the hellhounds that ripped his brother from his hands.
When he crawls into bed next to Dean, wanting to feel his brothers warm skin, his alive skin, he expects a Dude, what the fuck, but instead, he gets a sleepy s’ok Sammy, and a hand drawing arcane symbols on his lower back, calloused fingers stroking, as Sam smiles against Dean’s neck.
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Dean is seriously hurt again in March, his breath coming in shallow bursts, Sam holds back hot tears that threaten to spill. His hands shake and his blood courses through his veins as homemade stitches trace paths across Dean's skin.
Later he would tell himself that Dean meant to clap his shoulder in thanks but he missed, or Sam moved, and Dean’s hand cupped Sam’s cheek, and Sam leant into the touch, his own fingers circling Dean’s wrist.
And later he will tell himself he only pressed a kiss to his brother’s lips because he thought he had lost him.
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April brings awkward silences and stolen glances and Dean can’t help but blame himself. But he thought he was going to die without knowing what was going on beneath Sam’s brown eyes. He hadn’t meant to caress his cheek, but he can still feel his brother’s skin against his palm, can still feel his brother’s lips against his.
And it’s driving him crazy.
So, in a moment of blind panic, when he thinks he is going to lose his brother to silence, Dean kisses Sam. Backs him up against the motel room door and kisses him.
And Sam kisses back.
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May, and Sam wants to talk, wants to analyse, wants to understand because Dean hasn’t said a word about the kiss for weeks, hasn’t tried to touch again.
Sam gets tired of waiting and pushes Dean against the Impala, his thigh sliding in between Dean’s.
And under the oh my god, he’s your brother, what the hell are you doing, there is a sense of right, a sense that this has been bubbling just under the surface, waiting.
“Stop pretending you don’t want this.” He murmurs, hips rolling into hips, lips almost touching.
“Sam.” Dean pleads as the pretence slips.
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June, in Montana, and they come together for the first time with sweat slick skin sliding against sweat slick skin, stubble catching on stubble, work rough hands tracing hard, smooth lines of muscle and oh God please now filling the air around them.
Lying in soft, warm arms, fingers tracing lazily over skin, lips following their path, heartbeats beating rapidly together, Sam feels home.
“I can’t bring myself to regret this.” He whispers against Dean’s neck, tongue tasting sweat and Dean. Dean sighs and shifts, tightening his grip on his brother like he’s a lifeline, kissing his temple.
“Me neither.”
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It is in July when Sam realises that he is hopelessly in love with his own brother. Watching him was like watching the sun, impossible to focus on, as focussing bought tears to his eyes, but he brings light and warmth to his life.
He spends hours, days, learning his brothers skin, his scars, the secret places that make him sigh, learning through new eyes.
He feels alive under Dean's hands, strong but gentle fingers coaxing strings of muttered curses and Dean's name like a prayer from his lips.
Dean marks him with lips, with words.
And Sam is home.
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"strip of tanned skin exposed, begging to be touched"
*convulses over mental image of Dean's nekkid tummy patch*
"And Sam watches his brother’s eyes, wondering, before darkness over takes him, why they look so afraid."
*feels all weepy and wants to hug Sammy... and Dean... together, preferably, J2 sandwich style*
"only Dean’s hand on his knee makes him stop"
Excellent image! So innocent and yet (with my mind) so totally *not*!
"pretending the smile is for his old friends"
I love, by the way, how far Sam's life has drifted over the seasons - and this line just encapsulates that really well. That life, the supposed *real* one being something he doesn't even want anymore, life with Dean now being all that he wants. All that he needs. *swoons*
I love, by the way, that November is the month where Sam first realizes how beautiful Dean is. What a perfect choice, having it be the most painful month of their lives, especially with that "eyes which hold too much pain for someone so young" line.
"Sam can’t quite figure out if he imagines Dean’s fingers caressing his knuckles or if it was just wishful thinking.
But Sam likes it."
Let the wibbling begin!!!
"he expects a Dude, what the fuck, but instead, he gets a sleepy s’ok Sammy, and a hand drawing arcane symbols on his lower back, calloused fingers stroking, as Sam smiles against Dean’s neck"
Guh! *stomach hurts*... Guh! *words failing*
"And later he will tell himself he only pressed a kiss to his brother’s lips because he thought he had lost him."
Yeah, right, Sam. Keep telling yourself that!
"Backs him up against the motel room door and kisses him."
I will never get tired of them pounding each other up against walls. So hot!
"“Stop pretending you don’t want this.” He murmurs, hips rolling into hips, lips almost touching.
“Sam.” Dean pleads as the pretence slips."
*is shaking*
"“I can’t bring myself to regret this.” He whispers against Dean’s neck, tongue tasting sweat and Dean. Dean sighs and shifts, tightening his grip on his brother like he’s a lifeline, kissing his temple.
“Me neither.”"
Yep... *still shaking*
And I'm not gonna quote it, because I don't know how many words the comments box allows you to have, but July is awesome! This story is so achy, my dear. In that good tummy hurt sort of way. Bravo!
From:
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But I am glad that you liked it...you helped!
Achy in the good tummy hurt sort of way...AWESOME!
*beams and skips away happy*
xx
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But very, very good story. =D
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*thud*
Dear God woman, what are you trying to do to me?!?! This story is hot, it's sweet, it's heartbreaking, it's AWESOME!!!
And that line I quoted above! *fans self* Is it just me or does wincest or angel-slash get unbelievably hotter if the Impala's involved?
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except kill youSlamming against the Impala is just sooooo godamm hot it should be illegal!
xx
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Lol.
But yeah, I mean that car just overload's our poor fangirl brains. It should be illegal, but we're sooo glad it's not!
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xx
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Love this line “We were here to help, you redneck bastard.” WERE *snort*
under a gibbous moon, that Sam realises his brother is beautiful I love all references to the gibbous moon and I love that it illuminated Dean's beauty for Sam.
But Sam likes it. Me, too.
You don't mind if I get these drabbles tattooed on my body, do you? I'll give credit. :D
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To be fair a flashlight would illuminate Dean's beauty!
Go ahead my friend! Get them tattooed! lol
xx
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