The light was strange. Sam blinked a few times and looked around. It had been a very long time since he’d been anywhere near a lake in the morning. The mist was swirling along the top of the water, and the air - it was so fresh that he found himself taking a few deep breaths.
There was a long dock that ran off the shore out quite a ways and Sam headed down toward it. Dean’s silhouette was so familiar to him he could spot his brother anywhere.
The wooden dock made his footsteps sound heavier than usual and Sam’s step faltered as he drew up behind his brother. “Hey Dean.”
Looking up at his brother, Dean’s lips twitched in a slight smile and he shifted his chair over, pointing to the free chair suddenly by him. He wasn’t sure Sam was supposed to be here, but it felt alright, it felt good, so that was okay. “Sammy, fish are jumpin’ this mornin’.”
Sam smiled and sat down. As his fingers curled over the arms of the chair he was surprised at the cool, softness of the wood. He let his gaze trail along his brother’s fishing line until the point where it disappeared in the water. “You caught anything?”
“Hell yeah, I’m an excellent fisher.” Dean smirked as he settled back in his chair, stretching his legs out slowly in front of him. His head tilted up toward the early morning sun for a moment before dropping toward Sam and his arched brows. “Don’t keep ‘em. Never been a big fish eater so it seems cruel to kill them, if I’m not gonna eat ‘em.”
Sam shook his head and laughed. That was so typically Dean. After all they went through, the things that still lay in front of them - Dean wanted to sit on a dock and fish...and he probably didn't really care all that much if he even caught anything. "You sleep okay? You're out here early?"
“Doesn’t seem too early.” Dean shrugged and reached behind him, grasping an extra pole and offering it out to Sam. “What are you doing here anyway? This... doesn’t seem like your type of thing.”
"Can't I just wanna spend some time with my brother?" Sam took the pole and looked at it askance. It had been at least twenty years since Sam had been anywhere near a fishing pole. Fumbling with the reel he smiled shyly over at Dean.
Laughing softly, Dean shook his head and stood, sliding the pole through the arm hole of the chair. “C’mon, get up, let me show you how. Clearly you’ve lost any knowledge I so graciously bestowed on you.”
Pushing up to his feet Sam frowned and stepped closer. He held the pole in both hands and stared at Dean's face. His brother looked different in the morning light; not just because the sun was soft and still warming but, because he was relaxed. The lines that were usually on Dean's face had softened, his lips had shifted into a smile rather than the thin line they usually were. "Okay, Obi-Wan, show me."
“You know that means you’re Anakin. Whiny bitch? Seems fitting.” Dean smirked at Sam then slid behind him, arms wrapping around Sam’s body. He easily moved his brother’s hands into the proper place on the pole, pressing his thumb to the release and turning them. “Point is to get it out there far enough you don’t have to recast. So you make it simple but strong.”
Sam's heart was shot out of a sling-shot when Dean pressed up against his back. It was still bouncing around in his chest when Dean's hand covered his on the pole. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes - Dean had always sent a little thrill through Sam when they were close. It was so many things. It was the pride Sam felt when Dean praised him, especially when they were kids. It was the way Dean looked at Sam sometimes, when he thought his little brother couldn't see. It was knowing what Dean had done for him - more than once - giving up whatever he needed to, in order to keep Sam well.
This time, the thrill was in simply knowing that it was alright. That Dean was there because he wanted to be. Sam closed his eyes and leaned back a little as Dean helped him to cast his line. “Better?”
“You’ll get there,” Dean murmured softly, hand sliding over Sam’s forearm for a moment. For some reason - maybe the future, their not-so-distant rocky past - the moment felt important to Dean and he wrapped his arms around Sam, hugging him tightly. “Wish we coulda fished more,” Dean muttered then slid back, curling his fingers over Sam’s shoulder. “I would’ve liked fishing off a boat.”
"We could do that," Sam said softly. Holding the fishing pole still pointed out at the water, he turned and slipped his other hand over Dean's shoulder. "We got time, Dean."
Some of that tension was back in Dean’s face, just the hint of it and Sam felt a little like he wanted to drag his brother down the dock and run.
“Nah, Sam, one thing I’ve don’t really got is time.” Dean smiled sadly at Sam and shrugged. “Should you be here Sam?” Dean knew something was different, this wasn’t normal, but it still felt good. Not a lot of things in Dean’s life did so, he’d take it.
“‘Course I should.” Sam’s time might be limited too. “Dean... I just-” Dean’s eyes were getting more guarded. Sam used the time he had left and leaned in quickly to press his lips to the corner of his brother’s mouth.
Dean’s lips were soft still, not tense with all his worry and fear. Sam’s fingers loosened on his brother’s shoulder and he gasped softly against Dean’s mouth.
Things were, different. Dean knew Sam’s lips against his shouldn’t feel so pleasant, so soft. Maybe he should be concerned, disturbed, or disgusted, but for now it just felt right. “Sam,” he said softly and finished tilting into the kiss, letting their lips slide the full length together. He stepped into Sam’s body, comforted by the familiar quality.
Sam's thoughts unraveled. Here, it was about what Dean wanted - it had to be. Sam let his fingers brush over Dean's cheek as he pushed closer, lips parting against his brother's. The dock shook slightly and Sam was sure he could hear the distant thrum of traffic. It wasn't long enough
A soft moan escaped from Dean and he pulled back slowly, staring up at Sam. “What...” Things were fading around the edge, Sam was disappearing, and Dean had a feeling this was a dream he wouldn’t forget.
