*~*Back to Masterpost*~*
One of the things Sam didn’t do in his year off from hunting was take time to check their old P.O. boxes around the country. And on a swing through Portage, Indiana, Dean thinks to stop and see if there’s anything waiting for them.“So you didn’t even check the one in Texas while you were living there?” Dean asks, still unable to hide that he just can’t believe his brother took a pass on managing any of the details of their former hunting life while he was gone.
“No, I already told you that. Who was there left to send me anything, huh? No one Dean, there was nobody, you were all gone. All dead as far as I knew! And you weren’t here doing the credit card scam thing anymore, so what was the point of keeping up with all the damn p.o. boxes?” Sam is so irritated with Dean he’s considering just jumping out of the car once they finally get off the freeway. Hearing his brother go on and on about all the stuff he let slide reminds him of what a complete failure at life he really is. He hates that, not being able to live up to what Dean expects. Sam wonders if this is how Dean felt when he didn’t measure up to their father’s expectations.
“Good thing I paid for three years on these boxes then,” Dean says, just stating facts, but in a way that he knows will provoke Sam.
“Like there’s going to be anything in there other than junk mail and your Busty Asian Beauties back issues.”
“Well, that alone is worth stopping for in my opinion,” Dean retorts with a sharp tone that ends that conversation.
Sam doesn’t say anything after that, just shuts up and looks out the window at the Chicago skyline passing them by. Wishing that just for once they could stop and do something here, go to one of the big museums, or see a Sox game, but no of course not, Dean’s on a mission. Heading over the bridge towards Indiana he sees all the boats moving on the Calumet River, and wonders if they’d mind another crewmember dropping in suddenly. Just take me anywhere, just take me away.
“Hey, snap out of it, you’re navigating. Which exit do I take?” Dean asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
Sam scrambles to unfold the map, “Uh, the second Portage exit.”
“I always forget how damn green it is around here,” Dean says, hoping to keep the conversation going.
“Yeah not much in the way of open fields or deserts,” Sam replies, now glad that Dean’s talking to him at least, and not yelling at him about what an awful brother or hunter he is. That was more than enough silence for one day.
“Wonder if that gun store is still near the post office? Remember that awesome knife I bought that had the eagles carved in the handle?” Dean muses, wishing he still had that knife and hadn’t left it in the body of some monster thousands of miles and several years ago.
“Was it Well-Armed Harry’s or Lucky Louie’s?” Sam snarks, pointing up ahead where the post office is hidden at the back of a strip mall.
“Ha-ha, I’m dying over here,” Dean answers, turning into the parking lot, glad to hear Sam at least joking with him.
Dean parks between the post office and the gun store, and waits for Sam to scramble through the messy glove box for the right key for this P.O. Box. They both get out of the car, stretching just enough to unkink their cramped muscles. Sam hands Dean the key so he can go get the mail, while Sam heads off into the convenience store for a couple of sodas. He gets back first and leans up against his side of the car’s fender, waiting for Dean to come back with their mail. Dean comes back soon and goes through it sitting on the other fender of the Impala. At the bottom of the stack of junk mail, underneath Dean’s porn mags in their brown paper covers, and a final notice for renewal of the post office box, there is a thick manila envelope addressed to both of them, with the return address of:
Decker & Sons,
Sioux Falls, SD, 57192
Dean hands the manila envelope across the Impala’s hood to Sam without a word. He’s not sure why he should be so terrified of what’s in this non-descript envelope, but he is, and it’s damn well Sam’s turn to be scared, Dean’s done it enough for the past year in Purgatory.
Sam puts down his soda, takes the envelope and opens it slowly without looking at Dean, feeling like this is possibly going to be worse than hearing those increasingly desperate and hopeless messages from Kevin the Prophet. The guilt weighing him down is heavier than carrying Dean in from the car when he’s too drunk to walk, or bleeding too hard anywhere below the waist.
Sam removes a sheaf of legal documents and scans the cover letter clipped to the front, there are yellow sign here tags sticking off the edges all through the stack of papers.
“It’s about Bobby’s will,” Sam says, a flat edge to his voice.
