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spn_springflingTitle: It Still Hurts
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Any warnings: Deal!fic, angst, set post-A Very Supernatural Christmas (spoilers through 3x08)
Written by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
si_star_x for atanih88!
The whirr and heat of the engine had been present for hours, the vibrations altering and hitching as the intensity of road-covering varied between good old fashioned tarmac, gravel, back to tarmac and then to loose rocks that covered sandy inclines.
Dean knew that the next garage stop would have to entail a quick spraying of water too; the bodywork couldn’t be left for too long with the splatter of sand and dirt, the bumper coated with the remnants of insects that had been ploughed into on their journey. It probably wouldn’t have a lasting effect but with Dean being his usual overprotective self, he needed to keep the black paintwork gleaming and glossy.
It was just like he wouldn’t let Sam within two feet of the car with anything that could drip or splatter or stain. God forbid if either of them ever stained anything. Dean had dripped ketchup onto the carpet of the passenger side once and he had cursed and spat for an hour as he sprayed cleaning product into the darker area, satisfied when the red was lifted but cursing again as he realised that now there was a lighter patch where the cleaner had fallen. He had scrubbed the whole thing top-to-bottom and although it looked sparkly and pristine, they had to drive for hours with the windows down because the scent was so overpowering that it gave Sam a headache. Dean had been used to it, scrubbing for three hours and all, but Sam’s nose screwed up dramatically and he kept his head out of the window for most of that journey.
Now, years later, they were heading through Nevada; one of the few states that they didn’t tend to venture into often. It meant being on the outskirts of everything and it wasn’t one they tended to pass through; they were either going or they weren’t, and mostly they weren’t.
Sam’s head was propped up on his hand, elbow supported by his thigh and fingers drumming lightly against the side of his face as he squinted to take in the vast expanse of desert that spread darkness surrounding them. Darkness had only just fallen an in all-encompassing blanket across the desolate landscape, but it had drawn the curtain so thick that aside from where the headlights pointed, the canvas was blank. There were no lights from occupied buildings, no bars and certainly no motels, so Sam was thankful that the night was still young and after a whole day of simply eating, resting and then only a little driving, the familiar sense of exhaustion had backed off.
The youngest Winchester had barely given a thought to the date; another year coming to a close, it really paled in comparison to the fact that another date on the calendar would be a far more important – and devastating - ending. But Dean hadn’t mentioned it, and so he too resolved not to say anything. They had spent the festive season chasing Gods and being tortured, and they managed to close it off with what had probably been their most normal – average, standard, so not them – holiday ever, but this New Year’s Eve? It was just the two brothers driving through Nevada on the tail of a vamp nest and even then they suspected that the group would be up and gone by the time they got there. When Bobby called in for help, as with most calls for assistance from other hunters, it usually ends in a wasted journey. As efficient as hunters are, the crap under the bed usually catches wind and leaves the area before they can even set foot into the state.
It is of course just lucky that the guys enjoy driving; Dean enjoys his hands on the wheel, his foot on the accelerator, especially on quiet roads like this one where there are never any repercussions for breaking the speed limit or parking up for a few hours. Sam is always soothed by the gentle movement and sound of the car and knows with a sense of certainty that Dean is sensible enough to pull over should he need to rest, so he can tip his head back against the headrest and know that he’ll be woken up if needed.
After a while Sam tilted his head away from the window and twisted to observe Dean instead. He glanced over at his side-profile; his sharp jaw and the brown chopped hair that was perfectly shaped around his ears. For a moment he was tempted to lean forwards, to press his lips against Dean’s neck and nip against that earlobe. He hated how the deal was a force permanently lingering between them, and as much as he tries not to think about it, whenever his thoughts turn to touching and feeling and kissing, he can’t help but feel as though it’s need rather than want, because although he wants to feel Dean’s lips crushing his, Dean’s hand on his ass, all over him, he knows there is a need to do it before the chance is gone for good.
Before Dean is gone for good.
He bit down his lip, steeled the sigh from sounding too frustrated and, damn it, desperate.
“You need to piss?” Dean’s voice was there instantly, his words supporting Sam’s shoulders from drooping down. His head turned, the ear and jaw-line being momentarily replaced with Dean’s green eyes, five o’clock shadow and the pink of his lips. That sight didn’t particularly help either.
“No.” Sam replied quietly, shaking his head and causing several strands of hair to fall forwards. “I’m good.”