Blinking his eyes open, Dean stared up at the ceiling and tried to process the dream lingering in his mind. It couldn’t be what he thought it was - which was Sam and him kissing on some dock - it had to just be... something else. Or maybe Dean ate something. Did they drink the night before? That could easily be the excuse behind it.
The bed beside his creaked and Dean slowly looked over, reverting his gaze quickly when Sam rolled toward him. It wasn’t like his brother could read his mind, Dean could rest assured in that.
Once he was sure his body wasn’t reacting to, nothing at all because that would be ludicrous, Dean rolled off the edge of the bed and stood, stopping long enough to smack Sam’s legs. “Get movin’, we got some distance to cover today. I need coffee.” Dean glanced once at his brother, his mind flashing with the ghost of heat along his lips, before he shook his head and headed for the bathroom.
Sam's mouth tasted like something had died in it, been salted and burned and then died again. It was nasty. The damn tea was disgusting but then Sam remembered the warmth of Dean's body, the kiss. The kiss. "Holy shit.”
Dean splashed water on his face, lips pursing as he stepped back. “Hey Sam,” he called through the door, cracking it open a moment later and peering out into the room. “Dude, get your fuckin’ ass in gear. This place has a ten am check out or we’re stuck with another night. I know how you like to preen.”
Sam stared open-mouthed at the bathroom door for a while then rubbed at his eyes. He'd known that the dream root would work, God knows that he and Dean had shared enough spit, blood and sweat over the years to get into each other's dreams with the aid of the swill he'd drunk. But a kiss. That dream was Dean's world, up to him to do what he wanted, what he dreamed of.
At least, that's what Sam thought. It was what he had thought. It seemed a little too good to be true, something Sam was accustomed to. Things that were too good to be true, usually were.
Sighing he dropped his feet to the floor at grimaced at the greasy feel of the old motel room carpet. "Can we stay somewhere that's not damn near condemned tomorrow?"
Dean snorted a laugh around a mouthful of toothpaste, twisting out of his shirt and heading out of the bathroom. “Yeah yeah Princess,” he muttered around the toothbrush, heading for his duffel bag.
“Tell you what.” Dean straightened up and pulled his toothbrush from his mouth, pointing it at Sam. “You win a few rounds at pool and you can pick wherever the hell you want for us to stay.”
“Dude, you’re flicking toothpaste all over the damn room.” Sam crossed his arms and frowned. The lines were back in Dean’s face and so, apparently, was the attitude.
“You just said the damn place is near condemned Sam, you gotta lecture me about everything?” Dean rolled his eyes and shoved his toothbrush back into his mouth, heading for the bathroom and kicking the door shut behind him. Despite what was coming in a few months - Dean’s death and all - things between him and Sam were always a little tense, hard.
Maybe that was why Dean had had the weird ass dream, because somehow dreaming about killing his brother was just too fucked up.
“Hurry up!” Sam bent and picked up a shirt off the floor. Dean’s. His brother had this thing about just tossing his clothes around like they had a cleaning service. “And, I don’t preen,” Sam added for good measure.
Standing, he headed over to his duffel and pulled out a clean t-shirt and some boxers. “We gotta do laundry, you know. Maybe you have enough underwear and socks to keep goin’ for weeks but I don’t.” He rubbed the back of his neck and tossed his clothes on the end of his bed.
Dean rolled his eyes at his reflection and spit into the sink, dragging on his clean shirt and heading out of the bathroom once more. “You gotta get laid or something Sam, this bitch thing is driving me insane.” Dean smirked at his brother, a joke mixed somewhere in the serious though. His brother did need to get laid.
“Don’t be … don’t say that shit.” Deciding that he didn’t want a shower after all, Sam shoved his feet into his jeans and pulled them up. “I don’t need to get laid, and besides, I get laid.” Huffing out a sigh, Sam sank down on the end of his bed to pull his socks on.
For a moment Dean simply stared at his brother, wondering if he was always this defensive or if Dean had simply done something else to annoy him. It was Sam though; the man was the biggest puzzle Dean had ever encountered, even if they supposedly knew each other so well.
“Whatever man,” he muttered and shrugged, pulling up his duffel bag and tugging out his jeans. It was too early for bickering and he needed coffee. At least the weird ass dream he’d had was fading away as most dreams did. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“You sleep okay?” Sam clutched his t-shirt, twisting it slightly.
There was something weirdly familiar about the question and Dean’s face scrunched up for a moment before he shrugged. “Weird dream is all. Need coffee and food. ‘Sides, we don’t feed you soon and you’ll start complaining about the humidity curling your silky locks or something.”
Dean grinned at his brother, letting his duffel hit Sam’s arm on purpose as he walked by.
Sam yanked his shirt down over his head, tried to flatten his hair and little and shoved the rest of his things in his bag. It only took him a few minutes to retrieve his stuff from the bathroom and get his boots but Dean was already in the car when he got outside.
It was a typical Dean vignette. The driver’s side door was open and Dean was resting his arms on the roof as his stared off up the road. Sam used to wonder what his brother was looking for - but maybe it had always been answers. As far as Sam could see they’d had a life full of questions and not a whole hell of a lot of answers.
The trunk was open and Sam swung his duffel in before closing it. “You should tell me your dream, kill time,” he said casually.
