
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8702383.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Season/Series_01, Hurt/Comfort
  Collections:
      Sinful_Desire
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-01-14 Words: 9637
****** A Shopping Cart of Memories ******
by AgtSpooky
Summary
     Set four days after the end of the Pilot – with grief, guilt, love
     and hurt wrapped around them, can Sam and Dean find their way back to
     one another and start the healing process?
Notes
     Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally
     archived at Sinful-Desire.org. To preserve the archive, we began
     importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in
     November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted
     announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or
     know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on
     Sinful_Desire_collection_profile.
     Author's notes: This one is for dairwendan, who gave me the prompt of
     “Dean buys Sam clothes”. It’s taken me forever to write this – I hope
     it’s worth the wait, sweetie! And many thanks, as always, to my
     amazing beta, charityflint, for making my stories better.
Title: A Shopping Cart of Memories
Author: agt_spooky
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9,390
Warnings: Wincest, underage (Sam is 17 in the flashback)
Spoilers: Pilot, A Very Supernatural Christmas
Disclaimer: I donÕt own them, moreÕs the pity. Just borrowing!
AuthorÕs Notes: This one is for dairwendan, who gave me the prompt of ÒDean
buys Sam clothesÓ. ItÕs taken me forever to write this r11; I hope itÕs worth
the wait, sweetie! And many thanks, as always, to my amazing beta,
charityflint, for making my stories better.
 
Summary: Set four days after the end of the Pilot r11; with grief, guilt, love
and hurt wrapped around them, can Sam and Dean find their way back to one
another and start the healing process?
 
 
 
 
                          A Shopping Cart of Memories
                                 By AgtSpooky
                                        
                                January 5, 2009
 
 
 
Dean Winchester stood at the foot of the motel bed and looked down at the still
form of his sleeping younger brother. TheyÕd returned to their room just a few
minutes ago, and Sam had collapsed upon the bed, finally succumbing to both
physical and emotional exhaustion.
 
Jessica Moore had been buried today.
 
The empty coffin had been lowered into the ground four days after Jessica had
been killed, pinned to the ceiling of the apartment she shared with Sam, both
he and Dean powerless to save her from the same creature that had taken the
life of their mother in the same way, twenty-two years ago.
 
Sam had been an emotionless shell since that night, closed off, barely
speaking, eating only when Dean forced him to, and sleep r11; well, that had
been pretty much non-existent, between the nightmares and the endless hours of
research slumped over the laptop, SamÕs entire focus on finding any clue as to
what had taken the life of his girlfriend.
 
Dean had poured through JohnÕs journal, scouring the pages for any information
his father had collected over the years, but the entries were sometimes so
disjointed, thoughts and theories randomly scribbled down, that none of it made
any sense.
 
He and Sam had combed through the wreckage of the apartment, the arson
investigator having declared it an electrical fire that started in the bedroom,
but the fire had ravaged it, destroying everything. Just like their father,
they could find no trace of the creature that was systematically destroying
their family, their frustration almost a tangible thing as each day went by.
 
Two days ago Sam received a phone call from JessicaÕs parents, informing him of
the funeral plans. Shortly thereafter he left the motel without a word,
returning well into the night, smelling of smoke and alcohol. He refused to
speak to Dean, instead sitting in one of the motel chairs, staring out the
window. Dean found him still sitting there the next morning.
 
The funeral was held at a small cemetery in Palo Alto, where Sam and Dean stood
well away from the rest of the mourners, in the shade of a large tree. SamÕs
face was a stone mask, and Dean knew it belied the crushing guilt Sam carried
on his shoulders; which is why he wasnÕt there with the other mourners r11;
JessicaÕs parents, his friends r11; he blamed himself for JessicaÕs death and
couldnÕt face them.
 
Nor could he grieve, either. Besides the single tear that fell that night at
the trunk of the Impala, Sam had yet to express any emotion regarding JessicaÕs
death. It wasnÕt healthy, and Dean was afraid of the breakdown, when it came,
from keeping his grief bottled up for so long.
 
The moment the graveside service ended, Sam was walking away, back toward the
car without a word, a silent presence in the passenger seat the entire way back
to the motel. Dean was about to ask if Sam wanted him to run out and get any
food when his brother had slumped down onto the bed facing away from him, still
fully clothed, and was asleep within minutes.
 
Dean was going to take advantage of this rare opportunity, needing to do
something for his brother because Sam just didnÕt seem to care, lost in his
world of pain and grief.
 
Sam had lost everything in the fire. Every single personal possession he had.
All he had were the clothes on his back r11; gym shoes, jeans, a lightweight
tan jacket, a thin hoodie, boxers, socks and a blue t-shirt that had five holes
in it from where the angry spirit of Constance Welch had tried to rip out SamÕs
heart.
 
His brother was so intent on finding the thing that killed Jessica that things
like clean clothes, a toothbrush, a comb r11; just basic necessities, didnÕt
even register to him.
 
Dean had dug around in his duffel bags and come up with a t-shirt of his that
was a little too big on him, and also one of JohnÕs that had gotten mixed up
with DeanÕs things, and Sam had been wearing those, along with borrowed boxers
and socks. The jeans Dean could unfortunately do nothing about, as his younger
brother had surpassed him in height years before. The motel they were at
actually had complementary toiletry items, so Dean had at least gotten him a
razor, toothbrush and comb.
 