Dean senses that Sam’s holding back something big and trying not to show any emotion. “And?”
“And according to this, we were supposed to sign this in the presence of a notary or travel to Sioux Falls and sign the documents in person.”
“Why?” Dean asks.
“Bobby left us everything,” Sam answers, sounding overwhelmed and terribly sad.
“Everything?” Dean asks, confused that there is an ‘everything’ that Bobby could have left them.
“Yeah,” Sam answers, voice still flat.
“Was there a time limit on it?” Dean asks, assuming that they’ve probably already missed some arbitrary deadline because Sam didn’t come pick up the damn mail.
Sam bristles at the implied judgment in his brother’s question. “Maybe, doesn’t say, this letter is dated six months ago.”
“There a phone number?” Dean asks, short, clipped-off words showing that he’s making an effort to bite his tongue.
“Yeah, I’ll call, can you unlock the car? I want to sit and write if I need to,” Sam says, stepping away from Dean and looking off into the distance with unfocused eyes.
“Sure, here.” Dean gets down off the fender and walks around to unlock the passenger side door for Sam. Before Sam gets in, he hands Dean the soda he got for him without a word. Dean jumps back up on the fender and keeps staring off across the parking lot, seemingly ignoring what Sam’s saying into his cell phone. Sam’s voice is going on for a while and then he’s quiet, listening, finally saying goodbye. Dean takes a few deep breaths to steady himself for what’s coming, either bad news or worse news. When his brother doesn’t get out of the car to join him, Dean knows it’s of the worse variety. Blowing out his long-held breath he hops down again, and gets in on his side.
“So?” Dean asks, completely dreading the answer.
“Well, we’re cutting it close, but we should be able to sign before the probate window closes,” Sam answers, distracted by thinking about what the lawyer just told him.
“We need to find a notary or something?” Dean prompts, needing to have a little more to go on to know which direction to point the Impala.
“No, they said it’d be better if we just came there. So start driving back the other way.”
“Oh joy, Sioux Falls here we come,” Dean says with all the dead-level sarcasm he’s been saving up for the last week.
“If you’re going to be like that the whole way, I’d rather you drop me off at the airport in Chicago,” Sam retorts, not sure he can take much more of this attitude from Dean.
Dean shakes his head and an outstretched finger at Sam in a Big No gesture. “No way, if I’m going to Sioux Falls, you’re along for the ride buddy boy.”
“Fine. Just cool it with the damn sarcasm, I’m sick of it already,” Sam says with crossed arms and a closed off expression.
“Fine,” Dean responds, just able to stop himself from continuing to argue.
After a few minutes of uninterrupted silence, Sam blurts out. “Don’t you wanna know what’s in it?”
“In what?” Dean asks, looking over at his brother to see if he’s holding something in his hands for Dean to look in.
“In Bobby’s estate,” Sam replies, staring out the windshield without really seeing anything.
“Hold on, Bobby has an estate? Isn’t that for rich people?” Dean splutters in surprise.
“Yeah, I was surprised too, didn’t think he had the assets that required one, turns out we’re very wrong about that.”
“How wrong?” Dean asks.
“After taxes, about five hundred grand,” Sam answers, trying to hold back the awe he’s feeling at the idea of all this money being available to them all of a sudden.
“Five hundred grand?” Dean whistles in admiration.
Sam grins over at him, wanting to see Dean’s reaction. “Each.”
Dean slaps the steering wheel in surprise and maybe some actual happiness. “I’ll be damned! Bobby was holdin’ out on us.”
“I don’t know, I never talked to him about money or legal stuff, did you?” Sam asks.
“No, not really. He tried to show me how to balance a checkbook a long time ago, like I’d ever have one, but that’s about it.”
Sam turns his whole body towards his brother so that he doesn’t miss any of Dean’s reactions. “Dean, you know what this means right?”
Dean’s mind is racing with all the possibilities of so much money and he blurts out the first thing that crosses his mind. “You won’t have to take out any loans for college?”
Sam gives him a major bitchface. “I was gonna say, we’ve got a million bucks.”
