castalie | New SPN Fic

So here's an umpteenth coda to "Born Under a Bad Sign" - because sometimes the muse just doesn't care that everyone else is doing it too. He wants to play anyway.

Title: 4.00 AM Knows All My Secrets
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word Count: ~ 3.370
Summary: Sam and Dean have trouble sleeping after what happened.
Story Notes: Since it's a coda for "Born Under a Bad Sign", this will contain spoilers.

My undying love for

starwatcher307 who betaed the story in such a short time! *loves*

Outside the room, a car - the fourth Sam had counted since he’d tried to go to sleep that night - stopped in the parking lot. The headlights bathed the room in a pale glow for a moment before they were switched off and the occupants of the vehicle - two, by the sound of the slamming doors - headed for their room. Sam could hear a woman - young from the sound of her voice - laughing heartily. He couldn’t make out what the other person was saying, but they both seemed to be having a good time. He heard the clickety of sharp heels pass in front of their door and then fade away as the couple found their room.

In the bedroom to their left, the TV was on and, from the sound of it, it certainly wasn’t Discovery Channel. He tried to block out the moans and cheesy music he could hear through the wall, and hoped that the guy would finish jerking off soon so that they could all go to sleep.

Or try to go to sleep. At least, there would be no cheesy distraction. Sam sent silent thanks to Whoever was watching that Mr. 80’s Porn hadn’t been there when Sam and Dean had engaged in their own version of live porn; he wasn’t sure he would have appreciated having an audience.

God, why couldn’t he be asleep right now? He was bone tired. Sam ached all over, and he wanted the sweet oblivion of sleep. But he just couldn’t. Rubbing a hand over his face and taking a deep breath, he was assaulted by the olfactory evidence of his and Dean’s activities not so long ago; the room had a distinct tang of sweat and sex.

Sam slid a hand under the cover and stroked from his chest to his stomach, to reach his destination and let it rest on his cock. He squeezed once, more in remembrance of fucking Dean than any real need to jerk off again. He felt sated; that wasn’t the problem. They’d both come, they’d both found release - almost violently, even - but it hadn’t yielded the customary result. Usually sex - especially with Dean - was the best medicine against insomnia. Except this time, it hadn’t worked. Sam supposed they should have talked instead of fucking.

Admittedly, sometimes that’s how they did their talking.

After Dean’s quip about Sam having basically lived with a girl inside him all week, the trip in the Impala had been quiet. Too quiet, Sam thought, but neither had really had anything to say.

After an hour of driving, they’d stopped at the first motel they’d found - Sam wasn’t even sure where they were - because Dean couldn’t drive anymore; his injuries had finally defeated his resolve to pretend nothing had happened and that it wasn’t hurting like a motherfucker. Sam would have offered to take the wheel, but he was exhausted as well, and feeling almost as battered as Dean. Besides, Dean would have objected - strenuously - and the Impala wasn’t the place to conduct the resolution. Not only that, he had an inkling of what would happen the minute they entered the room and, to tell the truth, he wanted it.

Pretty much everyone was familiar with the flight-or-fight response. He and Dean had their own version, which went along the lines of fight-or-fuck. Of course, sometimes they did both. Sometimes at the same time, sometimes before, sometimes after. They weren’t very strict about the rules... but it was a way to release tension. To reassure each of them, in the most basic way, that the other was still alive; a bit broken maybe, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed. A way to assert that things would be okay.

That’s exactly how it had started this time. As soon as they’d checked in and found the room, they’d all but pounced on each other, not caring for a moment about Dean’s injuries - the same injuries that had made him admit defeat and leave his beloved Impala not fifteen minutes before. Dean had been too far gone by then to care. Sam hadn’t been any better.

He’d stripped Dean and pushed him onto the bed, licking every inch of skin he could find, mapping the skin with his mouth, his tongue, big hands splayed on Dean’s thigh, his cock, his face. He’d followed a path from Dean’s cock to his neck, kissing him roughly, tongue thrusting in and out. Dean’s hands had dug hard into his body, hips thrusting roughly, giving as good as he got. They’d been grinding against each other in a mad frenzy when Dean had made a pained sound that quickly reminded Sam of all that had happened earlier in the day.

