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Sep. 2nd, 2009 07:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
longsufferinglyIt is after midnight in England, so happy birthday, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lazy_daze! Hope you enjoy ♥
Your Bones Have Been My Bedframe and Your Flesh Has Been My Pillow
Sam/Dean, 422 coda, PG-13, 1200 words.
Sam drags Dean away, or maybe they drag each other away, Sam's hand on Dean's arm right where Castiel's scar still is. He couldn't get Dean out of hell, but he can get him out of this. He can save them this minute, he thinks. For all of today, if he's lucky.
Lucifer doesn't try to follow; Sam wonders if this means he's not important anymore. If that was all he had to do, the entirety of his destiny. If now he's not even important enough to kill.
Dean looks surprised to the see the car, mutters Cas, and jerks his head to show Sam should drive. He pulls out the phone to call Bobby, and an hour later they're still talking, the words barely registering for Sam. Dean still hasn't said anything to him, and that's weird, that's--
He remembers in a rush: Dean thinks he's a monster; Dean hates him.
Nausea hits him like kick to the gut. He wrenches the car off the road because the way they are right now, Dean might actually kill him for puking in his baby.
"I'll call you back," Dean says, trying to catch Sam's shoulder. He pushes the door open and lands hard on the ground before Dean connects, knees scraping on the gravel, hands on the grass. "Sammy, what?"
Sam--Jesus, Sam's crying, and he laughs a little too. Because he didn't quite lose it during the apocalypse, he was so close, and then Dean says Sammy and that's it. Worse than the fucking end of the world.
He heaves up nothing but liquid--red, and he wonders if that's just for today, or if it's going to be forever, if this blood is never going to leave.
Ruby said he didn't need it.
Ruby lied to him before. Ruby might have never said a true thing to him in his life.
"Sammy," says Dean again, his hand on Sam's back, trying to rub, but Sam flinches away.
"You can go," Sam manages. "I wouldn't blame you."
"Yeah, because this has proved you do so well solo," Dean says.
Sam throws up again, but he's had nothing but blood today, and it's nothing but red bile.
"Jesus, you're a wreck," says Dean, but he sounds like Dean, like Sam's brother, and it honestly breaks Sam's heart. "Come on, get in the car."
"I'll throw up in it."
"Trained you better than that," says Dean.
"Trained me better than a lot of things."
Dean pushes him into the backseat. "Sleep it off, Sammy," he says softly.
*
When Sam wakes up, he feels more human. He regrets the thought as soon as he has it--he's not more human. He's better rested; his head is clearer.
He's probably no more human.
Dean's sitting crosslegged on the other bed, reading. The sight is so unexpected that Sam has to wonder if he's still asleep.
He struggles up, and Dean's there in seconds.
"Don't force it," says Dean.
"Lucifer," says Sam. "Lucifer, and the world's ending, and it's my fault, and you're telling me to take it easy?"
"Yes," says Dean, "that's exactly what I'm saying." He shifts, glances at his bed. "You never told me."
There are so many things that Dean could mean, and Sam doesn't want to guess the wrong one. "Never told you what?"
Dean puts the book down on Sam's lap--Mystery Spot. Sam stares at it, almost afraid. He doesn't have to read it to know what it's about. He doesn't know what to say to that--there's nothing to say. He never explained to Dean, not all of it.
He closes his eyes and leans back. There's nothing he can say to that. "You never should have saved me," he says instead. Those words have been burning at his throat for two years; he's already thrown up everything else he could.
"What?" says Dean. He sounds like he honestly has no idea what Sam means.
"You must've thought that, right?" says Sam. "If you hadn't brought me back, none of this would have happened. You wouldn't have gone to hell, Ruby couldn't have manipulated me, I wouldn't be--" he swallows. "This."
Dean splutters for a long moment. False starts and near words and then he says, "Sam. Sammy. Jesus--no."
Sam still can't look at him, keeps his eyes closed. "It would, Dean."
He hears Dean sit on the bed and flip through the book, but he doesn't say anything either. It's quiet, and somewhere outside, somewhere not far, the world might be ending without them.
"You get it," says Dean, with this tone of wonder, like he's amazed by whatever he's saying. Sam doesn't actually know what. "I--man, Sammy, I thought--I had no idea what was going through your head. I figured maybe Chuck did, and a lot of this is just shit, but--" He can hear Dean trying to figure out what this means to him. "God, Sammy."
Sam opens his eyes. Dean's looking at his hands.
