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Aug. 11th, 2010 12:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
longsufferinglyOKAY, this is my final fic from this post! SO NOW I AM MOVING ON TO SWEET CHARITY/MY OWN FUNDRAISER FICS. Look at me go!
Anyway, this is Sam/Dean for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
countessmary--it ended up on the short side, for which I apologize! I will make the other fic I owe you a little longer to compensate ♥
The Thread That Links Us, Sam/Dean, PG-13. Post 522 (unspoiled for S6). Dean has glasses; Sam has Dean.
The first thing Sam says to Dean is, "You're wearing glasses."
As openings go, it's terrible.
He deserves the holy water Dean throws in his face.
*
Sam watched Dean for three weeks, and Dean didn't smile, not once.
Not that Dean had been smiling much even before everything, but the point was that Dean was supposed to be happier with them.
Three weeks, and nothing worked, not Lisa, not Ben, not the car. And it wasn't like Sam was happy either.
Leaving someone for their own good really only worked if they were better off.
*
The holy water doesn't burn, which is a relief. Sam hadn't really done any tests himself.
"Christo," he says, cheerfully. He pulls a knife out of his back pocket, the silver one Dean gave him for his fourteenth birthday. He cuts his arm, shows Dean the wound. He shrugs.
Sam's smiling. Fit to split his face.
"Why'd you get glasses?" he asks. Dean still hasn't said anything yet. Dean is just staring. "Is it a Clark Kent thing? So the angels won't find you?" He rubs the back of his neck, smile dimming a little. "Or so I won't? I can leave."
He turns, not totally meaning it, but he could have read this wrong. Giving Dean the chance.
And then there's Dean's hand on his arm, firm, strong, and real, and Dean doesn't have to say stay for Sam to understand it.
He pulls Dean close, rougher than he means to. He thought he was being so calm about it, but his hands are shaking on Dean's back.
"Couldn't read some billboards," says Dean, right up against Sam's neck. "Had a little time, so I went to a doctor, got it checked out."
Sam laughs, a little broken, and he can't stop for a while. He doesn't mind.
*
Dean leaves a note. Sam wants to call him on it, tell him it's a shitty way to leave his family. But Sam's seen them together, and they're not a family. They're people who think they owe Dean, and it will be a mercy to spare everyone a scene.
*
Sam can't get his brain away from Dean's glasses. Years of miscommunication, deceit, and angst, a fucking apocalypse, and that's what he can't ignore. All Sam wants to do is wake Dean up in the middle of the night, watch him fumble for his glasses, see him all tousled and sleep-rough, eyes focusing behind the lenses.
He turns over in bed, so his hard-on is facing away from Dean. Like that makes it better.
So the glasses aren't all he thinks about.
*
They don't talk about it. Any of it. It's amazing, how much of their lives they're able to gloss over.
*
It's been three weeks of aimless driving when Sam says, "Have you seen Bobby?"
"No," says Dean.
Sam nods, once. "Do you want to?"
Dean looks away, and when he finally answers, his voice is raw. "Want you to myself for a while, Sammy."
Sam licks his lips.
"Yeah," he says. "Okay."
*
They're in Wisconsin when Dean says, "I think I should get contacts."
Sam raises his eyebrows. "Why?"
"Did you see me just strike out with that girl, Sammy? Come on."
Sam buries a smile in his beer. It's amazing how fast a girl can lose interest when a six-four antichrist wills her to. "Nah, man. It's just not your night."
"It hasn't been my night in--" Dean falters, and Sam wonders how long it's been since it's been either of their nights. Dean makes a face. "A while. I look like a pussy."
He goes to take his glasses off and Sam catches his wrist. It feels tiny in his hand, so fragile. "No," he says, his voice thick. "You don't."
*
The first kiss isn't cautious, because they've lost everything so many times it seems stupid to think this could ruin them.
*
The next morning, Sam's at his computer when Dean wakes up. He fumbles for his glasses, and Sam doesn't even pretend he's not staring.
"There's a job in Nevada," Sam says. "Sounds like a werewolf."
Dean sits up, blanket slipping down. He's in nothing but the damn glasses. "Yeah? You want to go?"
Sam closes the laptop and crosses the room to Dean's bed. "Yeah," he says. "In a minute."
Dean grins, and Sam can't believe he thought the glasses didn't look good. "A minute, Sammy? Thought you had stamina."
