Chapter Text
*** THE NEXT MORNING ***
Dean’s head hurt like a bitch. That was the first thing he thought of when he drifted back to consciousness, somehow in a bed. He honestly couldn’t remember getting here… Last he remembered, he had been lying on the couch, an ice pack under his head- and his 17th beer in his hand. Bobby knew him well… He had known Dean needed to actually get wasted for a change, to get away from the world for a while. Vaguely, he wondered what had happened last night… He hoped he hadn’t tried to kiss anyone. Not that he was against kissing guys- he had kissed enough of them before- but the fact that he was pretty sure both Sam and Bobby were straight pretty much spoiled the chances that a drunken kiss would go over well.
Dean shifted slightly, opening his eyes to the glare of harsh sunlight coming through the window. He rubbed his head into his pillow lightly, stretching his neck. He tried to lift his left hand before realizing he couldn’t- it was pinned down by something. Dean turned his head slightly before realizing his head wasn’t exactly on a pillow. It was resting on Sam's chest, rising and falling slowly in rhythm to his breath. Sam was still sound asleep, snoring gently and looking somehow younger without worry over Dean creasing his forehead. Dean was lying beside him, his head curled to rest on Sam's chest and his arm pinned underneath Sam's back. Sam had one arm under Dean’s back, cupping his shoulder lightly. Dean’s other arm was over Sam's stomach, his fingers resting on Sam's abs, relaxed with sleep. Sam's left arm, the one farthest from Dean, was stretched above his head and bent at the elbow, creating a frame for his face.
Their legs were tangled together along with the blanket under them, all the way from their ankles to… well, a lot closer than their ankles. Dean shifted slightly to get blood flowing back to the arm trapped under Sam. He didn’t mind being is this position, not really- though he`d never admit it to Sam… he was comfortable around his not-so-little brother, able to let loose and be himself. More like giant, sprawling moose, really, but still his little brother. Looking at him like this- so relaxed and open in sleep, so innocent- only solidified Dean’s resolve to make sure that Sam didn’t hurt himself trying to save him. More than ever, Dean knew what he would have to do. He was not about to let both of them get dragged to hell.
Up until now, Dean hadn’t even let himself think about Sammy when he could help it- the wet dreams here and there couldn’t be helped. But Sam was his little brother- whom he was pretty sure was heterosexual, and way too morally uptight to do something like that with his own brother. But with the hellfire looming at the end of the tunnel… no matter how much Dean insisted he wasn’t into sentimental shit, he just couldn’t deny the fact that he didn’t want to die without knowing if there could have been something there. But not here- not with Bobby in the next room, the thin walls… Hell, Dean didn’t know what Bobby would do if he found out Dean was into Sam that way. Somehow, the topic had just never come up.
Dean began to roll out of bed, pulling his pinned arm out slowly in an attempt not to wake Sam, but failing miserably. First, the stutter in Sam's even breath. Then, Sam shifting slightly, closing his arms tighter around Dean. Finally, Sam opening his eyes with a slight squint and realizing the position they had ended up in. Sam's eyes went wide as he glanced down at their legs and back up again, finally meeting Dean's eyes, before looking away quickly and rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand, a classic Sam gesture of discomfort.
“Shit, sorry man, I… I really don’t know what- well…” Sam stuttered out, rubbing his hand that wasn’t trapped under Dean through his hair. “Dean, I'm- Dude, could you get off my arm?”
“Uh, yeah, sure.” Dean shifted his shoulders away from the bed so that Sam could slide his arm away, flexing his fingers and wincing. It must have fallen asleep. “So, wild night? How many did I have, anyway?”
“Don’t know, man. ‘M not your babysitter.” Sam rubbed his eyes as Dean removed the arm resting on Sam's stomach. Sam seemed to realize then that Dean still had an arm trapped under him. “Dammit, dude why didn’t you make me move?”
Sam arched his back, causing the muscles under his skin to move with a comfortable ease that caused something to stir in Dean's own stomach. Dean realized, a moment too late, that he was supposed to pull his arm out from under his brother. He quickly did, and Sam dropped himself back onto the bed before pulling himself up to a sitting position. He slowly untangled his legs from Dean's, moving with something that looked like discomfort.
“’M gonna go to the washroom.” Sam was out of the room before Dean could decide what had caused his change of mood, from waking up and happy to uncomfortable and rushed. Well, other than the obvious, but it wasn’t the most awkward position they had found themselves in.
“Mornin’ to you too.” Dean grumbled, getting up and wincing at the pulsing blood rushing to his head. He made it to his feet before the wave of nausea washed over him, forcing him to sprint to the washroom. A hangover? This hadn’t happened in… months. Maybe a year. God, how much had he drunk last night?
There was only one washroom near their room, and Dean knew he wouldn’t make it to the other one. He steeled himself to rush to either the toilet or the bathtub, whichever was closest. Or whichever wasn’t occupied by Sam. He banged on the door for a moment before deciding he didn’t have time to waste on being polite. It wouldn’t be anything Dean hadn’t seen before- life on the road, hotels, they were brothers after all. He pushed the door open.