It cleared his mind enough that he drew apart and looked - really looked - at Dean’s body spread beneath his own. Dean’s eyes were bright from hunger and pain; Sam knew how to read those emotions. He also knew Dean didn’t give a shit at the moment, but now Sam wanted something other than basic, raw fucking. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the marks. The gunshot wound had no protection; he fleetingly remembered a blood-clot falling off when they’d started groping each other. Dean’s upper body was bruised in too many places, his face a painful testimony of their ordeal back at Bobby’s...

Those were marks and wounds he, Sam, had given Dean. True, it hadn’t exactly been him, but they were from his hands. His own fists had hurt Dean. The realization made him hurt in return.

He slowly bent over Dean and kissed every bruise he found; his hands became gentle when they slid over the heated skin. His tongue lapped around the wound on the shoulder and he shivered at his brother’s moan.

When he finally entered Dean, Sam fucked him gently, the thrusts almost painstakingly slow, but he refused to use his body to cause even the slightest additional pain. Not tonight. Not so soon after those same hands had attacked Dean so viciously.

They'd both come with eyes fixed on the other, as if to memorize something... maybe to remember why fighting was worth it. Because of moments like this. Because of them.

Hours later, Sam could remember the pleasure coiling inside him, could still taste his brother, could still smell him, could hear his moans and harsh breathing. He remembered the pleasure hitting him like a ton of bricks, making him feel like he was dying a little, but it made no difference; he wasn’t as near sleep now as he’d been when they’d started.

The soft rustle of sheets sliding on a body made him turn his attention to Dean beside him. He grinned as he remembered the apologetic look from the girl at the registration desk. “We only have one room left, and it has only one queen-size bed. I’m sorry, but if you don’t mind sharing?” Maybe fate had wanted them to fuck that night. Yeah okay, it wasn’t that twin beds had ever stopped them from having sex, but it wasn’t as comfortable.

Sam shook his head at his random mental tangent, and didn’t say anything as he watched Dean leave their warm cocoon, grab a bottle of water from one their bags and take a generous gulp. He remained silent when Dean came back to the bed and sat down with his back turned to his brother, one leg folded under his ass, the other touching the floor. He didn’t move.

“Can’t sleep either?” Sam kept his voice low, not wanting to startle his brother in case he thought Sam was sleeping. But he needn’t have worried; few things escaped Dean’s notice. He didn’t even flinch.

“I don’t know, Captain Obvious, what do you think?” Dean didn’t move, just turned his head slightly in Sam’s direction. Sam was grateful for the full moon; he could see Dean pretty well, even in the middle of the night.

Sam rolled his eyes. “That you have the energy to be cranky even very early in the morning?”

This time, Dean shifted so that he faced Sam a little more. “It’s only the morning when you’ve slept and you’re waking up. It’s not the morning when you’ve been counting the tiles on the ceiling all night.”

“There’s no tile in the ceiling.”

“Even worse, then.” Dean stretched - or started to. He aborted the movement when his shoulder reminded him that it was far from being in pristine condition. He winced, then pulled on his usual mask before turning away again. It was as if nothing had happened. Sam would have missed it if he hadn’t been watching.

“What time is it, anyway?” Dean sounded tired. And annoyed. Never a good combination.

Sam stretched a hand to the nightstand beside him and grabbed his cell phone, peering at the little screen. “Four thirty-six AM, apparently.”

Dean groaned. “Man, that sucks. It’s gonna be a long day tomorrow.”

Sam turned on his side, though it didn’t serve any purpose since Dean apparently had no intention of facing him again, and propped his head up on his hand. He could tell it wasn’t the right time to talk, but finding the ‘right time’ to talk with Dean was damned difficult, and he needed to get some things off his chest. He just had to find the right approach.

“Weren’t you ever scared the past few days, Dean?”

Apparently, his subconscious had decided the right approach was the ‘direct’ approach. Well, maybe Dean wouldn’t bite his head off for even mentioning the s-word. But his brother surprised him.

“Scared? Sammy, you were gone a week! I had no fucking clue where you were. I was losing my mind, okay?”

Sam’s eyes widened at the admission. Damn.

“Sorry.”

Dean still hadn’t turned. “Not your fault.”

“I just...” Just what? He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do. But he still had so many questions. And if there never was a good time to talk, then what difference did it make, right?