“We?” Dean asks, wondering if Sam used the wrong pronoun, or if he really meant it, because that could be a good thing. Right?
Sam doesn’t answer that loaded question, just puts his sunglasses on and shifts his body away from Dean so he’s looking out the passenger side window. He hears Dean shuffling around in the cassette box and dreads what’s going to be blaring out of the speakers. When Bob Dylan starts singing about how a hard rains a gonna fall, Sam lets his tears start leaking out slowly. He’d forgotten how his brother always knows what tape to play for him, he hopes Dean doesn’t see that he’s crying, couldn’t put up with the teasing about something like this. Eventually he falls asleep just as “Blowin’ In the Wind” starts up.
Of course Dean knows Sam is crying, Dylan usually does the trick for him when he needs to get some of that emotion out; he hasn’t forgotten everything about taking care of Sam in his year away. There’s a part of him that wishes he could just pull over and cry right along with his brother. Going back to Sioux Falls after all this time is going to be hard, a reminder of everything they’re missing right now. It’s not like that promise he’d made to never go back to Lawrence (and look how that turned out), but it’s pretty damn close. He grits his teeth against the unwanted swell of emotion surging up deep in his chest and steps on the gas pedal, pushing the Impala up to 80. At this rate, it’s still going to take 9 hours and he can’t do it, not feeling like this. So they’ll have to stop for the night somewhere, and Sam’s going to want to talk, which Dean dreads like nothing else. The way things have been going lately, they might as well just start out throwing punches.
Sam was asleep or feigning sleep for more than four hours, but then he was awake. And not talking. Specifically not talking to Dean. Dean could feel the tension level rising as the miles flew under them. Finally he couldn’t take it anymore and pulled off the highway into the small town of Dakota, Minnesota. There was a little place with cabins that looked out on the Mississippi River that didn’t look too bad.
“I’ll get us a room,” Sam says, jumping out of the car just before it actually stops.
Dean puts his head down on the steering wheel, willing the tension headache that’s threatening to explode into a migraine to just go away and leave him alone. Hearing Sam approach he gets out and opens the trunk, pulling out their duffels. Without a word to each other they’re ensconced in the surprisingly unequipped little cabin quickly, stretched out on their beds, both just looking at the dusky, stained ceiling because there’s not even a TV to pretend to be watching.
Eventually Sam breaks the uncomfortable silence. “I figured you’d be going out to a bar or something tonight.”
“Have I done that even once since I’ve been back?” Dean says, the words coming out sound way more pissy than he feels, but still, Sam has no right.
Sam turns his head on his pillow so he can see his brother, stretched out but still tense, always tense, and so far away on the other bed. “No, I know that, I just thought…”
Dean sits up halfway, propping himself up on his elbows, and glaring at Sam. “What? You thought that would be my usual reaction to the silent treatment from you?”
Seeing how pissed off Dean is surprises Sam. “Yeah, it always was. Whatever. Just, can we not do this right now?”
“What? Talk about what’s really going on here? How you’re guilty for not taking care of this six months ago when you should have?” Dean demands, the words coming out harsh and clipped like they’ve been trimmed to their sharpest points before landing in Sam’s ears.
Sam struggles to not answer this provocation, as easy as it would be to take up this week’s long battle, it’s just not in him to fight with Dean tonight. “No, that’s not what’s really going on here, we’re both upset about going back to Sioux Falls. Yeah maybe you think I should feel guilty, and I do a little, but we’ve got to deal with this now. And call me selfish, but I’m glad you’re here to do it with me. I’m glad I didn’t have to handle it alone, because I couldn’t have. Not with you gone too.”
Dean’s surprised by how much this small admission from Sam affects him. It’s the first time he’s really believed Sam is glad that he’s back. Everything has been so guarded and strange between them, so much left unsaid, the wrong things assumed. Dean’s been feeling like he’s walking through a dark room blindfolded trying to find his way back to Sam who’s maybe not even in the same room anymore. But yeah, he’s glad he’s here to handle this Bobby thing with Sam instead of his brother having had to do it on his own.
“I am too,” Dean admits.
