The Secret to a Good Night's Sleep (2/?)
Jul. 21st, 2008 12:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grianchlochTitle: The Secret to a Good Night's Sleep (2/?)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Beta: The lovely Ms![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cocoajava of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
multinationbeta
Disclaimer: Sadly, they aren't mine, I'm just playing with them for a while.
Warnings: None
Notes: Set at an unspecified time between Wendigo and Home, this follows in directly from chapter one. This is the second in a series of fics that starts at the beginning of season one and will work through all three seasons and beyond. They are set mainly in and around their sleeping hours and explore the bond between the brothers and the strength they draw from each other. Some will be codas to episodes and some will be set in between episodes.
Summary: Dean's plan to help Sam sleep through the night is working, but it turns out there's another problem Sam needs help with.
Previous Chapters: Chapter One
Now he knew it would help Sam get a good night's sleep, Dean often slipped into Sam’s bed once Sam had fallen asleep. It meant he could be right there when the nightmares struck, Dean rationalized, and hold Sam close until they passed. And once they were wrapped around each other, Dean didn’t see the point of disturbing Sam by going back to his own bed so he stayed until morning, always making sure he was up first.
As well as calming Sam's nightmares and letting him sleep better, it had another unexpected effect. Slowly, they became more at ease around one another, falling back into old established patterns. This was never more evident than on the Wendigo hunt. This time, when Sam became stressed out and antsy for them to be on their way, to be searching for Dad, the words he needed to hear came easier to Dean, and to his surprise, Sam listened. The next morning, as they both explained what Wendigos were to Hailey and her brother, Dean felt the invisible barrier between them begin to crumble, not entirely, but enough to be a start.
When it was done, and the Wendigo was dead, they headed for the nearest motel. Sam pushed Dean towards the bathroom first to get cleaned up and once he'd showered himself, he checked the dressings on Dean's wounds. Dean winced as Sam checked his side where a large bruise had blossomed over his ribs. It was a rare thing, having a professional patch them up and once he was satisfied that the paramedics had done a good job, Sam fell onto the other bed, lying on his stomach and wrapping his arms around a pillow.
"Stay in your own bed tonight. That'll hurt if you move around too much."
"Huh?" Dean tried to hide his surprise and at the same time tried to pretend he didn't know what Sam was talking about.
"Just for tonight."
Sam gave him a look edged with something Dean couldn't have interpreted if you paid him, and turned away, settling down to try to sleep.
Dean lay awake for a long while, partly making sure that Sam did sleep and partly getting his head around the fact that not only did Sam know all about their new sleeping arrangements but didn't feel the need to talk about it. That suited Dean fine. He knew he was a substitute for Jessica, a warm body to help Sam through the night and if that was what Sam needed, it was okay with him. Dean settled down to sleep, missing Sam's warmth more than he would ever have admitted to.
~*~*~*~*~*~
A few nights later, Sam woke to find himself curled against Dean's chest, head nestled under his chin, their arms wrapped around each other. There'd been no nightmare, no trembling, shaking terror to force him awake this time. The room was quiet, still and dark, and Dean's breath was warm against his shoulder. Sam lay still in the circle of his brother's arms. He'd missed the closeness of sleeping with another person since Jess died, it was comforting in a way nothing else was but he wasn't using Dean as a substitute for Jess. Dean had been there first, there to hold him from as far back as Sam could remember.
Half asleep, he could almost imagine he was six again, curled against Dean's chest because Dad hadn't come back when he said he would and they needed each other close to get through an uncertain night. Sam knew Dean expected him to need to talk about this, this reversion to old habits, but that history was exactly why Sam didn't see the need. And as if history were repeating itself, Dad was AWOL and they were alone together again with only each other to rely on.
Despite the arguments and the snarking at each other during the day, night times brought the comfort of being physically close to each other. So nothing had changed there, because no matter how much they'd yelled at each other and disagreed when they were kids, when it came down to it, they were always there for each other. And long after John had begun to disapprove of their sleeping habits as they grew older, they'd often still gravitated to each other on nights when he was gone, feeling safer together.