But Sam needed things of his own, and Dean had an unused credit card in his
wallet and the overwhelming need to take care of his little brother, like heÕd
been doing his whole life. So with the hope that Sam would at least sleep long
enough for Dean to go shopping, he grabbed his keys and headed for the door,
stopping just long enough to scribble a note for his brother in case he did
wake up and wonder where Dean had gone.
 
With a last look at SamÕs sleeping form, even now starting to move restlessly
after only a few minutes asleep, Dean sighed and opened the door, wishing that
he could turn back time and prevent this nightmare. As hard as it was, seeing
Sam with Jessica that night, heÕd rather be alone and know his brother was
happy, than here with him now, in so much pain that DeanÕs own heart was
breaking.
 
~~~~~
 
Dean grabbed a cart inside the local super mart, his boots squeaking on the
tile floor, one of the wheels rattling on the cart, as he steered it toward the
first section he saw r11; personal care r11; dodging a woman with a stroller
and a screaming child and a stock boy listlessly refilling the paper towel
section.
 
He thought this would be quick r11; grab some toiletries and shirts and jeans
for Sam and be done, but Dean was thrown off track the minute he turned down
the first aisle with the shampoo and soap, and spotted a familiar yellow bottle
on the shelf r11; baby shampoo.
 
He couldnÕt stop himself from reaching out and taking the bottle down, memory
flooding through him as he flipped open the cap. HeÕd been feeling off kilter
being around his brother again after so many years, and thoughts of Sam had
been at the forefront of DeanÕs mind for the last week, so it was no wonder
this childhood memory came so easily to him with the scent of baby shampooÉ
 
November 1st, 1983. The last day of normal that four year-old Dean ever knew,
before his mother was ripped away from him in blood and fire.
 
It was lunchtime at the WinchesterÕs r11; always an adventure with two young
children, and today was no different.
 
ÒDo it again, Sammy!Ó Dean giggled as his tiny younger brother batted at the
spoonful of baby food Mary was holding out, splattering the strained peas all
over himself and the highchair for the third time.
 
Dean clapped and Sammy squealed, his hands running through the mess on the
highchair before smearing it on his head, a smile on his small face.
 
Mary looked at Dean in playful exasperation. ÒWill you stop encouraging him?Ó
 
But Dean just smiled at his mother as little Sammy reached out a baby food
covered hand toward his big brother.
 
ÒHe smells, Mommy!Ó
 
Mary laughed as she put the lid back on the peas. ÒYou would, too, if you had
vegetables all over you. Want to help me give your brother a bath?Ó
 
A short time later Dean stood on a small stool next to his mother at the
kitchen sink, baby Sammy giggling, hands splashing playfully in the water as
Mary rinsed the baby shampoo from his soft, fine hair.
 
ÒThat better, sweetie?Ó Mary asked Dean.
 
Dean leaned in toward his little brother and took a sniff, then turned to his
mother, smiling and nodding. ÒNow he smells good!Ó
 
 
Dean closed his eyes, sighing sadly at childhoods lost, putting the yellow
bottle back on the shelf before grabbing another for Sam and putting it in the
cart.
 
The razors were next, and as Dean picked one up, he was again overtaken with a
memory, this one making him smileÉ
 
Sixteen year-old Dean stood in front of the mirror in the motel bathroom,
carefully running the razor across his face, catching a glimpse of his twelve
year-old brother lurking in the doorway, watching intently. For the fourth
morning in a row.
 
Dean lowered the razor, swishing it in the water in the sink, cocking his head
toward Sammy. ÒWhatcha doinÕ, Sam?Ó
 
Sam shrugged his thin shoulders. ÒNothinÕ. Just watching.Ó
 
DeanÕs mouth quirked in a grin, remembering watching John shave when he was
about that age. ÒJust watching, huh? Wanna learn?Ó
 
SamÕs eyebrows drew together. ÒHuh?Ó
 
ÒWell, youÕre gonna be sprouting hair all over in another year or so, and while
the girls like to look at a guy with stubble, theyÕd rather youÕd be clean
shaven when you kiss Ôem,Ó Dean smirked.
 
Sam looked horrified. ÒEww! Cooties!Ó
 
Dean laughed and shook his head. ÒTrust me when I say youÕll be changing your
mind in another couple years. Now cÕmere and lemme show you.Ó
 
Sam pushed away from the doorframe and went to stand next to his big brother at
the sink, taking the washcloth Dean offered him.
 
ÒOkay, first thing you do is get the washcloth wet with hot water,Ó Dean
instructed Sam. ÒThen wash your face off.Ó
 
Sam did as he was told, then Dean handed him the can of shaving cream.
 
ÒNow squirt just a little bit of that in your hand and start smearing it on
your face.Ó
 
ÒWhoa!Ó Sam exclaimed as he pressed the button and more came out than he was
expecting.
 
Dean chuckled and took the can away. ÒYeah, thatÕs plenty. YouÕre gonna end up
looking like Santa Claus, Sammy.Ó
 
As his younger brother covered his face with the white foam, Dean reached into
his toiletry bag and took out a razor that hadnÕt been used in a long time r11;
the one that John had taught Dean to shave with, the older son just never able
to part with it. And now he was glad he hadnÕt.
 
ÒGood job,Ó Dean said, removing the blade from the razor as Sam finished
soaping his face and rinsed his hand off.
 
Dean handed his brother the spare razor. ÒWatch what I do,Ó he told Sam, slowly
running his own razor down his face several times, then upwards under his neck
and chin, Sam watching him intently yet again.
 
Face clean, Dean wiped it off with a towel then gestured at Sam. ÒOkay, little
brother. Now your turn.Ó
 
Sam nodded, bringing the harmless razor up to his face and perfectly imitated
what Dean had shown him r11; slow swipe, rinse, repeat, until his face was
clean and he was smiling at Dean.
 
Dean grinned back, nodding his head. ÒNot bad, Sammy. A little more practice