Sam sees that something big has shifted and he relaxes a little. “Can we get something to eat? I’m starved.”
“Yeah, me too. I saw a small place a couple blocks back up the river,” Dean answers.
“You wanna walk? I’d like to stretch my legs after being in the car,” Sam asks. Dean grunts his assent, grabbing his jacket and heading out of the cabin, Sam following close behind without further comment.
The sun’s almost down so it’s that in-between time when the light is so pretty out you feel like you’re in a cheesy Thomas Kinkade oil painting. They don’t talk as they walk along the river but this time, there’s no silent treatment going on, just the easy silence of well-worn-in companionship.
The little place is still open, something like their usual diner, but a little nicer somehow. It turns out their specialty is great chicken pot pies, which they both order and enjoy, all warm and gooey and savory, washed down with a couple beers each.
They start telling Bobby stories over dinner and walk back in the dark, admiring the moon shining on the big river. It’s not too cold out so they stop to look at it before going back up the hill into their cabin for the night.
“You ever wish you had been a river boat worker?” Dean asks as they watch the barges float past all lit-up like they’re ready for Christmas.
“I was just thinking that today back in Chicago,” Sam laughs, delighted with how synchronous they still are no matter how much they’re at odds.
“I could just see you hauling ropes and fixing stuff all day, right,” Dean scoffs dismissively while enjoying getting to hear Sam laugh.
“Hey, I can fix stuff,” Sam retorts, slightly offended that Dean still thinks he’s incompetent.
“Since when?” Dean challenges in that ingrained big-brother-knows-all voice he knows bugs Sam the most.
Sam grins when he hears Dean trying to get a rise out of him. “While you were gone, I was a handyman for a while, got pretty good at it too.”
“Huh.” Dean reaches down to grab a stone and chucks it hard into the river. He hadn’t gotten around to thinking about what Sam had done for work, he’d just been stuck on Sam not looking for him.
The disappearing ripples lull Sam into wanting to continue the conversation from earlier. “Dean, you ever think Bobby would do this?”
“What? Leave us all his money that we didn’t even know about? No.”
“Just, it seems like that’s something you do for your kids, and he didn’t have any. We didn’t talk about it, but I guess he really did think about us that way,” Sam says.
“Yeah, I figured it was like that for him. Know it was for me,” Dean agrees, leaning over to pick up another rock, which also conveniently hides his expression from Sam. “Sometimes, when I was little, I pretended he was our real dad.”
“Me too,” Sam agrees, watching Dean straighten up from his avoidance ploy.
“I wish….”Dean trails off quietly, his head turning away from Sam.
“What?” Sam asks.
“Just wish I’d told him that at some point, you know? Like out loud,” Dean says, head bowed, turning the rock over and over again in his hand.
Sam wishes more than anything he could just reach out and touch him, he’s dying for the comfort of his brother’s arms and he’s betting Dean is too, but it’s probably too much too soon. “Yeah, I do too. There’s a lot of things like that we probably never say but we should.”
“You mean like to each other?” Dean asks, throwing his rock out across the water, watching it skip three times and disappear.
“Uh huh. I thought about that a lot while you were gone,” Sam admits quietly.
“Like what Sammy?” Dean asks, turning to finally look up and meet Sam’s eyes.
Just based on hearing his nickname and seeing the look in Dean’s eyes, Sam realizes that yes, Dean really does want to hear this, maybe even needs to hear this, right here, right now; Sam decides to tell him. “Like I couldn’t remember the last time I’d told you that I love you or how you mean everything to me. I used to lie there at night going through all my memories of the last year and I just couldn’t remember saying it…and you were just gone and I didn’t know where, and nothing made sense anymore without you,” Sam trails off, feeling frustrated that he’s not expressing this very clearly. He realizes how desperate he is for Dean to understand this.
“Yeah, I know, I know. I thought the same stuff when I was in Purgatory,” Dean admits, looking down at the riverbank studiously, not willing to meet Sam’s eyes when he’s so embarrassed.