“Fucking hangover-” Dean stopped in his tracks, nausea put on hold for a moment as he realized what he had walked in on. Sam was standing in the shower, but the water wasn’t on. He was leaning against the side of the shower with a hand down his pants, moving slowly. Dean took in the sight- the way Sam's head was leaning back against the wall with his mouth open slightly, the look of bliss on his face quickly turning red with embarrassment, and the way that, even as he yanked his hand out of his jeans and tugged them up tighter, they tented out at the front. Sam was rubbing a hand through his hair now, about to bullshit something, but Dean held up his hand in the universal ‘I don’t want to hear it’ gesture before turning to the toilet and promptly emptying the contents of his stomach. He really hated hangovers.
Sam watched Dean crumple over the toilet, and in an instant decided to set aside his current… need in favour of helping his brother. He stepped out of the shower gingerly before kneeling down next to Dean, putting a hand on his back in a gentle show of support. All he got in return was a glare from Dean before he was forced back to the toilet bowl by another wracking heave. Shit… was Dean mad at him now? Or was he just in a bad mood from the hangover? Sam had no clue- he could usually read his brother pretty well, but today… well, they hadn’t exactly encountered this situation before. Sam had no standard to compare reactions to. But how could Sam help it? God… this just made everything more confusing. So much more confusing- where would they stand? Hopefully they could just forget what Sam had just been caught doing and go on with life- saving people, hunting things.
Sam pulled some toilet paper off the roll once Dean’s heaves were beginning to get gentler and less frequent. He turned Dean's face towards him and began to try to help him clean up. Dean just glared at him before slapping his hand away and grabbing the paper for himself, roughly wiping his mouth before chucking it into the toilet and flushing the repulsive contents down. Dean stood roughly, swaying slightly as he grabbed the glass by the sink and filled it with water, rinsing his mouth three or four times. Finally he shoved the glass into Sam's hand and stalked out towards the bedroom.
“Dean, I-” Sam started, trying to figure out where they stood. Dean cut him off.
“Forget it man.” He held his hand up again. “I don’t need- I don’t want- to hear it. Everyone's gotta do it sometime. Sorry ‘bout interrupting. Go… Continue, whatever…”
Sam took that as permission to get the hell out of there- no pun intended. He walked to the kitchen and placed the glass in the sink, grabbed a replacement glass for the washroom, and put in back on the sink top in the bathroom. He approached the bedroom cautiously and listened at the door before walking in. Dean was sitting on the bed, apparently just finished getting dressed. Sam quickly changed, careful to avoid Dean's eyes, and grabbed his duffel bag.
“I got my new shoes from Bobby last night. Lucky chance he had my size. I'll meet you in the car…” Sam rushed out of the room.
Dean sat on the bed a moment longer, thankful Sam hadn’t noticed the slight flush to his cheeks. He had just pulled up his pants when Sam had walked in. Sam had been so awkward in the washroom. And yet… Dean didn’t know why. Did that mean Sam was just embarrassed to be caught by his brother…? And why had Sam been jerking off anyway? Not that a reason was always needed, but Dean would’ve thought Sam would have waited until they had left Bobby's place at the least. Bobby was like a father to them, and if Sam had gotten caught at it by Bobby, it would’ve been almost as bad as him getting caught at it by their father… if he were still alive. So was Sam interested in him then, or not? Damn this was messed up.
Dean shoved himself off the bed, frustration and confusion making him irritable. He wanted Sam. There, it was time he admitted that. But… God, he didn’t want to force his baby brother into anything. And if Sam thought it was his last wish, he would do anything. Dean was sure of it. But he wanted Sammy to want him too… Why the hell did they have such a damn messed up family? Dean almost wished that he didn’t know about the monsters, the demons… but then he wouldn’t be himself. He wouldn’t be as close to Sammy… He slammed the bedroom door on the way out.
“You okay, kid?” Bobby was sitting on the sofa where Dean had sat the night before, reading the paper. Dean saw a headline- ‘Girl Found Dead in Room, Part of Brain Removed. Police Have No Leads- Investigation Ongoing’.
“’M fine, Bobby. Kitsune?” Dean gestured to the paper.
“Looks like. Was gonna go for it- it’s just up in Montana.” Bobby turned from the paper and looked Dean in the eye, the way only Bobby did. “But you boys need a distraction. Go hunt kid, and try to get Sammy in a better mood.”
“Hate those things. Thanks, Bobby.” Dean took the offered paper and tried to calm himself down as he trudged out the door. Sam was already in the impala, so Dean slid into the driver’s seat.
“Kitsune, in Montana. Grab the map, Sammy. We got a hunt.”
Dean tossed the newspaper onto Sam's lap as he turned the key in the ignition. After the Impala roared to life, he started flipping through the tape collection.
“Dean… I-”
“Shut up and sing along, Sammy. You know you want to.” Dean shoved a tape in and The Doors came on. Dean flipped to track 6. Sam just glared at Dean as he recognised the song. Dean laughed out loud at the bitchface he wasn’t sure Sam even intended to throw his way. It was only about a level 4- annoyed, but not completely pissed off. Dean turned it up and started singing along when he turned off the drive.
Come on baby, light my fire
Come on baby, light my fire
Try to set the night on fire
The time to hesitate is through
No time to wallow in the mire
Try now we can only lose
And our love become a funeral pyre
Come on baby, light my fire