"What?" he asks.
"You'd do anything for me," says Dean. "You did."
It's such a not-Dean thing, a conversation he never thought they'd have. Dean needs to hear this, he realizes suddenly. Has needed to hear this ever since Sam left for Stanford, because Dean thinks he's the only one.
"Yeah," says Sam. "Of course. To save you."
Dean laughs shortly. "I don't want to be saved without you, dumbass."
Sam forces a smile. "Wow, I'm really glad you insulted me there, because this was bordering on a chick-flick moment."
Dean smiles too, but he's still staring at the book. "You want a chick-flick moment, man, you were in fucking mourning."
"I lost my mind," Sam says quietly. "Twice."
"Twice?"
"Last summer."
"Sammy--"
"I did," he says. "That's why Ruby could--"
Dean puts his hand over Sam's mouth. He looks at Sam, very intently, and says, "Listen up, I'm only saying this once, okay? There is fucking nothing you could do to make me want you dead. There's nothing you could do to stop me from giving up everything to bring you back."
Sam wants to say something like fuck you or same here, but he's lying on the bed, and Dean's on top of him, chest to chest, hand warm on Sam's mouth, and Sam knows what Dean just said was true, so when Dean moves his hand, Sam pushes up and kisses him.
He's never actually thought this would lose him Dean; even if Dean wouldn't like it, Dean loves him too much.
He was always afraid Dean would just give it to him, because Dean gives him everything, because Dean doesn't know how to say no to him.
But now Sam knows he could, and he doesn't.
Dean makes a noise, one Sam's never heard from him or anybody, something choked off and surprised and happy, and wraps his hand around the back of Sam's neck. They don't make out or anything, just keep kissing, lips on lips, Dean's hand on Sam's neck to keep him there.
Dean pulls back after long minutes and stares. "Sammy?"
"Thought I'd check," says Sam thickly. "Dean, I--"
"Chick-flick moment over," says Dean. His hand skirts under Sam's shirt, over his skin and muscle, and his eyes flick back up to Sam's face, the bravado of earlier weakened. "This is what I think, right?"
"Yeah," says Sam.
"Okay," says Dean, and kisses him again.
Tomorrow, there will be Lucifer, and the apocalypse, heaven and hell to fight against, but today, Sam can save them for today.
lazy_daze! Hope you enjoy ♥Your Bones Have Been My Bedframe and Your Flesh Has Been My Pillow
Sam/Dean, 422 coda, PG-13, 1200 words.
Sam drags Dean away, or maybe they drag each other away, Sam's hand on Dean's arm right where Castiel's scar still is. He couldn't get Dean out of hell, but he can get him out of this. He can save them this minute, he thinks. For all of today, if he's lucky.
Lucifer doesn't try to follow; Sam wonders if this means he's not important anymore. If that was all he had to do, the entirety of his destiny. If now he's not even important enough to kill.
Dean looks surprised to the see the car, mutters Cas, and jerks his head to show Sam should drive. He pulls out the phone to call Bobby, and an hour later they're still talking, the words barely registering for Sam. Dean still hasn't said anything to him, and that's weird, that's--
He remembers in a rush: Dean thinks he's a monster; Dean hates him.
Nausea hits him like kick to the gut. He wrenches the car off the road because the way they are right now, Dean might actually kill him for puking in his baby.
"I'll call you back," Dean says, trying to catch Sam's shoulder. He pushes the door open and lands hard on the ground before Dean connects, knees scraping on the gravel, hands on the grass. "Sammy, what?"
Sam--Jesus, Sam's crying, and he laughs a little too. Because he didn't quite lose it during the apocalypse, he was so close, and then Dean says Sammy and that's it. Worse than the fucking end of the world.
He heaves up nothing but liquid--red, and he wonders if that's just for today, or if it's going to be forever, if this blood is never going to leave.
Ruby said he didn't need it.
Ruby lied to him before. Ruby might have never said a true thing to him in his life.
"Sammy," says Dean again, his hand on Sam's back, trying to rub, but Sam flinches away.
"You can go," Sam manages. "I wouldn't blame you."
"Yeah, because this has proved you do so well solo," Dean says.
Sam throws up again, but he's had nothing but blood today, and it's nothing but red bile.
"Jesus, you're a wreck," says Dean, but he sounds like Dean, like Sam's brother, and it honestly breaks Sam's heart. "Come on, get in the car."
"I'll throw up in it."
"Trained you better than that," says Dean.