and youÕll be ready for the real thing.Ó
 
Sam gave him a small smile and ducked his head. ÒThanks, Dean. For showing me.Ó
 
Dean shrugged, knocking Sam with his shoulder, trying for nonchalant at the
complement that warmed him. ÒThatÕs my job, right? Show my little brother the
ropes?Ó
 
And show him he did. It became their morning ritual for quite sometime after
that, standing next to one another at the sink, Sam practicing as Dean shaved
for real, talking about school and cars, flicking shaving cream at one another.
 
Dean came to look forward to those mornings with Sam, who was changing right
before his eyes from a kid into a young man, forced to grow up too soon,
frequently angry with John and their nomadic lifestyle. He hated to see SamÕs
childhood disappearing far more rapidly than it shouldÕve been because of the
life they lived, so goofing around with Sam as they stood at the sink, seeing
his brother smile and laughÉhe was glad for that time, and thankful that Sam
had chosen to watch him shave and not John, who wouldÕve treated it like a
military drill and not the bonding time it shouldÕve been. He knew from
experience.
 
A year or so later, this time it was Dean lurking in the bathroom doorway,
watching as Sam really, truly shaved for the first time r11; and he did it
perfectly. Not a single nick.
 
Sam gave him a crooked grin in the mirror, lowering the razor as Dean smiled
and nodded, murmuring, ÒThatÕs my boy.Ó
 
 
DeanÕs thumb rubbed over the razorÕs handle as he came back to himself, still
smiling softly as he put it in the cart, then added a pack of blades as well
before turning to leave the personal care section. But as he passed by the next
aisle he added something as a joke that he hoped would make his brother smile
r11; bubblegum flavored toothpaste and a bright pink toothbrush.
 
He had to pass by the sporting goods section on his way to the shoes and
couldnÕt help but catch a glimpse of boxes of Winchester ammunition on a shelf
behind the glass counter, along with several handguns. DeanÕs face hardened as
he slowed to look at the weapons. This time the memory wasnÕt so pleasantÉ
 
 
ÒOkay, son, now hold your arms out straight, both your hands tight on the
grip,Ó John instructed young Dean, crouched down behind him in an open field.
 
But the six year-old let the pistol fall to his side. ÒItÕs too heavy, Dad,Ó
Dean complained. ÒI donÕt wanna do this.Ó
 
John took his son by the shoulders and turned Dean to face him. ÒYou listen to
me, son. You need to learn how to do this. There are bad things out there,
Dean. Things that want to hurt people. IÕm not here all the time, so I need to
know you can protect your brother. Do you understand?Ó
 
ÒSammy? Something wants to hurt Sammy?Ó Dean asked, panicked.
 
ÒMaybe,Ó John answered him. ÒYou donÕt want that to happen, do you?Ó
 
Dean quickly shook his head. ÒNo!Ó
 
ÒThen you need to learn to shoot this gun, Dean. You have to keep Sammy safe,Ó
John told him, voice hard, turning Dean back around to face the rock with the
empty soda can on it. ÒDonÕt let me down, son. IÕm counting on you.Ó
 
Terrified with the knowledge that his baby brother could be taken from him just
like his mother if he didnÕt do this, Dean lifted the pistol without
hesitation, wavering for just a second under the weight before pulling the
trigger.
 
The noise was deafening to small ears, and Dean staggered from the recoil,
stumbling into John, who caught him with a hand on his back. Dean was breathing
hard, shaking a little, turning back to look at his father when John pointed
out in front of him. The soda can was gone.
 
JohnÕs hand fell heavily on his small shoulder. ÒYou made me proud, son.Ó
 
His fatherÕs praise meant everything to Dean, dispelling his nervousness and
fear. He could do this. He wouldnÕt let his father down. He would protect his
brother.
 
And that had been the moment when his childhood had been truly lost r11; the
moment he pulled that trigger for the first time, propelling him down the road
of soldier, hunterÉprotector.
 
And protect Sam he did, keeping the darkness of what their life was from him
until that fateful Christmas Eve night when Sam was eight years old.
 
He shouldÕve known his brother would figure it out. Sam was smarter than any
kid his age that Dean knew. Still, it was the hardest thing Dean had done,
confirming SamÕs suspicions about what their father did, what he hunted.
 
SamÕs innocence had suffered a crack that night, when he found out monsters
were real, but it had completely shattered one year later, when John put a gun
in his youngest sonÕs hands for the first time.
 
At least he had been three years older than Dean had been. At least heÕd
protected his brotherÕs childhood for longer than he thought he could; gave him
years of playing t-ball and soccer and school plays and science fairs. Years of
just being a kid without having to worry that evil things were out there in the
night, ready to hurt him and his family.
 
 
Dean blew out a breath, blinking back the memory, looking at the Winchester
ammunition, wondering if their last name had fated them to live the life they
did.
 
Or if they were simply cursed.
 
With a heavy heart Dean walked away from the weapons, pointing his cart in the
direction of the shoe department. All Sam had was a pair of gym shoes, and if
they were heading into the Colorado wilderness next, on the trail of their
missing father, heÕd need something more sturdy.
 
Dean had to walk through the boys shoes to get to the menÕs department, when a
small pair of shoes caught his eye. He stopped, picking up the red, white and
blue shoe with a small picture of Superman on it, suddenly thinking about
heroesÉ
 
Young boys grew quickly, and Sam and Dean were always outgrowing something.
This time it was six year-old Sam in need of new shoes. So John had left him
and ten year-old Dean in the shoe department while he shopped for things
elsewhere in the store.
 
The boys walked up and down the aisle, surveying the choices in SamÕs size.