Dean shrugged his shoulders, turned back to the wheel and ended the conversation there. The silence was never usually awkward between them, but recently, especially right now, Sam felt the undeniable urge to prevent any silence from falling at all. He just didn’t want minutes to pass between them without uttering a word; it was a complete waste.
Still, Sam was silent for another hour, almost falling asleep if it were not for the occasional jolts in the road.
“S’eleven thirty.” Dean’s voice was again the one to break the sharp edges of quiet. “What are your plans for New Year’s?” His voice prompts, chest lifting as a chuckle was forced through his chest. “Party?”
“Of course.” Sam agreed amiably, a yawn pulling through his chest and the shake of his head betraying the serious tone. “If you can find us a bar.”
Dean dipped his head to look at the map that Sam has stuffed between his legs. He knows this is probably the longest damned road that they have ever had the formidability of travelling, and he spots the long, twisting expanse of road on the sheet of paper.
“I might be wrong,” Dean offered, lips quirking up in a smirk, “But I’m guessing it’s just going to be you and me this year.”
Sam wanted to smile, state that he wasn’t complaining, but instead he just nodded. He hated that he had really lost some of his happy-go-lucky demeanour and spark, and even their relationship had changed in the past couple of months. He had assumed it would be full-throttle, all systems go, but Dean was restrained. Almost as though he was easing Sam out of it gently, helping him to get used to how life was going to be without him. Still, Sam wanted to touch his brother and wanted to be touched in return. He wanted to steal kisses and moments where their bodies just pressed up against each other for long enough to cause tingles. He wanted Dean’s fingers across his chest, in his hair, but Dean was so restrained that it just made him ache. Their kisses were usually desperate and forceful, the collide sweetened by the sensation of gentle touches, but now? Now Sam hated the way Dean held back from him.
“We should park up.” Sam offered quietly, running a hand through his hair. “We never usually get to be somewhere so secluded.”
He watched Dean stiffen. It was true that they never made a habit of public displays of affection, but Sam hated that recently they hadn’t even taken such displays behind the motels closed doors. This would be the perfect location for Dean to tell Sam exactly what he wanted him to do and of course he would oblige. He would spread himself on the backseat or fold himself awkwardly into Dean’s lap, whatever he wanted.
It just hurt with a burn that Dean didn’t seem to want anything. His gut instinct was that Dean was easing him out of it gently, but he hated that his brother was so tight-lipped that he wouldn’t tell him anything. They tried to ignore the deal for the most part, and for the most part Sam appreciated it. He knew that not every day needed to be laced with regret and pain, but it seemed that although they didn’t speak of it, it was still there. It was in their body language and their expressions, in Dean’s walk and in his eyes.
Sam wanted to help, but he didn’t know what to do.
By the time he had pulled himself back from the circle of his thoughts, the engine had stopped and Dean was turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow.
“You still with me?” Dean joked, clearing his throat and tearing his eyes away as soon as Sam met his gaze. “Want a beer?”
The cool air instantly hit the Impala’s interior and Dean pulled his jacket close as he pulled himself out, willed his legs to carry him and then reached for the cool box. He tugged out two beers with one hand and cracked them both open before an answer was even pertained.
“Thanks.” Sam responded with a nod and a quick twitch of a smile, hands on the roof of the car as he squinted to see anything within the vast darkness.
“Kinda spooky, huh?” Dean spoke with a chuckle, holding out the cold beer to his brother.
“It’s nice.” Sam answered with a shrug, pulling the bottle to his lips and taking a tentative swig before a larger swallow. “Quiet, y’know?”
Dean nodded in agreement and came to pause at Sam’s side, one arm resting on top of the car and the other holding the liquid refreshment to his mouth.
They stood that way for a while, both just staring and drinking until the bottles were empty.
“Want another?” Dean asked as soon as the last droplet fell into Sam’s mouth.
Sam answered with a shake of his head, fingering around the bottle and moving his hand subconsciously around the neck, picking at the label. With a gentle sigh, he shot his other arm around Dean, catching his waist and tugging him close. Dean resisted, he could feel the tension and stiffness, but he didn’t pull back. Sam was at least thankful for that.
“Another year.” Sam found himself mumbling before he could control his words. Instantly he winced, grasping his fingers in the roughness of Dean’s jacket.
Dean nodded, lips pursed as he too pulled away the empty bottle. “Yeah.” He whispered, voice a shadow of the deep husk that Sam was familiar with. “Another year.”