“You never doubted, did you? You always knew it wasn’t me.”

“Damn right.”

“How?”

Dean didn’t say anything for a long time and Sam thought the conversation might be over before it even started, after all. Wouldn’t be the first time.

But Dean did give him an answer, though not the one he expected. “Remember when you asked me what I believe in, or if I even believe in something?” He waved his hand in Sam’s direction. “You. I believe in you. And I know you’re gonna fight this. I know you’re not gonna become one of them. And I damn knew it couldn’t be you.”

“But how, Dean? How can you be so sure?” And it scared him how much he wanted - no, needed - to know why Dean trusted him like that.

“Because I fucking know, all right? Because the alternative is unthinkable.”

Sam shook his head, almost disappointed, though Dean’s words held such strength that he wanted to let himself be convinced. Let himself believe just as much as Dean. “That’s not an answer, man.”

“Tough. It’s the only one you’ll get from me.” Dean was silent for a long moment. Then, “You pray every day, you said? You believe in something you’ve never seen, something that might have let you down again and again; we lost Mom, we lost Dad, you lost Jess and yet you still believe in God? It’s the same with me. I just believe in you. Your faith isn’t better than mine.”

“I-” Sam started, before his voice trailed off and died. He let his arm fall and he turned on his back, eyes on the ceiling. What could he say after that? “I wish I had your faith, then,” he admitted. But there was something he could offer his brother. “I believe in you too, Dean. And you never let me down.”

Sam was half waiting for a flippant reply, but he didn’t get one. Instead he felt the mattress dip as Dean moved toward him and then a hand squeezed his thigh through the sheet. Dean’s voice was soft and quiet, but confident. Strong. “Then believe me when I say we’re gonna win.”

“You and me, right? Together?” He tilted his head to look at Dean, lips pressed in a thin line. There were so many layers to their issues, so many things to fear; it was like opening the door to your closet to get rid of the monster inside and finding a dozen other closets hiding there.

Dean shrugged, casually, as if it didn’t really matter. “That would be a nice bonus, yeah.”

“I hate when you do that, Dean,” Sam snapped, fists clenching. “I hate that you honestly think dying for me will be, like, the biggest achievement of your life.”

The lack of answer from his brother scared Sam, and angered him more. He sat up on the bed and leaned against the headboard, the sheet falling around his waist. His eyes were cold, his voice clipped. “If sacrifice is such a wonderful and noble gesture, why don’t I do it, huh? Maybe I’ll just blow my head off myself; that way it’ll be over once and for all, and at least I’ll die knowing you don’t have my blood on your hands, and that you’ll live to tell the tale.”

“The tale of how I let my brother die? Is that it?” Dean snarled. He leaned toward Sam and pressed a hand to the broad chest. It was meant to be heavy and menacing but Sam could feel it shaking. “You say that again and I’ll beat the crap out of you, is that clear?”

Sam roughly batted Dean’s hand away from him. “You’ll definitely try!”

“Shut up, man!”

“You shut up!” Sam didn’t even stop to think of how childish he sounded; he was simply enraged. “I’m sick and tired of always worrying about you dying for me! Of you leaving me because you think it’ll be better that way!” His breathing was erratic; it felt as if his heart was trying to jump through his chest.

Dean’s tormented expression suggested that his brother wasn’t feeling any better.

“That’s rich coming from you! Who begs me to put a bullet through his thick skull again and again? Who made me promise something so fucking unnatural that it’s haunting my days and nights! You and Dad, you -” Dean bolted from the bed, and Sam thought for a moment that his brother was going to break something. But as quickly as the outburst had started, it was over. Dean covered his face with his hand and took a deep breath. Then he sat down on the bed, again facing away from Sam, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands.

Sam stared at his back for a moment, not knowing what to do. It unnerved him when Dean lost his cool because it was always so unexpected. And losing his cool meant Dean was deeply upset, and that unsettled Sam, too. That, and the knowledge that he was the reason - one of the reasons - behind it.

Shifting up to his knees and sidling closer to Dean, Sam reached a hand carefully to the nape of his neck. “Dean?” he called softly.

“It’s okay, Sam,” came the quiet, muffled reply.

“It’s not okay, man. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay?”