There were shoes that blinked when you walked and shoes with Spiderman, the
Hulk and Batman on them as well.
 
ÒI need to go get socks, Sammy, so hurry up and pick,Ó Dean told his little
brother impatiently. ÒWhich superhero do you want?Ó
 
Little Sammy looked at all the gym shoes and then shook his head, nudging his
toe against DeanÕs foot. ÒI want boots like yours, Dean.Ó
 
DeanÕs forehead furrowed, looking down at his brown, non-descript, scuffed up
boots. ÒWhy would you want something boring like these when you can have
Batman?Ó he questioned his brother.
 
ÒÔCause youÕre my hero, Dean,Ó Sam said simply, like it was totally obvious and
why didnÕt Dean know this?
 
Taken off guard, Dean could only blink at his little brother. ÒWhat r11; what
do you mean? IÕm not a hero.Ó
 
ÒYeah, you are,Ó Sam told him, then pointed at the cartoon characters on the
shoes. ÒThey help people and keep them safe and so do you. You tie my shoes and
make me lunch and walk me to school, and if IÕm scared you make me feel better.
You always do stuff for me. DadÕs never here, but you are.Ó Sammy smiled,
reaching up to take DeanÕs hand. ÒSo, can I get boots like yours?Ó
 
Dean swallowed hard, never realizing how much his little brother looked up to
him. Doing all of those things for Sammy was second nature for him. He squeezed
SamÕs hand. ÒYeah,Ó he said quietly, smiling softly at his brother. ÒYeah, you
can get boots like mine.Ó
 
 
Saddened that he was unable to live up to SamÕs expectations of him, unable to
save him from the tragedy of JessicaÕs death, Dean quickly found a pair of
boots in his brotherÕs size and added them to the cart, hoping one day heÕd be
able to earn back his heroÕs status in his brotherÕs eyes.
 
The menÕs clothing department was DeanÕs last stop. He rolled the cart down the
first aisle, snagging several packs of socks and tossing them into the cart,
along with several solid colored boxers, grinning when he saw that one of them
was redÉ
 
 
Doing laundry was not something high on the list of priorities for the
Winchester men, usually only accomplished when someone complained about the
smell of unwashed clothes or if someone was laid up from an injury and they had
some downtime.
 
This time it was seventeen year-old Dean doing the recuperating from a hairline
fracture of his ankle, sustained when the werewolf hunt he was on with his
father went sideways.
 
An injured Dean meant a cranky, irritable Dean who hated being cooped up, lying
in bed. But worse, it meant a bored Dean. And nothing good ever came out of
Dean with too much time on his hands, looking to amuse himself.
 
Just ask his thirteen year-old brother, who had ended up with Nair in his
shampoo yesterday morning.
 
After that, John decided that if Dean was well enough to have hobbled down to
the motel office on his crutches to flirt with the young girl at the desk to
get the Nair, he was well enough to help Sam with the laundry, while he went on
an ammunition supply run.
 
So he drove the boys down the street to the laundromat and dropped them off,
helping Sam carry in all their dirty clothes, the detergent and the stain
remover, which they always bought in the biggest bottle possible.
 
Dean and Sam started sorting the clothes after John left, Sam pulling out all
the whites while Dean tackled the clothes with various dirt, grass and blood
stains. He was still going at it when Sam started the wash cycle for the
whites, then started putting the clothes in another washer that Dean had doused
with the stain remover.
 
A short time later Sam was humming to himself, with a bit of a smirk on his
face as the brothers sat down next to one another on the hard plastic chairs to
wait for their wash to finish. DeanÕs eyes kept flicking over to him as he
tried to concentrate on the car magazine he was reading.
 
ÒDude, whatÕs up with you?Ó he finally asked.
 
ÒHuh?Ó Sam stopped humming, an innocent look now on his face. ÒNothinÕ, why?Ó
 
Dean gave him a sideways look, not believing him. ÒJustÉstop with the humming,
okay?Ó
 
Sam smiled and nodded. ÒSure, Dean, sorry. You want me to get you a Coke out of
the machine?Ó
 
Okay, now something was definitely up. Sam had been glaring daggers at him ever
since the Nair incident yesterday, pissed as hell at DeanÕs idea of a joke that
forced him to wear a baseball hat today, not having spoken a word to Dean. Now
he was apologizing and offering to get something for him?
 
ÒUm, sure, thanks,Ó Dean said warily, watching as Sam popped up out of the
chair with a grin, heading for the vending machines.
 
As Sam passed their washers he called back over his shoulder at Dean.
 
ÒHey, the whites are done. Help me put them in the dryers?Ó
 
ÒYeah, okay,Ó Dean answered, levering himself up out of the chair, forgoing the
unwieldy crutches and instead just hopping over to the washing machines.
 
ÒI had to split them up into two loads,Ó Sam explained as he returned with a
can of Coke. ÒYours are in that one and mine and DadÕs are in this one,Ó he
finished with a barely restrained smile, lifting the lid of his machine.
 
Again confused at SamÕs odd behavior, Dean shook his head as he lifted the lid
of his own machineÉthen stared, uncomprehending, at what he saw inside.
 
Pink.
 
Every single item of white clothing that Dean owned r11; socks, t-shirts,
underwear r11; was now a startling shade of pink.
 
ÒWhat theÉ?Ó Dean reached inside, pulling out a piece of dark red fabric,
immediately identifying it as his younger brotherÕs brand new, never-been-
washed-before red boxers, just as Sam started howling with laughter.
 
ÒGot you good, Dean!Ó
 
Dean reached for his scheming little brother, but Sam danced back out of the
way, heading for the door of the laundromat, knowing that Dean couldnÕt chase
after him, laughing all the way.
 
ÒSam!Ó
 
The prank wars had begun.
 
 
Dean chuckled to himself as the red boxers joined the pile in the cart,
remembering that he and Sam had driven John to exasperation as they tried to