Then they dropped back into silence again, Sam’s eyes threatening to push out warm liquid from his tear ducts as he kept his brother pulled tight. Dean shifted occasionally but didn’t pull away, nor did he offer his own arm around Sam’s willing body.
It was awkward, that’s what it was. They were staring out into nothingness and all the while Sam was just silently praying that Dean would tug him around and let him stare deep into his green eyes. It was dark enough for them to only be guided by the light of the Impala, but he would have pulled close, pulled Dean’s face next to his just to see the green of his eyes, just to feel the heat of his breath on his face.
“Dean-“ Sam spoke, but was instantly cut off the as sky lit up ahead of them, a burst of silver sparkles filling the sky on the horizon and then dissolving back into the darkness.
For some reason it made Dean shift closer, and although Sam’s chest was tight with frustration, even he slackened a little, uncurling his fingers from Dean’s jacket.
“Is it midnight already?” Sam asked quietly, unable to take in the fireworks and ask who on earth had set it off.
Dean pulled up his wrist, nodded his head. “Looks like. Happy New Year, Sam.”
Their eyes met for the first time since they had started drinking, and Dean’s light curl of his lips caused Sam to quiver on his feet.
Dean leaned forward, brushing his lips across Sam’s. Seeing in the New Year with a kiss, it was nice, more than he’d got for a while, but it wasn’t enough.
Just as Sam leaned in deeper, about to drop the bottle to the ground and snake his other arm around his brother, said brother pulled back, tugging out of Sam’s embrace.
“We better get moving.” Dean spoke, nodding his head. “C’mon, Sammy.”
Sam raised a hand to brush at his hair, bit down on his tongue to prevent the anger welling up inside him. Since when did Dean call the shots on this? When did he stop getting what he wanted?
The year had just drawn to a close and forced upon them what Sam knew was going to be the hardest months of his life, and Dean was just making it more difficult.
Not even beer and fireworks could lift his feeling of hurt as he trailed after his brother, settling back in shotgun and trying to just forget.
Perhaps it was time he got used to this.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Any warnings: Deal!fic, angst, set post-A Very Supernatural Christmas (spoilers through 3x08)
Written by
si_star_x for atanih88!The whirr and heat of the engine had been present for hours, the vibrations altering and hitching as the intensity of road-covering varied between good old fashioned tarmac, gravel, back to tarmac and then to loose rocks that covered sandy inclines.
Dean knew that the next garage stop would have to entail a quick spraying of water too; the bodywork couldn’t be left for too long with the splatter of sand and dirt, the bumper coated with the remnants of insects that had been ploughed into on their journey. It probably wouldn’t have a lasting effect but with Dean being his usual overprotective self, he needed to keep the black paintwork gleaming and glossy.
It was just like he wouldn’t let Sam within two feet of the car with anything that could drip or splatter or stain. God forbid if either of them ever stained anything. Dean had dripped ketchup onto the carpet of the passenger side once and he had cursed and spat for an hour as he sprayed cleaning product into the darker area, satisfied when the red was lifted but cursing again as he realised that now there was a lighter patch where the cleaner had fallen. He had scrubbed the whole thing top-to-bottom and although it looked sparkly and pristine, they had to drive for hours with the windows down because the scent was so overpowering that it gave Sam a headache. Dean had been used to it, scrubbing for three hours and all, but Sam’s nose screwed up dramatically and he kept his head out of the window for most of that journey.
Now, years later, they were heading through Nevada; one of the few states that they didn’t tend to venture into often. It meant being on the outskirts of everything and it wasn’t one they tended to pass through; they were either going or they weren’t, and mostly they weren’t.
Sam’s head was propped up on his hand, elbow supported by his thigh and fingers drumming lightly against the side of his face as he squinted to take in the vast expanse of desert that spread darkness surrounding them. Darkness had only just fallen an in all-encompassing blanket across the desolate landscape, but it had drawn the curtain so thick that aside from where the headlights pointed, the canvas was blank. There were no lights from occupied buildings, no bars and certainly no motels, so Sam was thankful that the night was still young and after a whole day of simply eating, resting and then only a little driving, the familiar sense of exhaustion had backed off.