“Dean, why don’t we say this stuff to each other while we can? While we’re still both alive and here? I’m serious,” Sam asks, throwing his arms out wide in a frustrated gesture, sounding a little too close to the edge of desperate, enough so that Dean looks up at him and sees that Sam isn’t kidding, he means it. He hasn’t seen this much emotion on Sam’s face since their reunion when he first got back from Purgatory.
Dean takes a moment to seriously consider Sam’s question and answers honestly. “Don’t know Sammy, just the way we were raised or something I guess. All that ‘showing emotion is weakness crap’ ”
“Could we change that, maybe just a little?” Sam pleads.
“What you want permission to tell me you love me all the time?” Dean asks with more sarcasm than he really feels.
“Pretty much,” Sam answers, grinning that beautiful one-sided grin that always instantly kills Dean.
“You’re gonna do it whether or not I say yes aren’t you?” Dean grumbles, secretly pleased beyond measure, but of course he can’t say anything.
“Pretty much,” Sam repeats, still grinning, his eyes twinkling now with mischief.
Dean smiles, feeling so loved up he’s almost forgetting all the hurt and pain that he’s been carrying around about Sam not looking for him. But there’s one thing he needs to know, and maybe since Sam is finally talking, he’ll actually spill on this. “You really didn’t look for me?”
“Actually I did, but not for as long as I know I should have. I summoned Crowley, called Missouri Mosely, even went to Louisiana with Garth to talk to one of the Voudon queens. But there wasn’t much point, I couldn’t even figure out where you were Dean,” Sam confesses, all in one hurried breathless moment.
Dean looks up at him, incredulous surprise plain on his face. “Why didn’t you just tell me that? All this time I’ve been thinking you walked out of that Sucrocorp lab, jumped in the Impala and just drove until you hit the dog.”
“Guess I was feeling like a fuck-up. It wasn’t a good time for me. My world kind of imploded because I couldn’t find you. I pretty much had to assume that you were dead. Again.” Sam goes silent, his breath stopping as he waits to hear if Dean’s going to respond. Not hearing anything he takes a deep breath and continues. “I was in a real dark place, I’m lucky I found Amelia when I did, I probably wouldn’t even be alive. I figured I wasn’t of any use to you or anyone else as far as hunting went since I couldn’t even find you. That’s why I stopped hunting. I had to stay alive just in case you somehow came back.”
Dean’s mind is racing, filling in all the blanks that hadn’t made any sense all this time, his hurt at being abandoned disappearing as he accepts what Sam’s finally told him. “I knew it was something like that. God! Sam do you have any idea how this has been making me feel?”
“I know you’re mad, obviously, but no, I don’t, not really, you haven’t exactly been talking much. Can you maybe tell me now?” Sam asks a little timidly, realizing just now that maybe he should have said something about all this earlier.
“I didn’t think you were all that happy that I was back. I didn’t know that it affected you all that much that I was gone. And I couldn’t understand why you didn’t look for me at all. It just didn’t make sense to me. I figured that you were mad that I screwed up your new life with your girl that you’d made for yourself.” Dean answers.
“Of course I’m happy that you’re back! I thought you were dead Dean!” Sam shouts, throwing his arms out and waving wildly for emphasis. He brings them in and hugs himself lightly like he’s got a pain in his ribs. “I didn’t mean to hurt you by not telling you. I really didn’t. It just seemed like you’d blow it off as my lame excuses. God I fuck everything up, every time. I’m sorry Dean, I really am. And you didn’t screw up anything, there wasn’t anything in the first place with her for you to screw up.”
Dean sees Sam slump into himself in sorrow and suddenly he can see his way around his own mountain of hurt and betrayal to needing to help Sam, he steps close and pulls him into a light one-armed hug. “I guess I should have said something too.”
Sam leans into him for a second, relishing the closeness and maybe even forgiveness in this small touch. “Yeah, I wish you had. We both should have. Next time?” Sam asks, sounding so heartbreakingly open and hopeful that Dean can’t help but smile and slap him on the back.
Dean turns to go back up the riverbank towards their cabin and answers over his shoulder. “Not gonna be a next time, not going anywhere again Sammy.”