Dean didn’t bother trying to speak until well after they’d left the motel parking lot. There was no easy way to explain the dream to his brother. Unless he left bits and pieces out of course, which was basically his only option. “Something about a dock and fishing. You were there. Just, one of those weird, way too normal dreams. Kind of.”
“Like, all those things you want to do but never do in real life?” Sam asked the question even though he knew he probably shouldn’t. When Dean looked over at him with a weird frown on his face Sam added, “Just curious.”
“Well, I guess.” Dean shrugged, brows furrowing in a cross between suspicion and confusion. Of course, being suspicious of his brother was crazy, because if Sam somehow knew his dream, then he’d undoubtedly be freaking out. “You let Bobby know we’re a couple days out? ‘Member how cranky he got last time we showed up unannounced?”
“Yup.” Sam turned to look out the window, maybe a bit worried his face might betray the turmoil inside of him. “You think maybe he’s got somethin’? You know... an idea?”
It was the thing they didn’t talk about. The Sword of Damocles that was hanging over Dean’s head. Hell. And it was because of Sam. Dean was going to Hell because of Sam.
Dean’s first instinct - the words forming on his tongue something like I think he would have called Sam, duh - wavered when he glanced over at his brother’s turned away features. Dean knew how worried Sam was, guilty maybe, and Dean wasn’t always sure how to best handle that.
“I think if anyone finds anything, it’ll be Bobby.” Dean smiled softly when Sam turned toward then shifted back to the road. “C’mon bitch, you’re gonna buy me a nice big breakfast.”
The wind was rushing through Dean’s hair and his heart pulsed the same steady beats of the horse galloping beneath him. He’d been going like this for hours, or maybe just a few minutes, regardless it made everything in him feel light and free. And when he heard another set of galloping hoofs he didn’t even question, didn’t even look, because he knew this was a safe place and no one here would hurt him.
The rolling hills of too bright green steadily gave way to the scatter of pines and Dean pulled slightly back on the reigns, breathless as if he’d been the one running. Beneath him the horse evened out, neighed quietly, and led them into the slowly thickening forest. Dean looked to his side and smirked, shaking his head. “Why are you wearing a cowboy hat?”
It was on the tip of Sam’s tongue to replay with it’s your dream but that would give him away. Pulling up on the reigns he looked around as his horse walked over to Dean’s. “We been here before? Looks familiar?” Sam pushed his hat back and smiled at his brother.
“You probably don’t remember.” Dean grinned and shrugged, leading the way through the forest as if he’d been there only days before. “You were four, five maybe. Dad had some hunt in a nearby town so we were staying in a motel but some lady noticed us all alone and got suspicious. So Dad loaded us up and we went camping, even rode some horses.”
Laughing Dean let his head tilt back and catch the occasional flicker of sunlight through the trees. “You clung to me so hard. Course, the horse was probably three times your size. But you had a blast too, kept telling me to look at all the trees and birds and shit, like you’d never been outside before in your life.”
It made Sam's chest tighten, the way Dean was so happy in his dreams. That look was back on Dean's face again, the lighter, happier brother he hadn't seen in years. "I never really feel scared when you're around," Sam said quietly.
“Good. You shouldn’t.” Dean sighed softly at the man and directed the horses to the south. “Want to go campin’ with me Sam? Sleep under the stars? Cook out. Hell Sam, we could roast dogs, make s’mores.” Dean was nearly squirming in his saddle just thinking about it. He loved camping, hadn’t in so long.
"Sounds great, we should do that. All you gotta do is ask me, Dean." It wasn't that Sam actually liked camping but he liked camping with Dean. He liked falling asleep in a tent with his brother, listening to the relaxed sound of Dean's breathing. "I remember," Sam said in wonder. "You used to leave the flap of the tent open, say we could count the stars if I could stay awake long enough. I never could."
“Bet you would now though.” Dean sighed softly and leaned forward, rubbing his hand along the horse’s flank. “Sam, you ever regret not having a son? One you could take camping, riding, teach to fish?” There wasn’t much harm in asking this Sam, this question. After all, this was a dream, Dean was pretty sure.
Sam smiled and gripped his reigns tightly. "I don't regret anything. I'm real glad we got to spend so much time together. Even if some of it was kinda fucked up. Never felt right when I wasn't with you."
Here, Sam could say what he thought. His throat didn't get all caught up the same way, his words didn't get tangled. "We should spend more time together now."
“We spend all our days together,” Dean murmured and reached out to slide his hand down Sam’s arm.
His hand dropped as they reached the clearing he’d been looking for. There was a tent set up already, the fire already roaring in the pit, and Dean grinned at his brother before leaping off the horse. “C’mon Sam, let’s roast marshmallows.”
Shaking his head as he laughed, Sam swung his leg over the saddle and dropped down to the ground. In less than a heartbeat he was sitting by a roaring fire, holding a stick and roasting the Hell out of a marshmallow.
Dean's shoulder was pressed hard to his and it was warm and solid. It felt too real and Sam knew that his heart would ache when he woke up. When Dean leaned over to grab a beer Sam snatched the marshmallow off the end of his brother's stick and shoved it into his mouth. The only problem was it burned him.
Frantically waving his hand in front of his mouth he yelped.
“Idiot,” Dean laughed and gripped Sam’s jaw, squeezing until his lips parted. He remembered something, like the dream last night or something, and Dean knew things were different here. Dean watched Sam’s tongue roll the too hot marshmallow along the inside of his mouth then dipped forward.