“Sorry for what? The mess that is our life?” Dean chuckled, though the sound made Sam shiver. “I’d like to call a do-over, you know?”

Sam squeezed Dean’s neck as an answer. Yeah, a do-over would be nice. A little spell to make it all go away. To bring Dad back. Jess. Maybe even Mom. Just go back to the beginning and then start all over again. Some spell to magically erase the darkness of their lives. Had he ever believed in that kind of magic? Sam couldn’t remember.

“God, I’m tired.”

Dean’s soft words brought Sam out of his reverie. When Dean brought his guard down like this, it both elated Sam and scared the shit out of him. Still on his knees, he crept even closer to Dean, his big frame covering his brother’s back for a moment, then his arm slid along Dean’s and his hand curled around Dean’s wrist. Gently, mindful of his injuries, Sam pulled Dean back with him so that they lay down on the bed again.

“Come on, man, let’s sleep, all right? Let’s just forget about it for a while. I’m not sure I want to think about, well, anything anymore. At least not tonight.”

“I think I’ll just pretend there’s nothing to talk about anymore tomorrow, too,” Dean admitted, settling by Sam’s side.

“You do that.”

A pinch on his thigh made him wriggle.

“Condescending prick,” Dean whispered in the vicinity of Sam’s ear.

“You’d know.”

Dean did some wriggling of his own while he was trying to get comfortable, finally settling on his side - on his good shoulder - to sleep. When the turning and shifting had stopped, Sam’s hand hovered over the strong back before resting on the curve of Dean's hip. It wasn’t sexual; neither of them was in the mood for that - not right now - but it was intimate, and it soothed Sam a little.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, Dean, but I’m gonna say it anyway. I’m sorry for what happened, for what I did and what I said. I know it wasn’t me, and I know you’re not mad at me, but I just hate what happened. And not only to that hunter, okay? I hate what I did to you, to Jo, what I would have done to Bobby.”

For a moment, Sam thought that Dean would just pretend he’d fallen asleep, but he turned his head to stare at Sam. His face was unreadable. Sam didn’t remember everything that had happened, and most of it was just sensations and glimpses, fragmented pictures - some clear and detailed, others fractured and blurred - but he knew that the demon had hurt Dean. And not just physically. He knew how it felt to listen to pure venom coming from the mouth of someone you loved, he knew what it did to you. So even if he hadn’t been in control, hadn’t been completely there, he needed to apologize to Dean...

“Okay, Dean?”

“It wasn’t you, Sammy. Never you... but okay.” A pause. “Thanks.”

When he didn’t add anything, Sam nodded as if the conversation was now officially over and he burrowed under the covers, close enough that he could feel the heat of Dean’s body but without hovering too much. He felt they both needed a little distance, even if it was only an inch.

“And for the record,” Dean said, startling Sam a little, who’d started to doze off, “I’m not sorry I slugged you. You know, just in case you were wondering.” His voice was quiet, but devoid now of any stress or anger and, in response, Sam felt the tension leave his body.

And in a very Dean sort of way, Sam knew this could actually be taken as an apology. Or not. You never knew with him. So Sam just snorted and kicked Dean’s shin softly. “I should have known you wouldn’t feel sorry, you asshole.” Dean could be such a jerk, sometimes.

“You should have, yes. Now let me sleep.” Dean rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand in a most endearing way, not that Sam would ever admit it to him, and yawned. “Obviously I don’t need any beauty sleep but you, on the other hand, need all the help you can get.”

Sam’s laugh echoed in the room and the darkness seemed to recede for a moment. As long as they believed in each other, it would be all right. Of course, if he didn’t want Dean to tease him for the next fifty years, it wouldn’t do to say the words out loud, but it was a secret he didn’t mind keeping. He bent forward and, in a swift move, bit Dean’s bare shoulder as punishment. Then he turned on his stomach, and promptly fell asleep.

Fin

Between my last SPN fic and that one, it seems like I might have a slight obsession with a certain theme. I wouldn't mind trying something completely different next time but hey, I'm not gonna say anything to the muse. As long as he gives inspiration, I'm there!

Oh and the title comes from a line in Lost Souls by Poppy Z. Brite. When I saw it I knew I had to use it for a title one day. It came sooner than expected :-)