Sam pulled back and looked at Dean. His face was almost innocent in sleep, innocent if a little scuffed around the edges. His face was sharper now than it had been when Sam had left for college, it had lost the softness that Sam could still see in himself when he looked in the mirror. Sam studied the planes and angles. He could see his Dad in some of Dean's features but there were also similarities between Dean and the blonde woman with the kind eyes that Sam had only seen in pictures.
Sam looked away. He wanted to tell him. About the dreams that had ended up being premonitions of Jess's death. But something held him back. For all they had seen in their lives, Dean saw the world in terms of black and white, good and evil. No place for shades of grey, and Sam didn't quite know where he would fit in Dean's eyes.
What if ...?
Sam chided himself, knowing he was probably being an idiot because this was Dean. His Dean, who had always been there for him, but what if this was one thing Dean couldn't accept? Sam had difficulty holding it together most days, but if Dean walked away from him, he'd have nothing left to hold on to.
Sam whimpered softly, shivering, and automatically Dean reached up to stroke his hair and run his hands soothingly down Sam’s bare arm, mumbling in his sleep.
"S'okaySammynoclownsIgotya ..."
Sam snuggled closer, wrapped up in Dean's arms, the safest haven he knew. In the dark of night, their differences over finding John could be forgotten and all he felt was an all encompassing love for the brother who would do anything to keep him safe as long as he didn't have to talk about it.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Nights later, Dean woke slowly, curled around a strong back, his arm wrapped around a slim waist and his face buried in soft silky hair. He was warm and contented and didn’t object when his hand was pushed down towards a firm bulge straining against the fabric it was trapped behind. His fingers dipped below the waistband and slid over the bulbous head, slippy with precome. Dean pushed himself closer, only to be startled back again by a familiar groan.
Sam? He'd heard it enough, a groan of pain when Dean was tending to wounds, a groan of frustration when his research wasn't going well, even a groan of amusement at one of Dean's bad jokes, but he'd never heard Sam groan like that, laced with desire and need. Shit, Sam! Suddenly wide awake, Dean snatched his hand away.
“Whoa, Sammy, it’s me, it's not ...”
Sam went very still and stammered out an apology.
“Sorry, man, I wasn't awake ... I didn't ...” He tried to squirm away but Dean held him fast.
“Go to sleep. Take care of it in the morning.”
“I haven’t ...” Sam’s voice was miserable in the darkness. “Not since Jess.”
“You haven’t?” Dean was taken aback. He’d always assumed that Sam took care of that the same way he did when there wasn’t an easy lay to be found. In the shower, or in the motel room while his brother was in the shower.
“That's quite a while, Sam.”
He felt rather than saw Sam nod.
“It’s just every time I try, I see her and then she’s on the ceiling and, well ...” Sam shrugged.
Dean considered the problem. No wonder Sam was on edge. He knew he would be if he hadn’t come for what? Weeks? He could find Sam a girl, some nice girl with an edge of slutty who would get that it was a one night stand and not give Sam grief about staying in touch. But getting Sam to go along with that would be the tricky part. He could get him drunk, but Dean scratched that one off the list straight away, given last time he'd thought that would be an answer to a problem. Dean sighed softly, mulling over what might distract Sam enough to stop thoughts of Jess coming to mind. Decent porn maybe?
Sam trembled in his arms and let out a stuttering moan. “Dean!”
Dean stilled, realizing that his fingers had been stroking Sam’s skin just above the waistband of his shorts. The other realization that he quickly hit him was that Sam hadn’t pushed his hand away, hadn’t stopped him. Without thinking, Dean made a snap decision and nuzzled through Sam's hair to whisper in his ear.
“Trust me?”
“Always,” Sam replied with no hesitation.