one up each other, until finally calling a truce a week later.
 
Moving out of the socks and underwear section, Dean turned the corner into the
main part of the menÕs clothing area, racks and shelves spread out before him
r11; and froze, suddenly overwhelmed with all of the choices. Sam needed
everything and he realized he didnÕt even know where to start, until he spied
the soft, chocolate brown hoodie with the black lining, hanging on the end of a
rack.
 
Dean stepped forward, running the material between his fingers, and it reminded
him of the soft blue blanket Sam had as a baby, the one he was wrapped in when
Dean carried him out of their burning house. God, how Dean wished he could just
wrap Sam up in this hoodie and it would make everything better, like he did
with little Sammy and the blanketÉ
 
 
The sound of crying pulled four year-old Dean from his fitful sleep and he
blinked open his eyes, momentarily disoriented, thinking he was in his own
room. But as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized that no, he was on
a small mattress on the floor of a room in a house of someone he didnÕt know.
 
He glanced up at the big bed, not seeing his daddy, just as he heard voices
from the other room. His daddy was speaking to someone, sounding angry. He
sounded like that all the time now. Since Mommy went away.
 
Pushing the blanket off of himself, Dean stood on the mattress and leaned over
the portable crib next to him, reaching his hand down to touch his crying
little brother.
 
ÒShhh...itÕs okay, Sammy,Ó Dean whispered, voice hoarse from infrequent use.
 
He hardly spoke anymore, except to his brother and sometimes his daddy, scared
and confused by the strange places they were always in, and the people he
didnÕt know. His mommy had always told him never to speak to strangers, so he
kept quiet, withdrawn; except around his brother, of whom he was fiercely
protective of, rarely straying from his side. He had already lost his mommy,
and his daddy kept leaving for days at a time. So no one was taking his brother
from him. Sammy was basically all he had left.
 
Hoisting himself up over the rail of the crib, Dean carefully dropped down
beside his little brother. Picking up the soft blue baby blanket from where
Sammy had kicked it off, Dean covered his brother back up, then lay down beside
him. He softly rubbed his hand on SammyÕs tummy, like heÕd seen Mommy do when
Sammy was fussy.
 
ÒDonÕt cry, Sammy,Ó Dean whispered. ÒItÕs okayÉDonÕt be scaredÉÓ
 
Sammy quieted at DeanÕs soft, reassuring voice and touch and Dean smiled at his
little brother as SammyÕs tears stopped. The infant reached down and grabbed
DeanÕs small finger, holding tight, smiling back before yawning.
 
Dean found himself yawning as well, eyes slipping shut shortly after his little
brotherÕs, both of them sleeping through the rest of the night, soothed by the
closeness of one another.
 
For just a little while they felt safe in their scary new life, side by side.
 
 
Dean had read JohnÕs thoughts about this in his journal, about always finding
Dean in SammyÕs crib. John thought that Dean was trying to protect his brother
from whatever was out there in the dark, and once they started sharing a bed,
both of them always slept through the night.
 
Dean put the brown hoodie in the cart, saddened once again that he had failed
to protect Sam from whatever was out there in the dark, targeting their family
for reasons still unknown.
 
He began moving through the racks of clothing, selecting several pairs of
jeans, plain t-shirts in various colors and long sleeve button down shirts that
Sam could mix and match. It felt good to be taking care of his brother again.
ItÕd been four, long years since heÕd been able to do this. Four years since
heÕd even seen Sam, two years since heÕd even talked to him r11; a disastrous
drunken phone call Dean had made on his own birthday, mad and hurt and missing
his brother.
 
Dean paused when he passed by a rack of novelty t-shirts, reminding him of the
crazy ones he used to buy for Sam as a joke whenever he saw one at a thrift
store. He began flipping through them, hoping to find one that would put a
smile back on his brotherÕs face.
 
He passed by shirts about drinking and sex, nothing jumping out at him as
appropriate for Sam until he got almost to the end of the rack, and then he
froze for a long heartbeat before pulling the shirt off, holding it up before
him.
 
Marvin the Martian.
 
His breath catching in his throat, Dean sat down heavily on the shelf behind
him, knocking several pairs of jeans to the floor.
 
God, it looked just like the oneÉ
 
 
After 1983, birthdays, and holidays in general, didnÕt mean all that much to
the Winchester men. On the road, hunting, days blended into days, and turning
another year older was sometimes forgotten in the midst of putting a malevolent
spirit to rest. Not to mention that when they were kids, it was hard to have a
birthday party with your friends when you lived in a motel room, or were
renting a run-down piece of crap apartment. Never mind trying to explain why
there was no parental supervision, either.
 
While John was usually too preoccupied to notice, it never escaped DeanÕs
attention how wistful Sam became when he was invited to a classmateÕs party,
knowing heÕd never have one of his own, so Dean did his best to always give Sam
some sort of gift, no matter how small or cheap, on his birthday.
 
And SamÕs 16th was no exception.
 
A few days before his younger brotherÕs birthday, Dean was in a thrift shop
looking for boots for himself when he stumbled upon the perfect gift for Sam.
 
Growing up, Sam was never into Superman or Spiderman like Dean loved Batman.
No, his geek brother thought Marvin the Martian was the greatest. Sam even
practiced talking like Marvin, making Dean laugh no matter what kind of crappy
mood he was in.
 
So when Dean found the Marvin shirt at the thrift store, he couldnÕt wait to
see SamÕs face when he gave it to him two days from then.
 