"Trained me better than a lot of things."
Dean pushes him into the backseat. "Sleep it off, Sammy," he says softly.
*
When Sam wakes up, he feels more human. He regrets the thought as soon as he has it--he's not more human. He's better rested; his head is clearer.
He's probably no more human.
Dean's sitting crosslegged on the other bed, reading. The sight is so unexpected that Sam has to wonder if he's still asleep.
He struggles up, and Dean's there in seconds.
"Don't force it," says Dean.
"Lucifer," says Sam. "Lucifer, and the world's ending, and it's my fault, and you're telling me to take it easy?"
"Yes," says Dean, "that's exactly what I'm saying." He shifts, glances at his bed. "You never told me."
There are so many things that Dean could mean, and Sam doesn't want to guess the wrong one. "Never told you what?"
Dean puts the book down on Sam's lap--Mystery Spot. Sam stares at it, almost afraid. He doesn't have to read it to know what it's about. He doesn't know what to say to that--there's nothing to say. He never explained to Dean, not all of it.
He closes his eyes and leans back. There's nothing he can say to that. "You never should have saved me," he says instead. Those words have been burning at his throat for two years; he's already thrown up everything else he could.
"What?" says Dean. He sounds like he honestly has no idea what Sam means.
"You must've thought that, right?" says Sam. "If you hadn't brought me back, none of this would have happened. You wouldn't have gone to hell, Ruby couldn't have manipulated me, I wouldn't be--" he swallows. "This."
Dean splutters for a long moment. False starts and near words and then he says, "Sam. Sammy. Jesus--no."
Sam still can't look at him, keeps his eyes closed. "It would, Dean."
He hears Dean sit on the bed and flip through the book, but he doesn't say anything either. It's quiet, and somewhere outside, somewhere not far, the world might be ending without them.
"You get it," says Dean, with this tone of wonder, like he's amazed by whatever he's saying. Sam doesn't actually know what. "I--man, Sammy, I thought--I had no idea what was going through your head. I figured maybe Chuck did, and a lot of this is just shit, but--" He can hear Dean trying to figure out what this means to him. "God, Sammy."
Sam opens his eyes. Dean's looking at his hands.
"What?" he asks.
"You'd do anything for me," says Dean. "You did."
It's such a not-Dean thing, a conversation he never thought they'd have. Dean needs to hear this, he realizes suddenly. Has needed to hear this ever since Sam left for Stanford, because Dean thinks he's the only one.
"Yeah," says Sam. "Of course. To save you."
Dean laughs shortly. "I don't want to be saved without you, dumbass."
Sam forces a smile. "Wow, I'm really glad you insulted me there, because this was bordering on a chick-flick moment."
Dean smiles too, but he's still staring at the book. "You want a chick-flick moment, man, you were in fucking mourning."
"I lost my mind," Sam says quietly. "Twice."
"Twice?"
"Last summer."
"Sammy--"
"I did," he says. "That's why Ruby could--"
Dean puts his hand over Sam's mouth. He looks at Sam, very intently, and says, "Listen up, I'm only saying this once, okay? There is fucking nothing you could do to make me want you dead. There's nothing you could do to stop me from giving up everything to bring you back."
Sam wants to say something like fuck you or same here, but he's lying on the bed, and Dean's on top of him, chest to chest, hand warm on Sam's mouth, and Sam knows what Dean just said was true, so when Dean moves his hand, Sam pushes up and kisses him.
He's never actually thought this would lose him Dean; even if Dean wouldn't like it, Dean loves him too much.
He was always afraid Dean would just give it to him, because Dean gives him everything, because Dean doesn't know how to say no to him.
But now Sam knows he could, and he doesn't.
Dean makes a noise, one Sam's never heard from him or anybody, something choked off and surprised and happy, and wraps his hand around the back of Sam's neck. They don't make out or anything, just keep kissing, lips on lips, Dean's hand on Sam's neck to keep him there.
Dean pulls back after long minutes and stares. "Sammy?"
"Thought I'd check," says Sam thickly. "Dean, I--"
"Chick-flick moment over," says Dean. His hand skirts under Sam's shirt, over his skin and muscle, and his eyes flick back up to Sam's face, the bravado of earlier weakened. "This is what I think, right?"
"Yeah," says Sam.
"Okay," says Dean, and kisses him again.
Tomorrow, there will be Lucifer, and the apocalypse, heaven and hell to fight against, but today, Sam can save them for today.