The youngest Winchester had barely given a thought to the date; another year coming to a close, it really paled in comparison to the fact that another date on the calendar would be a far more important – and devastating - ending. But Dean hadn’t mentioned it, and so he too resolved not to say anything. They had spent the festive season chasing Gods and being tortured, and they managed to close it off with what had probably been their most normal – average, standard, so not them – holiday ever, but this New Year’s Eve? It was just the two brothers driving through Nevada on the tail of a vamp nest and even then they suspected that the group would be up and gone by the time they got there. When Bobby called in for help, as with most calls for assistance from other hunters, it usually ends in a wasted journey. As efficient as hunters are, the crap under the bed usually catches wind and leaves the area before they can even set foot into the state.
It is of course just lucky that the guys enjoy driving; Dean enjoys his hands on the wheel, his foot on the accelerator, especially on quiet roads like this one where there are never any repercussions for breaking the speed limit or parking up for a few hours. Sam is always soothed by the gentle movement and sound of the car and knows with a sense of certainty that Dean is sensible enough to pull over should he need to rest, so he can tip his head back against the headrest and know that he’ll be woken up if needed.
After a while Sam tilted his head away from the window and twisted to observe Dean instead. He glanced over at his side-profile; his sharp jaw and the brown chopped hair that was perfectly shaped around his ears. For a moment he was tempted to lean forwards, to press his lips against Dean’s neck and nip against that earlobe. He hated how the deal was a force permanently lingering between them, and as much as he tries not to think about it, whenever his thoughts turn to touching and feeling and kissing, he can’t help but feel as though it’s need rather than want, because although he wants to feel Dean’s lips crushing his, Dean’s hand on his ass, all over him, he knows there is a need to do it before the chance is gone for good.
Before Dean is gone for good.
He bit down his lip, steeled the sigh from sounding too frustrated and, damn it, desperate.
“You need to piss?” Dean’s voice was there instantly, his words supporting Sam’s shoulders from drooping down. His head turned, the ear and jaw-line being momentarily replaced with Dean’s green eyes, five o’clock shadow and the pink of his lips. That sight didn’t particularly help either.
“No.” Sam replied quietly, shaking his head and causing several strands of hair to fall forwards. “I’m good.”
Dean shrugged his shoulders, turned back to the wheel and ended the conversation there. The silence was never usually awkward between them, but recently, especially right now, Sam felt the undeniable urge to prevent any silence from falling at all. He just didn’t want minutes to pass between them without uttering a word; it was a complete waste.
Still, Sam was silent for another hour, almost falling asleep if it were not for the occasional jolts in the road.
“S’eleven thirty.” Dean’s voice was again the one to break the sharp edges of quiet. “What are your plans for New Year’s?” His voice prompts, chest lifting as a chuckle was forced through his chest. “Party?”
“Of course.” Sam agreed amiably, a yawn pulling through his chest and the shake of his head betraying the serious tone. “If you can find us a bar.”
Dean dipped his head to look at the map that Sam has stuffed between his legs. He knows this is probably the longest damned road that they have ever had the formidability of travelling, and he spots the long, twisting expanse of road on the sheet of paper.
“I might be wrong,” Dean offered, lips quirking up in a smirk, “But I’m guessing it’s just going to be you and me this year.”
Sam wanted to smile, state that he wasn’t complaining, but instead he just nodded. He hated that he had really lost some of his happy-go-lucky demeanour and spark, and even their relationship had changed in the past couple of months. He had assumed it would be full-throttle, all systems go, but Dean was restrained. Almost as though he was easing Sam out of it gently, helping him to get used to how life was going to be without him. Still, Sam wanted to touch his brother and wanted to be touched in return. He wanted to steal kisses and moments where their bodies just pressed up against each other for long enough to cause tingles. He wanted Dean’s fingers across his chest, in his hair, but Dean was so restrained that it just made him ache. Their kisses were usually desperate and forceful, the collide sweetened by the sensation of gentle touches, but now? Now Sam hated the way Dean held back from him.
“We should park up.” Sam offered quietly, running a hand through his hair. “We never usually get to be somewhere so secluded.”
He watched Dean stiffen. It was true that they never made a habit of public displays of affection, but Sam hated that recently they hadn’t even taken such displays behind the motels closed doors. This would be the perfect location for Dean to tell Sam exactly what he wanted him to do and of course he would oblige. He would spread himself on the backseat or fold himself awkwardly into Dean’s lap, whatever he wanted.
It just hurt with a burn that Dean didn’t seem to want anything. His gut instinct was that Dean was easing him out of it gently, but he hated that his brother was so tight-lipped that he wouldn’t tell him anything. They tried to ignore the deal for the most part, and for the most part Sam appreciated it. He knew that not every day needed to be laced with regret and pain, but it seemed that although they didn’t speak of it, it was still there. It was in their body language and their expressions, in Dean’s walk and in his eyes.