~~~~
 
Dean blinked open sleep-heavy eyes in the early morning hours of May 2nd, soft
light just beginning to filter in the window of their cramped Nebraska
apartment. It was quiet, John having left for Oklahoma two days before, and Sam
was still asleep in the bed across from his, bare-chested, long legs tangled in
the sheet.
 
And once again Dean had to look away from his brotherÕs half-dressed body,
trying unsuccessfully to push down thoughts and feelings that heÕd been
experiencing more frequently lately. Thoughts that left him shaken, but with an
underlying current of desire that he was finding harder to ignore.
 
Needing to distract himself, Dean reached under his bed, fingers searching
until they closed around SamÕs birthday gift, wrapped in the comics from
SundayÕs paper. He pulled it out, and in one continuous motion, threw it at his
brotherÕs head.
 
Sam startled awake instantly, body jerking as Dean let out a laugh at his
brotherÕs confused expression.
 
ÒWhat the hell, Dean?Ó Sam cursed, voice raspy, pinning Dean with a murderous
glare.
 
Dean pointed at the package. ÒHappy birthday, bitch.Ó
 
SamÕs expression softened immediately and he wasted no time in tearing open the
gift, a laugh escaping him as soon as he saw Marvin.
 
ÒOh my god, Dean, where did you find this?Ó
 
ÒI have my sources,Ó Dean joked. ÒSo, umÉyou like it?Ó
 
Sam lowered the black shirt, his smile warm and bright, that certain look he
only used when he was around Dean, and Dean felt that flutter in his stomach
once again as Sam said softly, ÒI love it. Thanks, Dean.Ó
 
The moment hung there, suspended in the morning light, hazel eyes locked with
green, and DeanÕs fingers clenched on his blanket before he cleared his throat
and looked away, climbing from his bed.
 
ÒGet your ass up, Sammy. We got somewhere to be this morning.Ó
 
Sam cocked his head. ÒWhere?Ó
 
Dean picked up a key off his nightstand and flicked it at Sam, watching as
realization crossed his younger brotherÕs features.
 
ÒTime you got your license, dude.Ó
 
~~~~
 
After a breakfast of SamÕs favorite chocolate chip pancakes, they set off in
the Impala to the DMV. Sam was in the driverÕs seat, learnerÕs permit tucked in
his back pocket, happily wearing his new Marvin the Martian shirt, a smile on
his face.
 
As expected, Sam passed his driverÕs test with flying colors, since both he and
Dean had been taught to drive by John as soon as their legs reached the pedals.
Still, this was a right of passage for Sam, and he came back out into the
waiting room beaming, his new license in his hand.
 
Proud of his brother, Dean threw his arm around SamÕs shoulders as he held up
the piece of plastic that made him legal. ÒWell what are we waiting for? LetÕs
go for a ride, Sammy!Ó
 
The younger Winchester laughed and threw open the door of the sleek, black
Chevy, picked the first road heading out of town and hit the gas.
 
~~~~
 
The miles flew by under the tires of the Impala as Sam just drove and drove,
the wind whipping in through the open windows, the sun shining brightly
overhead, music blasting from the speakers. DriverÕs choice, of course.
 
They drove until their stomachs demanded food, Sam stopping at a roadside diner
where they sat on the trunk of the car eating greasy burgers, fries and
chocolate shakes till they thought theyÕd burst.
 
Then it was back on the road until after the sun had set, when Sam pulled off
on the side of the road, out in the middle of nowhere, no other cars in sight.
They climbed out of the car and up onto the hood to just look at the stars, Sam
pointing out the constellations one by one.
 
As the sound of SamÕs voice washed over him, Dean realized that this was one of
the best days of his life, just being able to be with Sam like this, watching
him so happy and carefree, the two of them simply brothers for a day, instead
of hunters, soldiers. Sam had been so distant lately, unhappy, fighting with
John at the drop of a hat, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Dean missed their closeness, and today heÕd gotten it back.
 
He looked over at Sam as his brother looked up at the sky and marveled at how
much Sam had changed over the past year. He was taller than Dean now, all
traces of baby fat gone with their rigorous training, his body lean with
muscle, his hair touching his collar in defiance of their father, his face more
serious these days than Dean would like. Sam was no longer a child but truly a
young man now.
 
That feeling stirred within Dean for the third time that day, deep inside, as
he looked at his brotherÕs profile in the moonlight, thoughts and images
appearing unbidden in his mind and he swallowed deeply at his bodyÕs sudden
reaction to them. Sam picked that moment to turn and look at him, smiling wide
and happy and DeanÕs chest clenched at the sight, his fingers aching to reach
out and touch his brother.
 
