Characters: Sam/Dean (Slash)
Summary: (Post 1x06, "Shadow"): Dean still wants it, even knowing it won’t last.
Author’s Notes: Written for super_summer, this is an expansion of an idea from a drabble I wrote for wench_pixie a few months back.
Warning: this is not a flattering portrayal of Sam here. It doesn't stretch him too far from canon, but this is Dean's POV where Sam's choices still aren't what Dean thinks they should be.
Dean runs out of words long before the E.R. doctor bandages his wounds. There’s a gaping hole inside him that stitches cannot heal, and every sound his lips make will bring to light his raw despair.
“Cut you pretty deep,” the doctor remarks. That they did, Dean thinks. The two of them together. His defenses are down, ravaged by near-death and fear. What little remains is close to being finished off by a family that could shed him like an outgrown skin.
Dean sleepwalks through an underwater dream of meeting up with Sam again and driving to a motel. He isn’t present in his own reality, and he isn’t ready to make up a new one. He’s stuck following Sam’s lead, the same as it’s been since Sam left them for college. It might be dumb or it might be desperate, but it’s all he’s got the energy to do.
He readies himself for bed, brushing his teeth and undressing with shaking hands. And the lamp isn’t even off before Sam slips in bed beside him with an agenda of his own.
Sam presses in behind him, and Dean just closes his eyes in resignation. Sam never really touches him, not really, unless he wants something. Always the same thing. And Sam never kisses him unless he’s in the mood for sex or he’s finishing it off.
Dean hates the weakness that keeps him from saying no, that makes him give in every time. He hates that it leaves him a little emptier when it’s done.
“Don’t do this to me, Sam.”
“You’re still thinking about what I said before.”
“The part where you don’t want any part of this, and you’ll leave when your vengeance is done? I’m finding that a little hard to ignore.”
“Did you really expect me to say different? You know that none of this has ever been my dream.” Sam’s hand trails up Dean’s arm, like they’re talking business and not the future of what lies beneath this touch.
“I can’t help hoping that someday this will matter enough to change your mind.” Dean voice shows his frustration, but hides the Who instead of What should matter to Sam. It’s going to spill over if he’s not careful, and that earlier rejection is still fresh in his once-burned memory.
Sam presses closer, gripping Dean’s shoulders as they tighten with those words. “Don’t get so worked up—let me help you put that all away.”
Dean turns then, his face a warning against the sacrifice Sam expects.
“Everything I have—every fucking thing I am—is yours, and you have never even cared.”
“You’re my brother, Dean. My life.”
And Dean hardly knows what that means to Sam, because clearly it’s not enough. “I’m the one you’ll always leave.” It makes him tired, just saying it out loud.
“But I’m still yours.” Sam’s hand flows knowingly across Dean’s chest, denying what he owes, denying that it has a price. “Make me feel it,” Sam murmurs into a kiss. He’s already taking what Dean swore he would not give.
It’s another demand without a promise, disguised as a banquet for a starving man. So Dean pushes—forces—his mark inside Sam, doing everything he never/always wanted in a blaze of unforgiving heat.
He can claim this but he has no chance to keep it. He leaves no permanence on this soul that stole his own. Wound up and broken down, the last pieces of himself flow out to the sea of self-destruction.
He bucks and thrusts in an argument he’ll never win, and Sam moves like he’s listening ‘though it’s a lie. Dean has no weapon against this nameless thing Sam longs for, only the certainty that it’s a test he can only fail.
Bodies together, spirits apart, this is a torment greater than sorrow, deeper than blood.
Anger and anxiety spur Dean harder/faster/deeper, until he finishes in an explosion of heartache and revenge.
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