The Truth 2/5 & timestamp

[rain_n_snow]

Dean glanced at Sam, his eyes hurt and angry, and guilty, dammit, before he pushed off the bed and went to the bathroom.

Sam sighed. He knew it was time to pay for what he had done. He felt guilt wash through him, knowing that the last few hours had hurt Dean. Had cut him open and exposed things he would never have openly admitted.

He wanted to go to the bathroom, beat on the door and force Dean to face what was just said, face how things are going to change because of this, sooth and reassure, and touch, dammit…but he knew now was not the time. Dean would need time to process this and deal in his own way before he could even consider talking about it. Not that he was sure Dean would ever talk again after this.

Sam had been in his own bed for what seemed to have been a long time with no sound from the bathroom. He was starting to worry that something was seriously wrong, and ready to knock despite his resolution to give Dean time when he finally heard the shower start. He leaned back against the headboard and let everything he learned replay in his head, unable to resist the pool of yearning it created and yet quenched inside his belly. He would do guilt later.

Dean had slammed the bathroom door and locked it just in time to fall against the wall and slide down, jarring slightly when his ass hit the cold tile with a thud and his head dropped back to connect painfully with the wall behind him. Fuck. He felt so raw and exposed. Years and years of repressed feelings, wants, desires that he never expected to admit to had all been laid out in front of his brother in one horrifying moment.

God, his heart hurt. He was the worst big brother ever. No matter how hard he tried, he always fucked everything up. But Sam had promised he wouldn’t leave, and he prayed that was the truth. He banged his head against the tile several more times, sat there grinding his teeth and regretting for a long time before he was strong enough to drag himself into the shower.

By the time Dean got out of the shower, Sam was in bed and the lights were out in the room. Dean shot a quick glance at Sam’s bed, farthest from the door but closest to the bathroom. Sam was on his back, eyes closed, breathing deep and even. Thankful for the reprieve, Dean crossed to his own bed, drew clean boxer briefs from his duffel and dropped into his bed, exhausted and worn down.