Caught off guard, DeanÕs expression must have given something away, and SamÕs
smile went soft, almost with understanding, Dean thought, as Sam slid closer to
him, their legs touching now. The air suddenly felt charged and Dean could
actually sense that somethingÉshifted between the two of them at that moment,
that at some point would forever change their relationship. And Dean was both
eager and terrified at the thought.
 
Sam put his arm around DeanÕs shoulders and leaned in, whispering against
DeanÕs ear, ÒBest birthday ever,Ó as Dean closed his eyes and wrapped his arm
around his brotherÕs waist.
 
~~~~
 
It was exactly one year later, on SamÕs 17th birthday, that they gave in to
what had been building between them for 365 days, this forbidden desire.
 
The desire that had manifested itself in the form of heated looks and touches
that spoke of need and want, and the pounding of hearts scared to cross a line
they could never return from, but finding themselves powerless to stop. Not
wanting to stop.
 
Sam had worn the Marvin the Martian shirt constantly for the past year, and he
had it on the night of his birthday when he pushed Dean up against the wall of
their bedroom and claimed his mouth for a burning kiss.
 
All thoughts of Òthis is wrongÓ that Dean had been keeping at the forefront of
his mind for the past year fled at the first touch of SamÕs lips against his.
He gave in to his brotherÕs passion, gripping SamÕs shoulders so tightly that
the threadbare material of the t-shirt tore at the seam.
 
It started off frantic, that first time. Noses bumping and teeth clacking.
Hands everywhere r11; pulling at clothes until none remained between them. And
that first touch of skin on skin, as Dean blanketed his brotherÕs body on the
bed, was just as electric as their first kiss.
 
They were like starving men, unable to get enough of exploring one anotherÕs
bodies with hands and mouths, until they were both shaking, harsh breaths
filling the air.
 
ÒDeanÉGod,Ó Sam moaned, body arching underneath DeanÕs, his hard cock sliding
against DeanÕs own.
 
ÒSamÉSamÉÓ Dean whispered brokenly, head spinning, unable to comprehend this
was actually happening, that Sam wanted this, too. That Sam wanted him.
 
But all his doubts were erased when Sam pushed against his shoulders, guiding
DeanÕs head down his long body, pleading for Dean to touch him, God, please
just touch himÉ
 
And Dean did, moving between SamÕs legs, kissing his way down his brotherÕs
strong body, SamÕs hips trying to arch up from the mattress restlessly.
 
ÒJesus, SamÉI needÉGod, I need toÉÓ Dean rambled, just before he took the head
of his brotherÕs cock in his mouth.
 
A harsh, surprised sound escaped from SamÕs lips and one of his hands landed
heavily on the back of DeanÕs head, fingers gripping the short strands of
DeanÕs hair as Dean started to suck.
 
That first, intimate taste of his brother was like nothing Dean had ever
experienced, SamÕs cock heavy on his tongue, sucking on the head, drawing more
pre-come from the slit and swallowing it down.
 
ÒSo good, Sam. Fuck, so good,Ó Dean groaned before opening his mouth again and
taking Sam as deeply as he could.
 
ÒDean!Ó Sam cried out, throwing his head back against the pillow, eyes squeezed
shut as Dean began to bob his head. ÒDonÕt stop, donÕt stopÉÓ
 
Dean hollowed his cheeks and sucked harder, a fresh burst of pre-come hitting
his tongue, Sam panting and shaking under him. The sight, sound and taste of
his brother falling apart, and the knowledge that he was making it happen, made
DeanÕs own cock throb and he ground his hips down hard into the mattress,
seeking friction.
 
Dean pushed his tongue flat against the bundle of nerves on the underside of
SamÕs cock and sucked hard on the head, pulling a deep, wrenching sound from
his brother.
 
Sam strained against the hold Dean had on his hips, his voice raw and gritty.
ÒI wantÉoh God, DeanÉwanna comeÉwant you to make me comeÉplease,Ó he pleaded.
 
Feeling his own climax building swiftly, but determined to bring Sam to release
first, Dean shifted, releasing one of SamÕs hips to wrap his hand around his
brotherÕs cock. It only took two hard, fast strokes before Sam was crying out,
back arching as he came.
 
Dean let the first stream of SamÕs semen hit his tongue before he pulled off,
swallowing down his brotherÕs taste as he looked up, needing to see Sam as he
shattered apart.
 
And the sight took DeanÕs breath away r11; SamÕs cock pulsing in his hand as
his brotherÕs release painted his chest with streaks of white, SamÕs fists
clenched in the blankets as his body trembled through his orgasm, legs spread
wide, body sheened with sweat, eyes closed, mouth open as he rode the waves of
his intense release.
 
Watching Sam come was DeanÕs undoing. He released his brotherÕs cock as SamÕs
climax subsided, catching the last of the white, thick wetness on his fingers
before bringing that hand to his own cock. His eyes drifted closed as he
stroked himself hard and fast, his orgasm coiling deep inside, licking up his
spineÉ
 
But moments before he wouldÕve come his hand was knocked away and he opened his
eyes in surprise to see Sam sitting up, his face flushed, eyes dark with
desire.
 
ÒNo, let meÉwanna touch you,Ó Sam whispered gruffly, sliding his hands up
DeanÕs bare legs, thumbs just brushing DeanÕs balls before SamÕs long fingers
curled around his painfully hard cock.
 
Dean threw his head back with a deep groan as his brother touched him for the
first time, a touch heÕd been dreaming about for over a year. His hips jerked
as Sam stroked him, overwhelming sensation coursing through his body and he
clutched one of his brotherÕs shoulders with one hand while burying the fingers
of the other in SamÕs hair.
 
ÒSam,Ó Dean gritted out, on the precipice of release, the feel of his impending
orgasm making him shake, but wanting to hold out, make this first time last
forever. ÒGodÉGodÉÓ
 
ÒLet go, let go,Ó Sam encouraged, thumbing the slit of DeanÕs cock with one
hand, reaching up to cup DeanÕs balls with the other.
 
And with a noise that was nearly a sob, Dean did, crushing his mouth to his
brotherÕs as he came, letting his climax pulse out from deep within him. He
heard Sam gasp into their kiss as DeanÕs release covered his hand and chest and
Dean kissed him harder, tongues pushing against one another until they couldnÕt
breathe.
 
ÒSammyÉSammyÉÓ Dean whispered, light-headed from his intense climax, pulling
his brother even closer, feeling Sam clutch at his back, blunt nails against
his bare skin.
 
They held on to one another as heartbeats quieted, SamÕs breath soft on his
face as Dean opened his eyes, looking down between their bodies at the evidence
of the line they had crossed. And a cold bead of fear trickled its way down
DeanÕs spine.
 
Jesus ChristÉwhat had they done?
 
ÒDonÕt.Ó
 
Dean blinked at SamÕs hard voice, his brother gripping his arm tightly.
 
ÒDonÕt you dare regret this, Dean,Ó Sam told him firmly, reading his thoughts.
ÒI wanted this.Ó Then SamÕs voice gentled, fingers sweeping across DeanÕs skin.
ÒI want you,Ó he whispered, leaning in, murmuring against DeanÕs lips. ÒLove
you, Dean...Ó
 
Dean closed his eyes, slipping his fingers into SamÕs soft hair, letting his
brotherÕs words wash away that tendril of fear with a sigh into their slow
kiss. Dean took them down to the mattress, never breaking the kiss, letting
himself fall into it, into SamÉright where he belonged.
 
It was long moments later when they finally parted, moving away from each other
just enough for Sam to snag his ruined t-shirt to clean off their chests and
stomachs before resting their foreheads together and drifting off to sleep in
each otherÕs arms.
 