Sam follows him up the hill with his eyes until he disappears into the dark. He turns back to look at the fast-moving river with eyes that are full of tears. He doesn’t let himself give in and cry though, time’s long past for that, now he has some hope that he and Dean can work this out between them. There’s going to be so much that changes in their lives because of this inheritance from Bobby, hopefully most of those changes for the good. I’d give up all that money though in a heartbeat, just to have Dean back with me like we used to be, Sam swears to himself.
Along with the reading of the will at the lawyer’s office in Sioux Falls, they are also presented with an envelope each that contains a hand-written letter from Bobby. They take them back to the quiet, out of the way place on the dark tree-lined street they’d parked the Impala on to read privately. As part of some unspoken agreement they don’t talk while they’re reading their letters. But seeing what’s written in them shakes both of them to the core.
In each of the letters Bobby has acknowledged, albeit obliquely, that he knew about their relationship being more than just brotherly. He expresses his gratefulness and regard that their unconventional love ended up saving the whole world from the Apocalypse. Bobby, in a roundabout way, advises each of them to push the other to start thinking about their future, working out a place to settle down, at least for a home base. It’s very clear that he was expecting them to end up staying together for the rest of their lives. But mostly the letters just tell them how much Bobby loved them and how he was as proud of them as if they’d been his own flesh and blood sons. He says he expects them to give him a hunter’s funeral and says he’ll be looking forward to seeing them on the other side but not too soon.
“Well at least we did something right, eventually,” Dean says, referring to the two fiery exits they gave Bobby.
“So he knew. About us. Did you, uh, ever talk to him?” Sam asks hesitantly.
“No, what? About us, oh hell no, of course not,” Dean answers, shaking his head vehemently.
“Good, uh, I guess. Would have been a pretty weird conversation,” Sam states, just imagining Bobby’s fond exasperated expression that he misses more than anything.
“Just as well that we didn’t,” Dean says, more than a little sadly.
“Oh, you mean because we aren’t like that anymore?” Sam answers even more sadly.
“Sam,” Dean pleads, reaching across the divide between them, although measured in the physical distance between the driver’s seat and the passenger’s seat is small, it somehow seems like the greatest distance he’s ever had to travel.
Sam turns at the sound of his brother’s voice, and feels Dean’s hand land on his thigh, grasping for his hand. Sam holds it tightly as if it’s the only thing holding him tethered to the Earth, it feels like he could be sucked right out of the Impala, spinning away without the gravity of Dean a constant pulling at his core. “Yeah Dean,” Sam says, almost too quietly to really hear.
“Sammy, I don’t want it to be like this anymore,” Dean declares, trying not to sound too horribly desperate even though that’s really how he feels, that if they can’t get this right, like right the hell now, then it’s maybe never going to work between them again.
“Me either. Feel like I’m dying every day being separate from you like this,” Sam answers with a heartfelt intensity that makes him feel like he’s spent his last quarter at the arcade, with no more chances left. Take it or leave it, there it all is on the table.
“Then let’s not be,” Dean says simply as he leans in and brushes their lips together. He feels his brother give way completely under his hands. A pliant, grateful Sam is not what he wants though. “c’mon Sammy, not like that.”
Sam gets the idea right away, and pulls Dean in tightly, holding him close, hands roaming over all the places he knows are guaranteed to always work on Dean. It hasn’t been that long and he hadn’t ever stopped imagining this moment the whole eternity Dean was gone; or for the whole time that Dean’s been back, but out of reach which has felt even longer.
“That’s more like it.” Dean groans as Sam’s hands skim lower down his belly and graze over the head of his jeans-covered cock. Sam’s touches are just what he’s wanted all this time since he’s been back, it’s better than he’d remembered. Better than he’d obsessed about all that time he was stuck in Purgatory, playing their greatest hits back as he tried to sleep.
“Can you just? Geeze, it hasn’t been that long, don’t you remember how to do this?” Sam barks out, frustrated that Dean isn’t cooperating in getting into the only position they’ve ever found that works in the front seat of the Impala. And Lord knows they’ve certainly tried them all over the years. He pushes and pulls at Dean, moving him over and on top of and finally between his spread legs as he reclines partway up the passenger side door, back of his head smashed up against the window in a familiar cold press; he’s impressed that Dean manages to toss the papers from the lawyer and Bobby’s letters up onto the dashboard so they don’t get ruined.