Sam’s body was feverish to the touch through the thin cotton he wore for bed, and Dean took a hold of the hem of his t-shirt and tugged it up his torso. He pulled it the rest of the way off and placed his first deliberate kiss on Sam’s shoulder, chaste despite the way Sam arched his neck, clearly wanting more. This was for Sammy, Dean told himself, a distraction to help him out with a problem, nothing more. He eased Sam's boxers down over his hips. Sam helpfully wriggled out of them and Dean refused to dwell on the fact he now had a very willing, very naked Sam in his arms.
Dean reached round and wrapped his hand around Sam’s cock, stifling a groan at the way the hard muscle throbbed and twitched in his grasp. Sam thrust forward into his fist and Dean worked him, slowly at first, drinking in the scents of fresh sweat and arousal that swamped him. When he bit down gently on Sam's shoulder, he told himself he was keeping Sam in the moment, making sure dark thoughts of Jess didn't invade his head but he was unprepared for what the taste of Sam's heated skin would do to him.
The musky salt flavor filled his mouth and he was instantly, achingly hard. Dean frantically thought of demons, of werewolves, of any and every nightmarish creature he'd ever faced, of cleaning guns and of working on the Impala's engine. This thing with Sam was a matter of mechanics, nothing more, and if he kept telling himself that, there was the slightest of possibilities that his body would go along with it too, right?
Sam began to tense in his arms and Dean swiped his thumb over the head of Sam's cock on every stroke as his pace increased. Sam shuddered and arched back, reaching behind him to bury his fingers in Dean's hair. At his touch, little bolts of pleasure skittered their way along Dean's nerves, heading south, and it became increasingly difficult to keep his head and not rock his hips against Sam. Dean buried his face in Sam’s shoulder, closing his eyes tight as Sam stilled for a moment before letting go with a long drawn out groan, so low and husky that it turned Dean inside out. Sam pumped into Dean's hand again and again, come spurting over his fingers, hot and wet as his body quaked and spasmed in Dean's arms.
Dean didn't take his hand away until Sam lay still, breathing ragged as his body trembled in the aftermath of such an intense orgasm. Dean lay behind him, not knowing exactly what to say, feeling he should know because it had been his idea and he was the one who could always make things right for Sam. He didn't want him feeling bad about it even though Dean wasn't exactly clear himself about how he felt. The urge to kiss Sam's shoulder again was strong, but Dean didn't follow his instincts, thinking that the lines between brother and lover had already become blurred enough in the dark.
"Dean, I ..."
Sam's voice in the darkness spurred Dean into motion.
"It's okay, lie still, Sammy, let's get you cleaned up."
Yes, the best way to deal with it was to treat it like anything else, be practical, don't think about it, act like nothing happened, Dean reasoned.
He peeled himself from Sam's skin and walked into the bathroom, half closing the door behind him before he flipped on the light. He avoided his reflection in the mirror above the sink as he washed his hands, washing away the evidence of what he'd done. He dampened a washcloth and left the bathroom light on, pausing on his way back to the bed to look at Sam, now sprawled out on his back and fast asleep, a sticky mess on his stomach. Dean cleaned him up, careful not to wake him, and slipped back into bed, refusing to deal with his own frustrations. It didn't matter how much he wanted to, he wasn't going to bring himself off with the sounds that Sam made while he came still echoing round his head. It was quite a while before he finally dropped off to sleep.
The next morning, Dean made damn sure he was out of bed first, dressed and ready to go by the time Sam woke up.
They ate breakfast in the local diner and Dean flicked through the local paper as Sam checked his mail and researched their latest case. There was nothing unusual in any of it, apart from the fact that Dean couldn't quite shift the memory of Sam coming apart in his arms the night before from his mind. He shook his head, hoping to clear it, and caught Sam looking at him from behind the laptop, unspoken questions in his eyes. Dean grinned, unnaturally bright and with a slight edge of manic, then went back to his coffee and the pretense of studying the paper, not really taking in anything as his eyes skimmed the articles.