Sam watched Dean with half-slitted eyes as he came out of the bathroom and walked hesitantly around, obviously being quieter than usual in the hopes of not ‘waking’ Sam. He watched, as he always did when possible, as Dean dropped the towel and put on his underwear, enjoying the view and savoring for a moment the idea of what was to come, what they could now have. He sighed deeply as he hugged that knowledge to himself and drifted off to sleep.

~~~

After spilling so much, Dean was apparently finished talking, maybe forever. Sam couldn’t remember being so fucking frustrated. Dean was communicating more in a series of grunts and monosyllabic barks than ever before, and god knew Dean was never exactly chatty. It was making him crazy. He had known it wouldn’t be easy, but maybe he hadn’t thought this whole thing through completely either.

“Dean?” Sam heard his own voice and winced at the whine he could detect there.

“Leave it, Sam.” Dean didn’t shift his eyes across the car, barely acknowledged Sam’s presence. That was the usual the past few days. They had traveled, seemingly incessantly, and hunted, and life was the same, and yet so different underneath, and they both knew it.

It was different, right? Despite the fact that nothing had really changed, just the words being out there had made all the difference in the world. Sam hadn’t gotten to say his own words, however, and they were burning a hole inside of him. They had been there so long, but buried so deep, but Dean’s had brought them close to the surface and now they were fighting to be out, and Sam was determined to make it happen. Not now, really. Not here in the car, but there was no other time to corner Dean lately, unfortunately, so he wasn’t sure when…but right now, he would just be happy to talk about anything.

“Dammit Dean. You can’t refuse to talk to me forever. Seriously? This is childish, even for you.” Sam wanted to be understanding, patient, because he knew how hard the confessions had been on Dean, but shit, a limit maybe? At some point they had to communicate in some meaningful way again.

“If there is something important to talk about, Sam, let me know.”

Wow, that felt like a breakthrough, Sam was pretty sure that was the longest sentence Dean had spoken in days. “Can we just get a room and stop for five minutes? You are exhausted, Dean. You look like shit. You’re running on caffeine and sugar. It’s gonna cause you to make a mistake, and you’re gonna get hurt.”

Dean wanted to scream. He needed to sleep, yeah, but the thought of being in a motel room, looking at Sam and knowing he was going to want to talk again? Yeah, not wanting that to happen…ever. He still felt like his insides were on the outside, they felt raw and exposed to the world. So many years of secrets, laid bare and ugly for Sam to see.

He was thankful, though, that Sam hadn’t acted sickened, disgusted. He had kept his promise not to rub Dean’s face in all he had learned. No, Sam just took it all in stride, just accepted this other, demented part of his big brother like he did the rest. Hell, he probably had dissected it, laid it all out like pieces of that frog he had told Dean about from biology that time, and inspected each word individually before putting it all back together to make it work again in his mind. Or maybe he was revolted, repulsed by Dean and just was unwilling to hurt Dean by showing it.

But Sam was right, he was tired, mostly tired of thinking and feeling exposed. And although he wasn’t worried about getting hurt, he did pause when he realized his mistake at any point could get Sam hurt. If that happened, he knew he couldn’t live with himself. So it was time to stop. To open the floodgates on Sam’s pretty, incessant mouth, and pay the piper for the things he had been too sick in the head to stop himself from wanting all these years. Fuck.

Sam watched Dean thinking. He had watched Dean closely in these days, these ‘since’ days as he was referring to them in his head. He felt like he was allowed to watch his big brother now, like he had gotten some unspoken permission. Besides, with Dean unable or unwilling to look directly at Sam, he was in no position to notice or complain what Sam did on his side of the car. So Sam saw when Dean realized that he was right, he needed a break, before he collapsed. Although, knowing Dean he was thinking more about Sam than himself, because heaven knew Dean refused to do anything for himself.

~~

Less than twenty minutes later, Dean tossed the room key to Sam as he drove to the back of the seedy looking motel.

Inside, Sam was happy to note that this place was at least a little less depressing, a little less dark and nightmarish than many of the places they stayed. It was totally out of date, yes, but at least it was a slightly brighter out of date version of the usual.

Dropping his duffel on his bed, Sam collapsed forward and let out a long groan. It was nice to stretch out finally. Sleeping in the car, hell riding in the car, was cramped for his long legs, and days of it with no real relief took a toll.

Dean watched out of the corner of his eye. Sam was like a lodestone. No matter how Dean tried not to be, he was drawn. Years of hiding were helpful, and the fear and pain of that night still fresh in his mind were definitely a factor, but he still couldn’t look away, not completely. Sam was the center of his world, always had been, and Dean watched him, he just did.

But he was also very very good, after so many years, and when Sam turned his head toward Dean, he never even saw the look. He saw Dean looking across the room, lost in thought. The way he had seen him a million times. “You hungry?”

A grunt. Well, wasn’t that an improvement. Sam grunted back. “Fine, I’m going to take a shower. I feel like these clothes have grown to my skin.” And he dragged himself to the bathroom, stretching his arms hard over his head, twisting his back as he went.

Movement tracked, strip of skin from waist to hip bones noted and appreciated. Dean cringed as he felt the bubble of heat burn through his belly, settle in his groin. Damn, that was one of his favorite parts of Sam, and it never failed to move him, even now.

Nothing had changed, anyway. Sam knowing hadn’t changed his want, his need, his fucking desire, no matter how wrong. It was there, just clawing to get out like it always was, and maybe it was a little more insistent now, now that he had said it all out loud. Maybe. Didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to leave Sam, couldn’t.

He had lived his whole life with the little pieces of Sam he was allowed, and they had always kept him going. Never enough. Fuck, not even close, but more than the completely bereft, empty, hollow feeling he had experienced and barely lived through when Sam had been at Stanford. He couldn’t do that again. He had moved around, his body had functioned, but hell, he had felt less alive than some of the shit he hunted, had just gone through the motions, his heart cold and his mind shut down as much as possible. This he could live with, this he knew and understood. Sam gone, well, that wasn’t any kind of acceptable.

So he would push it all down again, get it back into its place, and Sam would forget, or at least it would fade, with time. He grabbed the keys and went to find food.


chap 3

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