Sam laughs. It feels good. "God, shut up, Dean."
And Dean does.
Anyway, this is Sam/Dean for
countessmary--it ended up on the short side, for which I apologize! I will make the other fic I owe you a little longer to compensate ♥The Thread That Links Us, Sam/Dean, PG-13. Post 522 (unspoiled for S6). Dean has glasses; Sam has Dean.
The first thing Sam says to Dean is, "You're wearing glasses."
As openings go, it's terrible.
He deserves the holy water Dean throws in his face.
*
Sam watched Dean for three weeks, and Dean didn't smile, not once.
Not that Dean had been smiling much even before everything, but the point was that Dean was supposed to be happier with them.
Three weeks, and nothing worked, not Lisa, not Ben, not the car. And it wasn't like Sam was happy either.
Leaving someone for their own good really only worked if they were better off.
*
The holy water doesn't burn, which is a relief. Sam hadn't really done any tests himself.
"Christo," he says, cheerfully. He pulls a knife out of his back pocket, the silver one Dean gave him for his fourteenth birthday. He cuts his arm, shows Dean the wound. He shrugs.
Sam's smiling. Fit to split his face.
"Why'd you get glasses?" he asks. Dean still hasn't said anything yet. Dean is just staring. "Is it a Clark Kent thing? So the angels won't find you?" He rubs the back of his neck, smile dimming a little. "Or so I won't? I can leave."
He turns, not totally meaning it, but he could have read this wrong. Giving Dean the chance.
And then there's Dean's hand on his arm, firm, strong, and real, and Dean doesn't have to say stay for Sam to understand it.
He pulls Dean close, rougher than he means to. He thought he was being so calm about it, but his hands are shaking on Dean's back.
"Couldn't read some billboards," says Dean, right up against Sam's neck. "Had a little time, so I went to a doctor, got it checked out."
Sam laughs, a little broken, and he can't stop for a while. He doesn't mind.
*
Dean leaves a note. Sam wants to call him on it, tell him it's a shitty way to leave his family. But Sam's seen them together, and they're not a family. They're people who think they owe Dean, and it will be a mercy to spare everyone a scene.
*
Sam can't get his brain away from Dean's glasses. Years of miscommunication, deceit, and angst, a fucking apocalypse, and that's what he can't ignore. All Sam wants to do is wake Dean up in the middle of the night, watch him fumble for his glasses, see him all tousled and sleep-rough, eyes focusing behind the lenses.
He turns over in bed, so his hard-on is facing away from Dean. Like that makes it better.
So the glasses aren't all he thinks about.
*
They don't talk about it. Any of it. It's amazing, how much of their lives they're able to gloss over.
*
It's been three weeks of aimless driving when Sam says, "Have you seen Bobby?"
"No," says Dean.
Sam nods, once. "Do you want to?"
Dean looks away, and when he finally answers, his voice is raw. "Want you to myself for a while, Sammy."
Sam licks his lips.
"Yeah," he says. "Okay."
*
They're in Wisconsin when Dean says, "I think I should get contacts."
Sam raises his eyebrows. "Why?"
"Did you see me just strike out with that girl, Sammy? Come on."
Sam buries a smile in his beer. It's amazing how fast a girl can lose interest when a six-four antichrist wills her to. "Nah, man. It's just not your night."
"It hasn't been my night in--" Dean falters, and Sam wonders how long it's been since it's been either of their nights. Dean makes a face. "A while. I look like a pussy."
He goes to take his glasses off and Sam catches his wrist. It feels tiny in his hand, so fragile. "No," he says, his voice thick. "You don't."
*
The first kiss isn't cautious, because they've lost everything so many times it seems stupid to think this could ruin them.
*
The next morning, Sam's at his computer when Dean wakes up. He fumbles for his glasses, and Sam doesn't even pretend he's not staring.
"There's a job in Nevada," Sam says. "Sounds like a werewolf."
Dean sits up, blanket slipping down. He's in nothing but the damn glasses. "Yeah? You want to go?"
Sam closes the laptop and crosses the room to Dean's bed. "Yeah," he says. "In a minute."
Dean grins, and Sam can't believe he thought the glasses didn't look good. "A minute, Sammy? Thought you had stamina."
Sam laughs. It feels good. "God, shut up, Dean."
And Dean does.