Dean’s tongue slid forward before their lips touched. He scooped the too hot, sweet fluff from Sam’s mouth and brought it back into his own; taking away the slight burn his brother might be feeling.
Sam's body caught fire. At least, he thought it did -but it was just the way Dean's tongue sparked a trail of tingles across his bottom lip. Burned or not - he could feel the slide of Dean's tongue right down to his toes.
Blinking a few times, he stared at his brother. "That felt good," he muttered. "Not the burning thing... the tongue thing."
“Well couldn’t let your mouth burn.” Dean shrugged as if that was logical enough for sliding his tongue into his brother’s mouth. That smile on Sam’s face? Yeah, it made it all okay, all worth it.
Lips rolling together, Dean worked the last of the marshmallow around his mouth before turning his gaze to Sam once more. “You’re still wearing that hat.”
“Don’t ya like it? I think it probably makes me look tough.” Sam tipped the brim back a little so he could get a better view of his brother. The flames were dancing in Dean’s eyes, painting a warm glow over his cheeks and Sam couldn’t help reaching out to brush his fingers over Dean’s skin.
“Yeah, it looks pretty tough.” Dean reached out and tapped Sam’s hat back down. He could still feel Sam’s fingers on his skin and Dean’s lips pursed, his body shifting closer though it didn’t seem likely that they could be. “Sam? Is this okay?”
“Everything’s okay here, right Dean?” Dropping his roasting stick in the fire Sam turned so he could straddle the log they were sitting on and then slid a little closer. “You should probably make this spot better too. Burned.” He pointed at the corner of his mouth, feeling heat crawling up his neck.
“You would be so crafty,” Dean murmured, leaning forward and hesitating a moment before pressing his lips to the place Sam had gestured. “Sam,” he whispered, not sure if he should continue this or not. But, it was a dream, and Sam was right. Here? Everything was right. It was his to have.
Sliding to the side, Dean captured Sam’s lips in a slow, deep kiss. His hand slid up to trace the edge of Sam’s hat before knocking it back, pressing forward and closer. For this not being real, Sam’s lips felt so soft and warm, pleasant against his own.
Sam's heart jolted in his rib cage - the same rhythm Dean always forced it into. Since he was a teenager Dean had affected him; changed him. Dean was the rock that broke the surface of the water and Sam just rode the waves.
"Dean," he whispered. His hand finally stole its way under Dean's jacket and across the cotton warmed by his brother body.
The heat Dean was feeling didn’t seem right for just a dream, maybe because he had never felt something so intense as he slept. Or maybe he wasn’t sleeping, maybe this was really happening and Dean was simply fuzzy on the details.
Regardless of whether this was real or not, it was, Sam’s hand moving over his shirt, seeping heat through the cotton was enough to bring a moan to his lips. His fingers moved up through Sam’s hair, breaking from the kiss and guiding Sam down so smooth lips slid over his skin.
Regardless of whether this was real or not, it was Sam’s hand moving over his shirt, seeping heat through the cotton and that was enough to bring a moan to his lips. His fingers moved up through Sam’s hair, breaking from the kiss and guiding Sam down so smooth lips slid over his skin.
The stubble on Dean's cheek made Sam's lips buzz and tingle. He licked at the salty skin then buried his nose in his brother's hair. He remembered that smell, knew it like he knew how to breathe. "Don't leave me," he whispered against Dean's ear.
Dean’s breath hitched, his hands wrapping around Sam to hold him close. “Sam, god,” Dean whispered, sliding his fingers down Sam’s back. “I would, if I- if there was any way that would keep you on earth and me staying too. I- I can’t lose you. You have to keep living, living for me, okay?”
“I don’t know how.” Sam shifted forward and wrapped himself around Dean’s body. It was the truth. He didn’t have a clue how to exist without Dean in his life. He’d tried it once. Stanford was an experiment that failed. He fell into a relationship because there was a gaping wound in him that he kept trying to plug up.
“Shh. Can’t this, can’t-” Dean sighed and turned from Sam, leaning into his side. “God damn, even in my dreams you just...” Dean shook his head and wrapped his hands over Sam’s arm, drawing him tight against his body. At least here he could find comfort in the way Sam was close, like he never would never be in real life.
Sam struggled back so he could see his brother's face. "What? Even in your dreams... what?" The thundering in his chest was fast and furious and his fingers curled tight into Dean's shirt.
“Even in my dreams, you make me, sometimes Sam; I don’t think I’m enough. Not for you. I don’t deserve your friendship, I keep fucking things up.” Dean laughed weakly and shifted back, looking up at Sam. “You know, sometimes I would give anything to be this close to you, the real you that is. But I push the wrong way, and you shove so hard back against me. I wonder if you hate me, for bringing you back, then leaving you.”
Sam recoiled slightly; Dean's words were like a cold slap. "God, no. I love you."
It was so easy to say in Dean's world. His brother was right. They butted heads, shoved and fought with each other. Locked in some stupid dance - maybe trying to hide what was really going on in their minds: In their hearts.
Frowning, Sam felt that strange tugging... the pull to return to his own mind - his own heavy body. "Try not pushing, try pulling me closer,' he said softly.
“Sam,” Dean laughed his brother’s name and shook his head. “You kiddin’ me? If I pulled you in for a hug, the real you, I’d probably get kicked in the balls.” When Dean looked toward the fire, it was dimming, shrinking, and he frowned. “M’gonna wake up soon.”