On the way back to the Impala, Sam jostled Dean's shoulder as they walked and Dean turned to look at him.
"Thanks. For last night." Sam's voice was quietly sincere.
Dean panicked. They'd been sleeping in the same bed for weeks and now Sam wanted to talk about it, now when Dean really, really didn't? He shrugged and his reply came out harder than he intended.
"Forget about it." He didn't miss the hurt on Sam's face, but what was he supposed to say? Anytime? Because anytime meant exactly that. It meant Dean was fine with jacking his little brother off and would do it again in a heartbeat because he'd secretly enjoyed it. Anytime meant opening a large can of worms that Dean would prefer stayed tightly shut.
So he added "It's fine ... we're fine." When really, he didn't think it was fine. He knew he wasn't fine and God knew what was going on in Sam's head because he looked like Dean had just drop-kicked a puppy, not smoothed over a potentially awkward moment. He sighed. It was going to be a long day.
That night, Dean stayed in his own bed, wide awake and tossing and turning. Two in the morning and he still couldn't get to sleep. He looked longingly over the divide between the beds towards Sam and sighed again then he turned over with a huff and manhandled a pillow so he could curl around it. Not that it was the same as his sasquatch of a brother, not as big by a long shot, and not as warm and solid and definitely without the smell of Sam's skin, which Dean had gotten used to frighteningly fast. He let out a long and unintentionally loud breath of frustration.
"Dean!" Sam hissed at him loudly from the other bed.
Dean's eyes shot open, but he lay still, thinking that he could maybe fool Sam into thinking he was asleep. There was a lot of low grumbling, and then Dean heard Sam's bed creak and he startled as Sam pulled the covers up and slipped into his bed behind him.
"I know you're awake. Quit being an asshole and get some sleep."
Sam's arm snaked around his waist and pulled him close and Dean felt himself relaxing despite Sam's closeness.
"Bitch," he mumbled and pulled Sam's arm tighter around him until he could feel Sam's breath on his neck.
"Jerk," Sam replied sleepily and Dean was sure he was smiling.
Chapter Three
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Beta: The lovely Ms
cocoajava of multinationbetaDisclaimer: Sadly, they aren't mine, I'm just playing with them for a while.
Warnings: None
Notes: Set at an unspecified time between Wendigo and Home, this follows in directly from chapter one. This is the second in a series of fics that starts at the beginning of season one and will work through all three seasons and beyond. They are set mainly in and around their sleeping hours and explore the bond between the brothers and the strength they draw from each other. Some will be codas to episodes and some will be set in between episodes.
Summary: Dean's plan to help Sam sleep through the night is working, but it turns out there's another problem Sam needs help with.
Previous Chapters: Chapter One
Now he knew it would help Sam get a good night's sleep, Dean often slipped into Sam’s bed once Sam had fallen asleep. It meant he could be right there when the nightmares struck, Dean rationalized, and hold Sam close until they passed. And once they were wrapped around each other, Dean didn’t see the point of disturbing Sam by going back to his own bed so he stayed until morning, always making sure he was up first.
As well as calming Sam's nightmares and letting him sleep better, it had another unexpected effect. Slowly, they became more at ease around one another, falling back into old established patterns. This was never more evident than on the Wendigo hunt. This time, when Sam became stressed out and antsy for them to be on their way, to be searching for Dad, the words he needed to hear came easier to Dean, and to his surprise, Sam listened. The next morning, as they both explained what Wendigos were to Hailey and her brother, Dean felt the invisible barrier between them begin to crumble, not entirely, but enough to be a start.
When it was done, and the Wendigo was dead, they headed for the nearest motel. Sam pushed Dean towards the bathroom first to get cleaned up and once he'd showered himself, he checked the dressings on Dean's wounds. Dean winced as Sam checked his side where a large bruise had blossomed over his ribs. It was a rare thing, having a professional patch them up and once he was satisfied that the paramedics had done a good job, Sam fell onto the other bed, lying on his stomach and wrapping his arms around a pillow.
