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emerald_embersTitle: Take What You Need and Be On Your Way
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: R
Word Count: 1200
Summary: The boys take one last breather before Detroit.
They don't get to walk often. Dean's been running for a long time, and he's dragged Sam with him for the last four years; taking a moment to enjoy the world that's about to end, it's cheesy and childish and as necessary as breathing.
Castiel's back at the Impala, sitting on the hood and playing guard; Dean only lets him because even if the angel's powers are diminished, he can still make himself weightless as long as he's conscious.
Maybe it's hypocritical that he wouldn't let Castiel sit on the hood otherwise, even though Sam's never left a dent with all his bulk, but if it is then he's earned his right to hypocrisy.
Sam's eyes had always been too old, like any hunter's, but the past few years they'd been haunted, too. He'd never entirely stopped blaming himself for Jessica's death, or Madison's, or Andy's - anyone who'd been killed because Azazel had chosen him for Lucifer. He'd taken responsibility over and over for things that weren't his fault; fitting that when he finally was responsible for something horrific, it could barely have been something worse.
Sam's the one who started the Apocalypse, and Sam's the one who's going to have to end it. As far as responsibilities go, it's kind of hard to top - one strike and they're out with this, one chance to stop Lucifer in his tracks or they'll have blown it for good.
He can't think about the possibility of Lucifer wearing Sam's face, has already banned Castiel from drinking because the more the angel turns up to say hello while drunk, the more Dean finds himself thinking about the half-human mess Castiel became in that other reality.
At least Bobby has Crowley, even if the thought of having a demon almost on their side is completely fucked up given what happened with Ruby.
That said, Crowley at least admits his being on their side is purely for convenience's sake, not out of a sudden change of conscience.
Dean's happy enough just stretching his legs, but Sam keeps stopping when something catches his eyes to pick up bits of scrap, brightly coloured rocks or sea-shell fragments. Dean doesn't try to stop him, wants Sam to feel as free as either of them can feel for a little while, and when Sam calls him over, he goes over.
Sam's found a rock pool and points to something inside it; it takes Dean a moment to work out what he's meant to be looking at, but he laughs despite himself when he realises what it is.
A hermit crab.
"Remind you of anyone?" Sam says, and Dean punches him in the arm because it's not funny, it really isn't, even if he's laughing.
Sam grins back and Dean takes Sam's face in his hands, pulls him down and kisses him hard because he can, and because he doesn't know how much longer he'll be able to.
The water is only lukewarm when Dean walks out into it, dragging Sam with him, but as much as Castiel's powers have faded Dean doesn't exactly want to test how Castiel's sense of smell is these days; they never seem to have time to themselves back in the motel and if Dean's going to have Sam all to himself just once more, he doesn't want the angel knowing enough to comment on it afterwards.
Sam isn't hard when Dean takes him in hand, not at first, but they both know each other well enough that it's scarcely a minute before that changes. Sam knows not to touch him yet; knows Dean's tendency towards self-sacrifice extends into bedroom antics, and it isn't until Sam's gasping against Dean's ear that he'll let him return the favour.
Dean's always looking for something else worth saving but his sight begins and ends with Sam, and it wouldn't matter if they had this between them or not; he loves Sam more than he's capable of loving anyone else, even when the world tries to turn him numb. Even when he wants to lose all feeling.
Dean knows Sam's focus is on the hand Dean has between them, but his own focus is on the hand he has on Sam's back. He's still hesitant to touch, even now, even with the scarring faded to near nothing, but the reminder of Sam's death, the reminder that Sam is still alive, it's overwhelming.
Sam's breath stutters and Dean lets Sam draw him close, so their hands work together instead of separately. "It's okay," Sam says, playing the protective one now, and Dean normally pretends he hates that because it means he isn't the big brother anymore.
Hell changes a lot of things, and Dean knows he needs that permission, that promise, whether Sam can keep it or not.
He doesn't come hard, neither of them do, but it's good to feel boneless and satisfied and as close to relaxed as either of them can get.
Sam doesn't lean against him afterwards, holds his own weight as they wash themselves and their clothes clean in the water, and Dean wants to lie, wants to tell him he'll be fine, promise that the pit won't be anywhere near as cruel as Hell was.
They've come too far to keep lying, and Dean kisses him instead, apologises without words for the fact he's still not sorry for bringing Sam back, that he's still selfish enough he'd die in Sam's place in an instant if given the choice, that he'd keep dying, even if it meant going through Hell again.
He's sorry that he isn't sorry. He'll carry the guilt forever, and they all see it. Castiel saw it the first time they met, nevermind Sam, who knows him better than anyone else and always will.
He's the one who dragged Sam out into the water and Sam's the one who drags him back onto land, slumping down on the wet sand. It's going to be a bitch to get all of the sand out of their clothes when they dry, but that said, at this point it's safe to say they probably won't be keeping the clothes that much longer.
Dean stretches out next to Sam, looks up at the sky, squinting a little because it's an obnoxiously bright blue. He wishes he had a beer.
He tilts his head to look at Sam, finds Sam looking right back.
"I did, you know," he says, his mouth feeling dry, taste of salt on his lips from the sea and the sand. "I ran, fast as I could, to save you. I would've run forever."
He had to say it, he's known all his life that Sam's never entirely forgiven him for always being there, even if he doesn't hate him for it. At least, that's what he's always figured.
He wonders why he can't breathe when Sam brushes a hand down his arm and says, "I'm glad you did."
Whatever it takes, he promises himself. To make sure no one else goes through this. To stop Lucifer. To save the world.
Dean's saved Sam a hundred times. A thousand.