“Fine, whatever, how’s that?” Dean grins down at him, their hands tangling in the attempt to get their zippers undone in time, before anyone decides to do something foolish like hesitate or change their mind. The desperation to see this through, to somehow jump back up onto the track with all wheels going the right way is another living breathing thing in the car with them. They both want this so much that it’s almost too much to wait those few extra seconds it takes to get down to flesh on flesh where they need to be to make it right again.
Sam puts his palm up to Dean’s mouth, hmming expectantly, waiting for Dean to remember what to do, and of course Dean does, he grins and licks a big sloppy mess up the middle of Sam’s palm. Sam groans at the soft yet rough feeling of his brother’s tongue, and puts it up to his own mouth adding his own spit. He then reaches down to enclose both of their cocks together in his saliva-moistened hand. He starts pulling them off together, stroke by stroke they harden further and further, practically fusing together into one pulsing member. Sealed back together with all the sticky satisfying mess as they leak together, getting closer and closer.
Dean is pumping his hips faster and faster into Sam’s hand, the friction on this edge of too much, too much pain and heat, but then it’s the right amount. Just what he needs, Sam giving it to him just like no time has elapsed, their movements roughly familiar, but there’s still something new. Dean imagines it’s because there’s this long separation they’ve had, and this uncomfortable time where they’ve been reunited yet not. Overlaid on that is something new, which is his sharper edge leftover from Purgatory, his inability to ever relax, and Sam’s domesticated and frustrated year without him. There’s more to it, a desperation to take and give and receive and not have to let go ever again. So much undecided and undiscussed between them without a chance to stop and think. Dean can’t think any more about what’s different or why, Sam’s desperate noises take him out of his head so that he’s reduced to an internal chant of Just now. Take it now.
“Please Dean, please,” Sam begs, not sure what he’s even asking for, just wanting and needing Dean to give it to him.
Hearing the desperate wanting in his brother’s voice puts Dean even closer to the edge and he finds it within himself to order. “With me Sammy.”
That voice, that voice of command which Sam doesn’t always want to obey in other situations is exactly what Sam was begging for. And Dean knew. He always knows. So Sam comes, letting loose with a wordless cry, folding himself up off the door, pushing his brother up so high Dean hits his head on the roof of the Impala. But by then Dean’s coming too, all over, adding it to Sam’s mess, and he collapses down on top of Sam heavily. They lie there panting almost back in sync, heart beats still thundering, galloping off into the sunset together with all their hurt and misunderstandings.
Dean’s face is nestled in the crook of Sam’s neck, just breathing him in as deeply as possible, in case this is the last time. He doesn’t think so, but who knows with Sam these days. He finally brings himself to say something. “That was worth waiting for dude.”
Sam kisses the side of Dean’s head, smiling as he inhales the scent of Dean, which he’s happy to discover still makes his head spin. “I’ll say, it really was, wish we hadn’t taken so long. Get up off me now though, you’re squashing me.”
Dean grumps and starts moving slowly, first sitting up, hitting his head on the roof like always, reaching over into the glove box for fast-food napkins to clean them off with. He gently wipes off Sam’s belly and shirt that got kind of soaked as Sam watches his every movement closely. “You might want a clean shirt.”
“Naw, I’m good with this one,” Sam says, looking down at his ruined shirt with a smile at seeing the evidence of their reunion so plainly.
“What you wanna smell like sex all the way to where we’re goin’?” chuckles Dean.
“Yeah, maybe I do, so what?” challenges Sam, crooking his half smile and daring Dean to say another word.
“Badge of honor huh? Okay, whatever,” Dean gets himself tucked in and buckled up, waiting for Sam to do the same. They take off into the late morning sun, heading straight out of Sioux City, after one short detour; a slow drive-by of the burned-out ruins of Singer Salvage. There’s nothing to say about that, all the memories they have of the salvage yard are still theirs even if the place is gone.