your bridge in this storm (a binary deconstruction)pairing.
, via spn_remix
. Original story here
"Dean," Sam whispers. "Dean, Dean, Dean, why don't you come on in, huh? We can catch up, or something, Dean, there's some beer in the fridge..."
He trails off, looks at himself in the mirror, then takes a deep breath and tries again.
Sam practices what he's going to say in mirrors, for when he sees Dean again; their last time not good enough to be the last.
Jessica peers into the bathroom, catches Sam's eyes in the mirror. He ducks his head and she asks, "Who are you talking to?"
"Nobody," Sam answers.-
Dean doesn't like to let Sam drive
as if giving him this power will make it go to his head,
as if Sam will get used to driving away. He fixed the car almost grudgingly and when it was almost finished he smashed the rearview window so he'd never have to look through it again.-
Dean isn't asleep. His eyes are closed, he's breathing slowly, he hasn't bitched at Sam for the singer-songwriter crooning out of the radio,
and he's definitely not asleep.
He bumps his head against the glass of the Impala's side door as they take a corner, and the force takes a second to settle back. Sam's hands are hot and Dean can feel them an inch away from his, like Sam's about to touch him, but Dean flinches, jerks back.
"Hands off the goods, Sammy," he says, and doesn't look at Sam's face. "Let's keep going," he says.
Sam sighs deep and faces the road again.-
Sam finds the hunt on a messageboard, of course, and Dean takes the time to peer over Sam's shoulders before bitching at him, saying that finding a hunt on a messageboard via a link from someone's del.icio.us linked from a facespace-whatever page is the lamest thing ever, ever.
"What are we," Dean says. "Bloggers?"
"Shut up, Dean," Sam replies, and he idly goes back to the green-on-black forums. "He's talking to his brother," Sam says.
Inside his head Dean's thinking where can I get some of that?
brother. Died a while back, there was an 'accident' at 'home.'"
Dean privately thinks that Sam's little air quotes could choke a rabbit, but that's neither here nor there.
"I'm going back to the car, to pack up." Dean announces. "You coming?"
"Yeah, give me a minute and I'll be right there," Sam answers. He clacks away on the keyboard, and Dean doesn't wait long before Sam slides into the shotgun side.
All of a sudden, he doesn't have to wait long at all.-
Dean is only half-asleep. He listens to the room: the air conditioner, the traffic outside, the soft hitching sound of Sam waking up. He doesn't move, but Sam's right there beside him, leaning close, and Dean fights to not show he's still awake.
Sam touches his cheek, slowly, and Dean twitches underneath Sam's hands. He tries to relax into the motel bed, but it doesn't work,
and he strains to feel Sam again.
"Sam," Dean says suddenly, like he can't take it. He sits up. "Sam, what're you doing, huh?"
Sam snaps his hand back, cradles it against his chest like he's been burned.
"Nothing," Sam says. "Nothing, I- nothing. Sorry." He gets up, and pauses before sliding back into his own bed. "Good night, Dean," Sam whispers, and Dean goes back to pretending.-
Sam looks at the ring on Dean's finger, the heavy silver of it.
"I would have bought you a ring, if I could have-"
he says towards the ceiling
"-almost picked one out, almost."-
Bryce Mele sits alone in the back corner of a Starbucks, thin small body hunched over a huge laptop. Sam sits down a little to the side, close enough to see over Bryce's shoulder and in line of sight to not have it be creepy.
Sam gets up, walks to the condiment stand, walks back and drops the decoy, splatters of black coffee up against Sam's shoes.
"Oh, oh, sorry about that," Sam says, all embarrassed innocence. "Lemme get that-"
Bryce laughs nervously, and Sam takes a seat at the same table smoothly. "Sorry, it's just- these are so narrow, you know? Feel like I'm going to crash into everything."
"Yeah, I know, my bag's, like, huge, and I always bump into things-"
"So, I'm just- hey! Is that the forum, the one with all that spooky stuff? I swear, I was on there - some of that stuff I'd just love to see - I was on there, and there was this guy posting about how he'd been hearing from his kid brother. Can you imagine!"
"That was me!" Bryce squeaks.
Dean walks up slowly, slides another coffee in front of Sam, looks back and forth between him and Bryce. "Here's your fucking soy and estrogen lattŽ, Sam," he says, and Sam watches him take a seat,
watches muscles bunch and shift under skin.-
Bryce looks at Sam shyly and Dean tenses, doesn't know why.
"When we were little, me and Willy, I don't know." Bryce cuts off, starts again: "I know it was an accident. I mean, everybody said it was an accident-"
He shrugs. "He was my brother, you know. My best friend, and then it was over." He looked between Sam and Dean. "Do you have any idea what that's like?"
Dean nods when Sam isn't looking.-
Dean sharpens knives, and feels Sam looking at him, Sam's eyes moving all over his skin.
"Quit it, Sam," Dean snaps, and slides a knife into its sheath. Sam looks away, face hot and guilty, can't help but look back.
Dean says something under his breath, clears his throat and says it louder. "What are you doing, Sam? You've been-" Dean cuts off. "You've been-" he finishes lamely. "Weird."
Sam shrugs, and pointedly looks away.-
After knocking on the door of Bryce's old house, after seeing the kid, Sam and Dean step back, let it all sort out in Bryce's head.
Finally, Bryce says softly: "That's why he came back, right? Because I'm a big kid, and I'm the only one who can."
Do something, Sam finishes.
"That's right," Dean says.-
Sam crouches, moves up beside Dean's bed and leans over. He draws the sheets back a little bit, just slowly. Dean's jaw goes hard, he sits up and he glares at Sam directly.
They maintain eye contact, Sam's hands above Dean's hip. Dean shifts, accidentally touches Sam's skin and snaps, backs away.
"You're looking for something."
Dean says it, and it's not a question. Sam nods anyways, and he tugs a little, pulling the covers back. Dean clenches his jaw, gives a tight little sign of affirmation and Sam flicks the bedside lamp on, takes a minute to just look
Dean, Dean, Dean, Sam thinks.
The sheets are rough against Dean's skin, pink where Sam's fingers move over Dean's body, turning him and examining taut skin over muscle and bones.
"Ten years wouldn't have been enough," Sam says into Dean's navel. "The deal- it wouldn't-"
Sam sighs against the groove of Dean's hip. "Nothing would ever have been enough."
He wraps his hand just under Dean's knee, tucks his nose in that space under Dean's chin, and Dean opens up and lets him in.-
Sam looks in the mirror. Dean is standing behind him, smiling.