“Take chances, Dean. There’s not so much time anymore.” Sam’s mind went foggy and the heat of his brother faded away.
When Dean’s eyes fluttered opened he was staring up at the ceiling, though for some reason he expected stars. His body was lingering with heat, his mind was reeling, and Dean wasn’t sure he felt rested at all. Groaning softly Dean rolled onto his side and stood, dropping his legs off the side of the bed. He could hear Sam’s mattress creek and thought about telling him to get his ass moving but his lips were still lingering with the suggestion of kisses and well, that was too unusual.
Standing, he headed for the bathroom, rubbing along the back of his neck. This was weird. Why was he dreaming about his brother like this? Dreaming of kissing him, touching him, confessing secrets to him. It didn’t make any sense to Dean and his mind was overloaded.
So he just barely glanced toward Sam’s bed before stepping into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. If Sam knew about the things he was dreaming? Their last few months together would be worse than anything he’d ever experienced.
For some stupid reason Sam had half hoped that Dean would sit down beside him on the bed. He wanted nothing more than to feel his brother's hand on his arm the way he used to wake him up when he was a kid.
Sam always slept later than Dean, maybe it was because he felt safe knowing that his brother was there. Dean took the bed closest to the door. Dean checked the salt lines. Sam didn't have to worry about those things. He'd just never realized the full extent of it until being faced with losing it.
Rolling onto his side, he squeezed his eyes closed tightly and listened to the sounds from the bathroom. Dean brushed his teeth, then turned on the shower and Sam dozed. Sounds of comfort.
Dean took too long in the shower and tried not to think about the fact that he was remembering Sam’s lips on his skin, well the dream of it, while he touched his hard flesh. Fucked up. What should it matter though? Dean was already going to hell, might as well enjoy some dirty dreams that no one else had to know about.
When he finally left the bathroom he kept his back to Sam as he dressed, gathering up his guns and carrying them to the table. Sam had probably gone back to sleep, Dean would let him. What were they rushing toward anyway? His inevitable end. And even if these guns hadn’t been used since the last time he cleaned them, it never hurt to double check things.
The slight noises filtered through Sam’s dozing. “Hey,” he murmured as he rolled over to squint across the room. “What you doing?”
“Cleaning,” Dean grunted softly and paused for a moment, looking over at his brother. The way Sam’s hair fell in his eyes was distracting, too much so. Dean’s brow furrowed and he turned back to his guns. “Sorry, I’ll be quieter.”
“S’okay. I like it.” Sam tucked his arm under his cheek and stared at his brother. There was tension in Dean’s voice - a tightness that usually accompanied worry. But then, they had a lot to worry about.
“When I was a kid? I got so used to fallin’ asleep listening to you and Dad. Waking up to the sounds of your voices, the rustle of papers, the smell of gun oil.” Sam smiled at his brother even though Dean wasn’t looking.
Dean’s lips twitched in a smile - until it hit him Sam wouldn’t be listening to these sounds anymore, not unless he was making them himself. Sighing softly, he dipped his head in a nod and continued his work. “I remember you bitchin’ about it on more than one occasion though,” Dean noted with a slight laugh, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. “How’d you sleep?”
“Sometimes, I used to bitch just to get you to talk to me. Dunno if you ever figured it out, Dean but, a lot of what I did? I did just to get attention from you.” Sam’s expression softened and he nestled a little lower in the bed.
Eyes widening slightly, Dean turned back to look at his brother, head tilting to the side curiously. He wasn’t quite sure where the hell this was all coming from but, something felt strangely, different. “Sam,” Dean whispered then turned away, shaking his head. “You were always the center of my attention, always are,” Dean murmured and shrugged.
Sam smiled slightly and turned his face into the pillow a little more. “We should … why don’t we go camping sometime, like we used to when we were kids.”
Dean’s shoulders tensed and he stared down at the gun and rag in his hand. There was no way, no way, Sam knew what he’d been dreaming. It just, couldn’t be. Still, the timing was too ironic to be ignored. “Thought you hated camping,” he muttered and scrubbed hard at the barrel.
“You like it.” Sam shifted a little to stare at his brother shoulders. Dean’s body hadn’t quite reached the level of stiffness that meant don’t talk to me, Sam. “I mean, you always looked so relaxed. We could stop one night on the way to Bobby’s. We got that old tent.”
A small huff of laughter fell from Dean, edged with the tension still lingering in him from his dream. What if he got confused, mixed the dream and reality? No matter what the dream image of his brother he created in his mind insisted, Dean was pretty sure pulling him closer wouldn’t go over well. “Maybe,” Dean breathed and cleared his throat. “You’d bitch the whole time probably.”
Sam kicked the covers back, sat up and scratched across his chest. “I promise I won’t. We could buy stuff to make smores and get hot dogs. Make shitty stove top coffee. C’mon, we might not have time-” Sam cleared his throat and looked down. Holy shit. They really might not have time.
“Is that what this is?” Dean asked quietly, piecing together the gun in his hands, so familiar he hardly noticed his actions. “Guilty Sam? Don’t be. I don’t need you to-” Blowing out a low breath Dean shook his head and stood, turning to his brother.
For a moment his eyes moved along the smooth, tan expanse of his brother’s chest then he was looking up, meeting Sam’s eyes. “I don’t have a fuckin’ bucket list Sam, there’s no need to try and make amends for, for whatever. This is just life, mine’s ending short, no big deal.”