"Stay in your own bed tonight. That'll hurt if you move around too much."
"Huh?" Dean tried to hide his surprise and at the same time tried to pretend he didn't know what Sam was talking about.
"Just for tonight."
Sam gave him a look edged with something Dean couldn't have interpreted if you paid him, and turned away, settling down to try to sleep.
Dean lay awake for a long while, partly making sure that Sam did sleep and partly getting his head around the fact that not only did Sam know all about their new sleeping arrangements but didn't feel the need to talk about it. That suited Dean fine. He knew he was a substitute for Jessica, a warm body to help Sam through the night and if that was what Sam needed, it was okay with him. Dean settled down to sleep, missing Sam's warmth more than he would ever have admitted to.
A few nights later, Sam woke to find himself curled against Dean's chest, head nestled under his chin, their arms wrapped around each other. There'd been no nightmare, no trembling, shaking terror to force him awake this time. The room was quiet, still and dark, and Dean's breath was warm against his shoulder. Sam lay still in the circle of his brother's arms. He'd missed the closeness of sleeping with another person since Jess died, it was comforting in a way nothing else was but he wasn't using Dean as a substitute for Jess. Dean had been there first, there to hold him from as far back as Sam could remember.
Half asleep, he could almost imagine he was six again, curled against Dean's chest because Dad hadn't come back when he said he would and they needed each other close to get through an uncertain night. Sam knew Dean expected him to need to talk about this, this reversion to old habits, but that history was exactly why Sam didn't see the need. And as if history were repeating itself, Dad was AWOL and they were alone together again with only each other to rely on.
Despite the arguments and the snarking at each other during the day, night times brought the comfort of being physically close to each other. So nothing had changed there, because no matter how much they'd yelled at each other and disagreed when they were kids, when it came down to it, they were always there for each other. And long after John had begun to disapprove of their sleeping habits as they grew older, they'd often still gravitated to each other on nights when he was gone, feeling safer together.
Sam pulled back and looked at Dean. His face was almost innocent in sleep, innocent if a little scuffed around the edges. His face was sharper now than it had been when Sam had left for college, it had lost the softness that Sam could still see in himself when he looked in the mirror. Sam studied the planes and angles. He could see his Dad in some of Dean's features but there were also similarities between Dean and the blonde woman with the kind eyes that Sam had only seen in pictures.
Sam looked away. He wanted to tell him. About the dreams that had ended up being premonitions of Jess's death. But something held him back. For all they had seen in their lives, Dean saw the world in terms of black and white, good and evil. No place for shades of grey, and Sam didn't quite know where he would fit in Dean's eyes.
What if ...?
Sam chided himself, knowing he was probably being an idiot because this was Dean. His Dean, who had always been there for him, but what if this was one thing Dean couldn't accept? Sam had difficulty holding it together most days, but if Dean walked away from him, he'd have nothing left to hold on to.
Sam whimpered softly, shivering, and automatically Dean reached up to stroke his hair and run his hands soothingly down Sam’s bare arm, mumbling in his sleep.
"S'okaySammynoclownsIgotya ..."
Sam snuggled closer, wrapped up in Dean's arms, the safest haven he knew. In the dark of night, their differences over finding John could be forgotten and all he felt was an all encompassing love for the brother who would do anything to keep him safe as long as he didn't have to talk about it.
Nights later, Dean woke slowly, curled around a strong back, his arm wrapped around a slim waist and his face buried in soft silky hair. He was warm and contented and didn’t object when his hand was pushed down towards a firm bulge straining against the fabric it was trapped behind. His fingers dipped below the waistband and slid over the bulbous head, slippy with precome. Dean pushed himself closer, only to be startled back again by a familiar groan.
Sam? He'd heard it enough, a groan of pain when Dean was tending to wounds, a groan of frustration when his research wasn't going well, even a groan of amusement at one of Dean's bad jokes, but he'd never heard Sam groan like that, laced with desire and need. Shit, Sam! Suddenly wide awake, Dean snatched his hand away.