Sam wanted to help, but he didn’t know what to do.
By the time he had pulled himself back from the circle of his thoughts, the engine had stopped and Dean was turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow.
“You still with me?” Dean joked, clearing his throat and tearing his eyes away as soon as Sam met his gaze. “Want a beer?”
The cool air instantly hit the Impala’s interior and Dean pulled his jacket close as he pulled himself out, willed his legs to carry him and then reached for the cool box. He tugged out two beers with one hand and cracked them both open before an answer was even pertained.
“Thanks.” Sam responded with a nod and a quick twitch of a smile, hands on the roof of the car as he squinted to see anything within the vast darkness.
“Kinda spooky, huh?” Dean spoke with a chuckle, holding out the cold beer to his brother.
“It’s nice.” Sam answered with a shrug, pulling the bottle to his lips and taking a tentative swig before a larger swallow. “Quiet, y’know?”
Dean nodded in agreement and came to pause at Sam’s side, one arm resting on top of the car and the other holding the liquid refreshment to his mouth.
They stood that way for a while, both just staring and drinking until the bottles were empty.
“Want another?” Dean asked as soon as the last droplet fell into Sam’s mouth.
Sam answered with a shake of his head, fingering around the bottle and moving his hand subconsciously around the neck, picking at the label. With a gentle sigh, he shot his other arm around Dean, catching his waist and tugging him close. Dean resisted, he could feel the tension and stiffness, but he didn’t pull back. Sam was at least thankful for that.
“Another year.” Sam found himself mumbling before he could control his words. Instantly he winced, grasping his fingers in the roughness of Dean’s jacket.
Dean nodded, lips pursed as he too pulled away the empty bottle. “Yeah.” He whispered, voice a shadow of the deep husk that Sam was familiar with. “Another year.”
Then they dropped back into silence again, Sam’s eyes threatening to push out warm liquid from his tear ducts as he kept his brother pulled tight. Dean shifted occasionally but didn’t pull away, nor did he offer his own arm around Sam’s willing body.
It was awkward, that’s what it was. They were staring out into nothingness and all the while Sam was just silently praying that Dean would tug him around and let him stare deep into his green eyes. It was dark enough for them to only be guided by the light of the Impala, but he would have pulled close, pulled Dean’s face next to his just to see the green of his eyes, just to feel the heat of his breath on his face.
“Dean-“ Sam spoke, but was instantly cut off the as sky lit up ahead of them, a burst of silver sparkles filling the sky on the horizon and then dissolving back into the darkness.
For some reason it made Dean shift closer, and although Sam’s chest was tight with frustration, even he slackened a little, uncurling his fingers from Dean’s jacket.
“Is it midnight already?” Sam asked quietly, unable to take in the fireworks and ask who on earth had set it off.
Dean pulled up his wrist, nodded his head. “Looks like. Happy New Year, Sam.”
Their eyes met for the first time since they had started drinking, and Dean’s light curl of his lips caused Sam to quiver on his feet.
Dean leaned forward, brushing his lips across Sam’s. Seeing in the New Year with a kiss, it was nice, more than he’d got for a while, but it wasn’t enough.
Just as Sam leaned in deeper, about to drop the bottle to the ground and snake his other arm around his brother, said brother pulled back, tugging out of Sam’s embrace.
“We better get moving.” Dean spoke, nodding his head. “C’mon, Sammy.”
Sam raised a hand to brush at his hair, bit down on his tongue to prevent the anger welling up inside him. Since when did Dean call the shots on this? When did he stop getting what he wanted?
The year had just drawn to a close and forced upon them what Sam knew was going to be the hardest months of his life, and Dean was just making it more difficult.
Not even beer and fireworks could lift his feeling of hurt as he trailed after his brother, settling back in shotgun and trying to just forget.
Perhaps it was time he got used to this.
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Date: 2011-06-05 04:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-15 12:54 am (UTC):)
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Date: 2011-06-05 10:14 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-06-05 12:29 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for this <3 I look forward to finding out who you are :D
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Date: 2011-06-13 05:28 pm (UTC)I'm so glad you liked the fic (even though it was sad). I had to go away on the Friday before submission so I was frantically trying to finish it on time.
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Date: 2011-06-05 02:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-15 12:55 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-06-15 12:56 am (UTC)