“Guilty?” Sam’s heart clenched tight in his chest. “You know what, Dean? Forget it. Forget that I just wanted to spend some time with you when you weren’t so fuckin’ tense that you looked ready to shoot someone.” Sam stood and headed for the bathroom. “I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”
Dean was moving before he could really think about it. Maybe because his brother was upset and he didn’t really like that, especially when he was the one who had upset him. Of course once his fingers were curled around Sam’s wrist he didn’t really know what else to do. Sam wasn’t walking away, that seemed like the most important thing.
Their eyes met when Sam slowly turned and Dean frowned at the hurt light behind them. “Sam,” he sighed softly, attempting to work up some type of apology that his brother might actually believe. Wasn’t likely. “Okay,” he murmured, fingers loosening on Sam’s wrist. “If, if you still want to go. Okay.”
Sam bit back the urge to be stubborn. Dean's voice was still echoing in his mind - I push; you push back harder. He sniffed, looked down and away from Dean's face. "Yeah? I mean, yeah. I know it's not a bucket thing. I just - I want some time with you. It's probably selfish..." Sam shrugged. Dean's fingers were burning a ring around his wrist.
“Yeah well, we’re not selfish all that often.” Dean lifted his shoulder, watching Sam a moment longer before releasing his grip and turning away. “Guess we should hit up a grocery store on the way out of town. I’ve got this craving for marshmallow.” Dean dropped his head to hide the smirk and headed back across the room to gather up the now clean guns.
Sam’s step was far lighter as he headed into the bathroom. For once he didn’t dread hitting the road.
The night air was crisp and cool and though Dean was marginally tempted to sleep outside the tent, it looked like rain was pretty likely. So he didn’t protest too hard when Sam said they’d set the sleeping bags up inside, no matter how cramped the tent felt with both their six foot plus frames.
Dean flopped one way, shifted, then flopped back toward Sam. There wasn’t really a comfortable when sleeping on hard ground. He’d somehow forgotten that part about camping. Sam seemed to be having the same issue, rolling onto one side, then the other, onto his stomach, back onto his back.
As he shifted yet again Dean rolled his eyes and reached out, hand landing flat on Sam’s chest. “Dude, knock it off.”
Sam sucked in a breath of air when Dean's palm hit his flesh then coughed to try and cover it. "You- you're fidgeting too," he muttered weakly. "M' cold and uncomfortable. And I need more than one pillow or I feel weird."
“Bitch. Ing. Bitching. I knew it would be like this.” Dean rolled his eyes but rolled over, reaching out for his bag. He dug into his bag until he found a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Rolling back toward his brother he lifted the man’s head and pillow, fluffing the items beneath then letting Sam and the pillow drop back down again. “Better?”
"Mostly," Sam said. His lips twitched into a smile. "You remember how scared I used to get when I was little? I have these vague memories of being scared camping - but I can't remember much. Stupid nightmares." Sam nestled down onto his newly plumped up pillow and rolled onto his side, facing Dean.
“Course I remember. You used to latch onto me so hard. Once or twice you even managed to squeeze into my sleeping bag. We’d wake up so hot, I felt like I was on fire.” Dean laughed weakly, blinking slowly. His gaze was adjusting to the darkness and he could see Sam now, the sleepy half smile on his face. “We spend a lot of time remembering.”
"Got a lot of good things to remember. Dean?" Sam shifted a little closer. He was sure if he concentrated that he could feel the heat from Dean's arm. "Did you really let me get in your sleeping bad when I was a kid?"
Dean swallowed thickly, staring at Sam until he had to force his gaze away. Around the fire he hadn’t really had much of a problem reminding himself this wasn’t a dream. Here though? Dean wasn’t ever this close to Sam, physically or otherwise. “Yeah, course I did. Why would I turn you away?”
Sam shrugged in the semi-darkness. His fingers were only about an inch away from Dean's arm. "You were a good big brother. Not everyone would be like that... not all brothers, I mean." Sam's eyes closed and he pretended to shift a little and let his fingers fall against Dean's arm.
It was probably just Dean, but the air in the tent suddenly felt too warm, heavy, weighing on Dean in a way he knew wasn’t right. “It was you Sam, I never could have just- letting anything happen to you isn’t in the cards, alright?” They knew that already, both fully aware the lengths Dean went for his brother.
Sam’s fingers were a warm weight on his skin and Dean swallowed thickly then looked up, watching his brother’s eyes struggle to lift as if he was fighting sleep. “I...” Dean wet his lips and shifted just slightly forward then froze. “Night, Sam.”
Sam mumbled his brother's name and let himself become lost in the strange softness between asleep and awake. It felt like a few moments, maybe a handful of heartbeats and there was a subtle shift. When Sam lifted heavy eyelids for a few moments it was still dark in the tent - darker, perhaps, than when he'd fallen asleep.
He listened carefully and could hear the steady sound of Dean's breathing - then a small snap outside the tent. Sam's sense jolted to alert and he shifted quickly closer to Dean and curled his arm over his brother's side. "Dean," he whispered.
“Shh, it’s nothing,” Dean murmured and shifted into Sam, not opening his eyes as he turned into the heat of his brother. He was asleep, somewhere, but not here. This was... a dream. He thought, only it was so much like real life too. Like his subconscious mind had decided to create an end to their story though he hadn’t asked for one.