“Whoa, Sammy, it’s me, it's not ...”
Sam went very still and stammered out an apology.
“Sorry, man, I wasn't awake ... I didn't ...” He tried to squirm away but Dean held him fast.
“Go to sleep. Take care of it in the morning.”
“I haven’t ...” Sam’s voice was miserable in the darkness. “Not since Jess.”
“You haven’t?” Dean was taken aback. He’d always assumed that Sam took care of that the same way he did when there wasn’t an easy lay to be found. In the shower, or in the motel room while his brother was in the shower.
“That's quite a while, Sam.”
He felt rather than saw Sam nod.
“It’s just every time I try, I see her and then she’s on the ceiling and, well ...” Sam shrugged.
Dean considered the problem. No wonder Sam was on edge. He knew he would be if he hadn’t come for what? Weeks? He could find Sam a girl, some nice girl with an edge of slutty who would get that it was a one night stand and not give Sam grief about staying in touch. But getting Sam to go along with that would be the tricky part. He could get him drunk, but Dean scratched that one off the list straight away, given last time he'd thought that would be an answer to a problem. Dean sighed softly, mulling over what might distract Sam enough to stop thoughts of Jess coming to mind. Decent porn maybe?
Sam trembled in his arms and let out a stuttering moan. “Dean!”
Dean stilled, realizing that his fingers had been stroking Sam’s skin just above the waistband of his shorts. The other realization that he quickly hit him was that Sam hadn’t pushed his hand away, hadn’t stopped him. Without thinking, Dean made a snap decision and nuzzled through Sam's hair to whisper in his ear.
“Trust me?”
“Always,” Sam replied with no hesitation.
Sam’s body was feverish to the touch through the thin cotton he wore for bed, and Dean took a hold of the hem of his t-shirt and tugged it up his torso. He pulled it the rest of the way off and placed his first deliberate kiss on Sam’s shoulder, chaste despite the way Sam arched his neck, clearly wanting more. This was for Sammy, Dean told himself, a distraction to help him out with a problem, nothing more. He eased Sam's boxers down over his hips. Sam helpfully wriggled out of them and Dean refused to dwell on the fact he now had a very willing, very naked Sam in his arms.
Dean reached round and wrapped his hand around Sam’s cock, stifling a groan at the way the hard muscle throbbed and twitched in his grasp. Sam thrust forward into his fist and Dean worked him, slowly at first, drinking in the scents of fresh sweat and arousal that swamped him. When he bit down gently on Sam's shoulder, he told himself he was keeping Sam in the moment, making sure dark thoughts of Jess didn't invade his head but he was unprepared for what the taste of Sam's heated skin would do to him.
The musky salt flavor filled his mouth and he was instantly, achingly hard. Dean frantically thought of demons, of werewolves, of any and every nightmarish creature he'd ever faced, of cleaning guns and of working on the Impala's engine. This thing with Sam was a matter of mechanics, nothing more, and if he kept telling himself that, there was the slightest of possibilities that his body would go along with it too, right?
Sam began to tense in his arms and Dean swiped his thumb over the head of Sam's cock on every stroke as his pace increased. Sam shuddered and arched back, reaching behind him to bury his fingers in Dean's hair. At his touch, little bolts of pleasure skittered their way along Dean's nerves, heading south, and it became increasingly difficult to keep his head and not rock his hips against Sam. Dean buried his face in Sam’s shoulder, closing his eyes tight as Sam stilled for a moment before letting go with a long drawn out groan, so low and husky that it turned Dean inside out. Sam pumped into Dean's hand again and again, come spurting over his fingers, hot and wet as his body quaked and spasmed in Dean's arms.