It's time he stopped and let Sam do the saving.
The End
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: R
Word Count: 1200
Summary: The boys take one last breather before Detroit.
They don't get to walk often. Dean's been running for a long time, and he's dragged Sam with him for the last four years; taking a moment to enjoy the world that's about to end, it's cheesy and childish and as necessary as breathing.
Castiel's back at the Impala, sitting on the hood and playing guard; Dean only lets him because even if the angel's powers are diminished, he can still make himself weightless as long as he's conscious.
Maybe it's hypocritical that he wouldn't let Castiel sit on the hood otherwise, even though Sam's never left a dent with all his bulk, but if it is then he's earned his right to hypocrisy.
Sam's eyes had always been too old, like any hunter's, but the past few years they'd been haunted, too. He'd never entirely stopped blaming himself for Jessica's death, or Madison's, or Andy's - anyone who'd been killed because Azazel had chosen him for Lucifer. He'd taken responsibility over and over for things that weren't his fault; fitting that when he finally was responsible for something horrific, it could barely have been something worse.
Sam's the one who started the Apocalypse, and Sam's the one who's going to have to end it. As far as responsibilities go, it's kind of hard to top - one strike and they're out with this, one chance to stop Lucifer in his tracks or they'll have blown it for good.
He can't think about the possibility of Lucifer wearing Sam's face, has already banned Castiel from drinking because the more the angel turns up to say hello while drunk, the more Dean finds himself thinking about the half-human mess Castiel became in that other reality.
At least Bobby has Crowley, even if the thought of having a demon almost on their side is completely fucked up given what happened with Ruby.
That said, Crowley at least admits his being on their side is purely for convenience's sake, not out of a sudden change of conscience.
Dean's happy enough just stretching his legs, but Sam keeps stopping when something catches his eyes to pick up bits of scrap, brightly coloured rocks or sea-shell fragments. Dean doesn't try to stop him, wants Sam to feel as free as either of them can feel for a little while, and when Sam calls him over, he goes over.
Sam's found a rock pool and points to something inside it; it takes Dean a moment to work out what he's meant to be looking at, but he laughs despite himself when he realises what it is.
A hermit crab.
"Remind you of anyone?" Sam says, and Dean punches him in the arm because it's not funny, it really isn't, even if he's laughing.
Sam grins back and Dean takes Sam's face in his hands, pulls him down and kisses him hard because he can, and because he doesn't know how much longer he'll be able to.
The water is only lukewarm when Dean walks out into it, dragging Sam with him, but as much as Castiel's powers have faded Dean doesn't exactly want to test how Castiel's sense of smell is these days; they never seem to have time to themselves back in the motel and if Dean's going to have Sam all to himself just once more, he doesn't want the angel knowing enough to comment on it afterwards.
Sam isn't hard when Dean takes him in hand, not at first, but they both know each other well enough that it's scarcely a minute before that changes. Sam knows not to touch him yet; knows Dean's tendency towards self-sacrifice extends into bedroom antics, and it isn't until Sam's gasping against Dean's ear that he'll let him return the favour.
Dean's always looking for something else worth saving but his sight begins and ends with Sam, and it wouldn't matter if they had this between them or not; he loves Sam more than he's capable of loving anyone else, even when the world tries to turn him numb. Even when he wants to lose all feeling.
Dean knows Sam's focus is on the hand Dean has between them, but his own focus is on the hand he has on Sam's back. He's still hesitant to touch, even now, even with the scarring faded to near nothing, but the reminder of Sam's death, the reminder that Sam is still alive, it's overwhelming.
Sam's breath stutters and Dean lets Sam draw him close, so their hands work together instead of separately. "It's okay," Sam says, playing the protective one now, and Dean normally pretends he hates that because it means he isn't the big brother anymore.
Hell changes a lot of things, and Dean knows he needs that permission, that promise, whether Sam can keep it or not.
He doesn't come hard, neither of them do, but it's good to feel boneless and satisfied and as close to relaxed as either of them can get.
Sam doesn't lean against him afterwards, holds his own weight as they wash themselves and their clothes clean in the water, and Dean wants to lie, wants to tell him he'll be fine, promise that the pit won't be anywhere near as cruel as Hell was.
They've come too far to keep lying, and Dean kisses him instead, apologises without words for the fact he's still not sorry for bringing Sam back, that he's still selfish enough he'd die in Sam's place in an instant if given the choice, that he'd keep dying, even if it meant going through Hell again.
He's sorry that he isn't sorry. He'll carry the guilt forever, and they all see it. Castiel saw it the first time they met, nevermind Sam, who knows him better than anyone else and always will.
He's the one who dragged Sam out into the water and Sam's the one who drags him back onto land, slumping down on the wet sand. It's going to be a bitch to get all of the sand out of their clothes when they dry, but that said, at this point it's safe to say they probably won't be keeping the clothes that much longer.
Dean stretches out next to Sam, looks up at the sky, squinting a little because it's an obnoxiously bright blue. He wishes he had a beer.
He tilts his head to look at Sam, finds Sam looking right back.
"I did, you know," he says, his mouth feeling dry, taste of salt on his lips from the sea and the sand. "I ran, fast as I could, to save you. I would've run forever."
He had to say it, he's known all his life that Sam's never entirely forgiven him for always being there, even if he doesn't hate him for it. At least, that's what he's always figured.
He wonders why he can't breathe when Sam brushes a hand down his arm and says, "I'm glad you did."
Whatever it takes, he promises himself. To make sure no one else goes through this. To stop Lucifer. To save the world.
Dean's saved Sam a hundred times. A thousand.
It's time he stopped and let Sam do the saving.
The End