Sam pressed in closer and Dean slowly smiled, turning his lips toward his brother’s skin. “No one can hurt you here Sam, remember? This is my dream, wouldn’t let anything hurt you.”
Sam let out a soft sigh and lay back down. This time, he slipped his arm under Dean's pillow and his brother just nestled closer in that sleepy way he had of moving. Moving toward Sam without even opening his eyes.
"Dean? Why can't we be like this all the time?" Sam's voice was soft in the darkness. He slid both arms around his brother and pulled Dean into him. Maybe if he just held him long enough...
“Scared I guess,” Dean whispered, his heart quickening slightly as his lips moved over Sam’s skin. “You, the real you, would flip if you knew I thought of this. Here, it doesn’t feel wrong. Awake though? It is, you’d tell me, all the reasons why.” Dean laughed softly and let his hand settle on Sam’s side, curling over his hip.
Desire trickled through Sam's body like a warm stream, winding down his limbs and making his flesh come alive. "Dean, you don't know that," he whispered. He leaned his head back, giving Dean's mouth room to move on his throat.
“Maybe,” Dean breathed, not really interested in discussing things further. After all, what could the Sam in his mind know about the real Sam’s mind?
Instead he took what he could, here, where Sam wouldn’t push him away. His lips moved over skin with more purpose, grazing across the slightly elevated pulse beneath his teeth. His fingers on Sam’s hip dug in deeper, held there, and Dean let his tongue slid across a sharply curved collarbone.
All Sam knew was that he wanted more. Dean's touch was perfect. It always had been. Shifting closer, Sam hesitated but a moment before sliding his leg over Dean's hip. Their bodies slotted together; mouth to throat, arm wrapped around waist, hips to hips.
Sam's moan broke the silence in the tent, his heart racing as he rolled his hips forward to press his arousal against his brother's body.
“Jesus,” Dean groaned and rocked into the heat of his brother’s body. He couldn’t remember ever having a dream so vivid before. Maybe because of how well he knew Sam or something.
As his lips continued to work along Sam’s neck his fingers dipped down, slipping just under the elastic of his brother’s boxers. Sam’s skin was burning, so smooth and soft, and Dean moaned as he moved closer.
Sam's hands moved restlessly over his brother's back and he pulled at Dean until he could roll onto his back and settled the man's weight over him. His next breath was more of a shudder than anything else. Dean's weight was the only thing holding him there because fuck he'd never felt more like he could just melt away.
It was hot, the physical heat of Dean's skin, the insane way that lust was slamming into Sam - wave after wave of desire. He'd always wanted Dean but feeling it - even in a dream - was overwhelming.
His lips found Dean's and he tilted his head to suck small kisses along them. Full and soft, Dean's bottom lip fit perfect between Sam's.
The moan in Dean rose up once more, deeper, and he pressed forward to claim his brother’s mouth, hard and deep. He loved how Sam simply parted his lips further, letting Dean sweep his tongue along every smooth surface and draw out his taste.
When he broke from the kiss he was winded though, he figured in a dream he shouldn’t be. “Should,” Dean panted softly, rolling his hips down in a hard circle to slide their hard dicks together. “Do this in real life. Never would stop.”
"Then don't." Sam's words were spoken right against his brother's mouth and he arched up slightly into the weight of Dean's body. Pushing his legs further apart he moaned softly when Dean sank between them. "Don't stop." Here, or there, Sam didn't care anymore.
“Won’t.” Dean moved restlessly against his brother. It had been years since he simply ground up against a person, like a teenager or something, but he didn’t really want to stop kissing Sam. He’d never considered whether kissing his brother could be addicting or not. Apparently, it could.
Sam could feel the dull pull of awake and tried to shove it away. The circle of his arms tightened on Dean and he groaned his displeasure. "Stay," he whispered.
“M’right here Sam,” Dean murmured but even as he dipped in and pressed his lips against Sam, it felt too much like everything was slipping through his fingers.
Except, it didn’t fade the way he expected it too. Sam beneath him shifted slightly, changed, to something more solid, hotter, his bare skin burning against Dean’s. And Dean was on top of him, grinding against him, his lips drifting across his brother’s sleep warm skin.
It took Dean exactly thirty seconds to realize what was happening - namely, the dream he’d been having and the fact that he’d started molesting his brother in his sleep - before he was jumping off, skidding across the tent, steeling himself for the blows to follow.
Sam wasn't sure what was worse - the sudden loss of Dean's body heat or the look on his brother's face when he managed to realize what had happened. "Dean? Dean. Just relax... it's okay." Sam was hard, aching, his body still shivering slightly with pleasure. Tugging the sleeping bag over his hips, Sam rubbed at his eyes and sighed.
“Sam, I-” Dean groaned and rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes. How the hell was he going to explain this? “Was just a dream- I, sorry it was- you know, just...” After a moment Sam’s words caught up to him and Dean dropped his hands, staring at his brother. “You’re not gonna kick my ass?”
"No, of course not - Jesus, Dean. It's ... no. It's alright, okay?" Sam sat up, shoving his hand through his hair quickly then held it out to Dean. "Come back, stay warm. It's okay, I promise." For some stupid reason, Sam had convinced himself that everything would go okay - that things would just happen between them.
There was no way that he wanted to go back to pretending every day that he hadn't been in love with Dean for, well, years. "We're tired, you're tired. I-" Sam gave up, eyes lifting to Dean's.