Dean didn't take his hand away until Sam lay still, breathing ragged as his body trembled in the aftermath of such an intense orgasm. Dean lay behind him, not knowing exactly what to say, feeling he should know because it had been his idea and he was the one who could always make things right for Sam. He didn't want him feeling bad about it even though Dean wasn't exactly clear himself about how he felt. The urge to kiss Sam's shoulder again was strong, but Dean didn't follow his instincts, thinking that the lines between brother and lover had already become blurred enough in the dark.
"Dean, I ..."
Sam's voice in the darkness spurred Dean into motion.
"It's okay, lie still, Sammy, let's get you cleaned up."
Yes, the best way to deal with it was to treat it like anything else, be practical, don't think about it, act like nothing happened, Dean reasoned.
He peeled himself from Sam's skin and walked into the bathroom, half closing the door behind him before he flipped on the light. He avoided his reflection in the mirror above the sink as he washed his hands, washing away the evidence of what he'd done. He dampened a washcloth and left the bathroom light on, pausing on his way back to the bed to look at Sam, now sprawled out on his back and fast asleep, a sticky mess on his stomach. Dean cleaned him up, careful not to wake him, and slipped back into bed, refusing to deal with his own frustrations. It didn't matter how much he wanted to, he wasn't going to bring himself off with the sounds that Sam made while he came still echoing round his head. It was quite a while before he finally dropped off to sleep.
The next morning, Dean made damn sure he was out of bed first, dressed and ready to go by the time Sam woke up.
They ate breakfast in the local diner and Dean flicked through the local paper as Sam checked his mail and researched their latest case. There was nothing unusual in any of it, apart from the fact that Dean couldn't quite shift the memory of Sam coming apart in his arms the night before from his mind. He shook his head, hoping to clear it, and caught Sam looking at him from behind the laptop, unspoken questions in his eyes. Dean grinned, unnaturally bright and with a slight edge of manic, then went back to his coffee and the pretense of studying the paper, not really taking in anything as his eyes skimmed the articles.
On the way back to the Impala, Sam jostled Dean's shoulder as they walked and Dean turned to look at him.
"Thanks. For last night." Sam's voice was quietly sincere.
Dean panicked. They'd been sleeping in the same bed for weeks and now Sam wanted to talk about it, now when Dean really, really didn't? He shrugged and his reply came out harder than he intended.
"Forget about it." He didn't miss the hurt on Sam's face, but what was he supposed to say? Anytime? Because anytime meant exactly that. It meant Dean was fine with jacking his little brother off and would do it again in a heartbeat because he'd secretly enjoyed it. Anytime meant opening a large can of worms that Dean would prefer stayed tightly shut.
So he added "It's fine ... we're fine." When really, he didn't think it was fine. He knew he wasn't fine and God knew what was going on in Sam's head because he looked like Dean had just drop-kicked a puppy, not smoothed over a potentially awkward moment. He sighed. It was going to be a long day.
That night, Dean stayed in his own bed, wide awake and tossing and turning. Two in the morning and he still couldn't get to sleep. He looked longingly over the divide between the beds towards Sam and sighed again then he turned over with a huff and manhandled a pillow so he could curl around it. Not that it was the same as his sasquatch of a brother, not as big by a long shot, and not as warm and solid and definitely without the smell of Sam's skin, which Dean had gotten used to frighteningly fast. He let out a long and unintentionally loud breath of frustration.
"Dean!" Sam hissed at him loudly from the other bed.
Dean's eyes shot open, but he lay still, thinking that he could maybe fool Sam into thinking he was asleep. There was a lot of low grumbling, and then Dean heard Sam's bed creak and he startled as Sam pulled the covers up and slipped into his bed behind him.
"I know you're awake. Quit being an asshole and get some sleep."
Sam's arm snaked around his waist and pulled him close and Dean felt himself relaxing despite Sam's closeness.
"Bitch," he mumbled and pulled Sam's arm tighter around him until he could feel Sam's breath on his neck.
"Jerk," Sam replied sleepily and Dean was sure he was smiling.
Chapter Three