“It’s alright?” Dean repeated, brows rising incredulously. “How Sam? How the hell is me humping you in your sleep okay? Did I miss the memo that made incest okay?” But Dean was moving forward. Because he was tired and it was cold and well, there was Sam. He didn’t want to be much further away anymore.
"No it's not that- I mean, it's ok-" Sam shrugged, frustrated and slid back down in his sleeping bag. He hadn't counted on having to explain anything. How did he even begin to talk to Dean about how right it felt. "Dean, let's just - I don't know. Lie down. We need sleep, both of us. And it's been so great being here..." Don't ruin it.
“Are you fucking insane?” Dean dropped onto his sleeping bag and stared hard at his brother. Sure, he was against serious conversations at the best of times, but this. His brother should be freaking out, losing his mind, or at least holding some notion that the thing that had just happened was seriously twisted on a whole new level. “So it’s perfectly okay that I’m apparently some twisted fuck who wants to fuck you?”
Dean’s gaze locked on his brother until the man looked up, lips pursing. “Yeah Sam, it was you I was thinking about. It wasn’t some damn dirty dream - I mean, it was, but it was starring you. I was dreaming about fucking you, then woke up nearly doing exactly that, and you’re completely okay with that?”
“Dean, don’t do this. Don’t - don’t over think everything, okay?” Sam pressed his lips together and turned away from Dean. Ever since Sam was five years old and got busted by Dean for eating the last of the coco puffs, he knew that Dean could read him like a book. “Sometimes things just happen,” Sam muttered.
Another wave of freaking out rocked through Dean but before he could tap onto it, things slowed down and clicked into place. Sam was being evasive, Sam was hiding something, Sam knew. “What did you do?” He asked in a whisper somewhere between a growl and hiss.
Sam hunched his shoulders high and yanked the sleeping bag tighter around his shoulders. "I - I didn't- just sleep. It's the middle of the damn night and you're just freaked. It was a ... it was a dream." Sam couldn't stare at the canvas wall any longer and squeezed his eyes shut tight.
“Don’t fuck with me Sam. You have no idea what’s- Jesus Christ I feel like I nearly raped you. Now you’re just saying it’s okay and I’m not supposed to think this way so fill in some fuckin’ pieces.” Dean’s jaw clenched, fingers tightening into fists, the panic and shame giving way to agitation and anger.
God, Sam hated that sound in Dean's voice. He knew it well, Dean thought everything was his fault. It didn't seem to matter what they were doing - or what had happened, Dean would blame himself. "You didn't - it wasn't rape, Dean. Fuck."
Giving up, Sam rolled back over and reached for Dean's hand. "Come on, can't we just... forget about this?" It was a stupid question. Sam could no sooner forget the feel of Dean's mouth over his than he could give up waking up every morning. But it was his last attempt. It was all he had.
For a long minute Dean simply stared at his brother. He didn’t know what the man was hiding but it settled like a heavy weight in the middle of his chest. He was honestly tired of games, of secrets, and still some part of his mind was reeling from the heat of Sam’s body.
Pulling his hand back Dean blinked once at Sam then rolled away, slipping under the sleeping bag and tugging it up over his shoulder. If it didn’t bother Sam then fine, Dean would just try to deal with feeling so fucked up on his own. This was probably Sam just trying to calm Dean because it was the middle of the night. Tomorrow, he’d likely freak, Dean was sure.
It hurt when Dean pulled away from him; it hurt a hell of a lot more than Sam expected. Reaching out again, he pressed his fingers to Dean's back. "Dean?"
“Don’t, Sam. You don’t want to tell me what you’re hiding? Fine. Just go to sleep.” Dean felt the touch of Sam’s fingers like a burst of renewed desire and he bit back a shudder. He’d never wanted this before, he was never this fucked up. What the hell was wrong with him?
"It was me," Sam whispered. "I did it." Pulling his hand back against his chest Sam closed his eyes again. He had no desire to see what Dean's face was going to look like when he turned around.
Dean’s face pulled together in confusion. his shoulders tensing slightly as he rolled slowly toward his brother. “What do you mean you did it? Because, trust me Sam, I’m pretty damn sure I was the one on top of you.”
"Dean, there's a lot you don't understand about this. I mean - it's ... not - there's..." Sam groaned and pressed his hand over his eyes. "I fuckin' used dream root, okay?"
The words washed over Dean like something cold, bringing a soft shudder of hurt down his spine. “You went into my dreams?” He muttered, eyes widening. “You went into my dreams Sam? To what? Spy on me? To get-”
Realization crawled across his senses and Dean hissed. “The kissing, the touching. You went because of that? You, you wanted that?”
“I-” Sam’s voice broke. “Yes. I wanted to kiss you- I wanted to know what it was like. Even just there - I- Dean. I’ve wanted it since I was a kid - a teenager. I’m sorry.” Sam’s words all kind of ran together- jumbled in his head and jumbled when they came out his mouth.
“Christ, Sam,” Dean whispered, scratching along his brow. He didn’t know how to process this, wasn’t sure how to begin. It felt like an invasion of his privacy, like Sam had betrayed his trust. And still Dean wanted to be closer, draw him in, touch him.
There weren’t words for this. “Fine,” he breathed and flopped over onto his stomach, closing his eyes. “Go to sleep Sam. And stay out of my dreams.”
Dean didn’t have to worry about Sam being anywhere near his brother’s dreams because he was unlikely to sleep for the rest of the night. His chest ached, his heart felt like it just wanted to stop beating.