~~~~~
 
The next twelve months were the happiest of DeanÕs life, in this new
relationship with Sam. Stolen kisses in gas station bathrooms, swallowing each
otherÕs moans as they made love with their father sleeping in the adjoining
motel room, fumbling hand jobs in the woods after a successful hunt.
 
As wrong as society would think it was, taking his brother as his lover, Dean
knew without a doubt that this was meant to be. HeÕd loved Sam all his life,
but now it was more than that, deeper than blood ties.
 
Like Sam had told him back when all this started r11; ÒIÕve always loved you,
Dean. YouÕve always been the one constant in my life.Ó
 
And Dean thought that would never change, that nothing could ever come between
them, ever tear them apart.
 
That illusion was shattered during the fourteenth month.
 
One hot afternoon in late July, as John and Dean sat at the kitchen table,
researching a new hunt and sharpening knives, Sam calmly approached them,
laying a letter between them and announced heÕd been accepted to Stanford with
a full scholarship and that he was leaving in three weeks.
 
Complete silence reigned as shock settled over John and Dean, but then Dean had
started to smile, intensely proud of his brother for accomplishing this, but
his smile faded and died when he saw the date of the acceptance letter - dated
three months prior.
 
Hurt and anger slammed into Dean at the knowledge that Sam had been keeping
this from him for months. They shared everything with one another. Had since
they were kids. But something as important as this, his brother had kept from
him. Why? He could only sit there mute for long minutes as Sam and John
immediately started yelling at one another, before standing so suddenly that he
knocked his chair over.
 
Without a word he strode for the door, snagging the keys to the Impala,
ignoring Sam as he called out for him to wait, to let Sam explain.
 
They were the last words he would hear from his brother for years.
 
DeanÕs phone began ringing minutes after he left but he turned it off and threw
it in the backseat, jaw clenched, breathing hard, hands like vises on the
steering wheel, SamÕs betrayal reverberating in his head.
 
He drove all the way to Blue Earth, to Pastor Jim MurphyÕs place, where he
asked their long time family friend for a place to stay. And to JimÕs credit he
asked no questions, simply opened his home to Dean and said if Dean wanted to
talk, heÕd be there to listen.
 
But talking about his feelings was never something Dean excelled at, so instead
he drowned them in bottles of Jim, Jack and Jose for the first week he was
there. He spent the second week sobering up and the third helping out around
JimÕs place and the church, as if driving nails into two by fourÕs could drive
out the memory of his brotherÕs touch and betrayal.
 
By the time he headed back and turned his phone on there were nearly 40 voice
mails, which he deleted without listening to. Sam was gone when Dean arrived at
the apartment and he and John never spoke about it again.
 
And life went on. Without Sam and with an ache in DeanÕs chest that never went
away.
 
 
Without stopping to think or second guess himself, Dean stood and dropped the
t-shirt on top of the other clothes and pushed his shopping cart of memories up
to the checkout.
 
~~~~~
 
Back at the motel, Dean opened the door to discover that SamÕs bed was empty,
the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. He took the opportunity and
quickly unpacked everything he had bought, laying everything out on SamÕs bed.
HeÕd no more than finished when the bathroom door opened and Sam walked out,
dressed only in boxers, his hair still damp.
 
ÒHey, whereÉÓ Sam started but stopped as his eyes fell on the pile of items on
his bed, then immediately turned and looked at Dean.
 
Dean shrugged. ÒI justÉpicked up some stuff for youÉÓ he trailed off as Sam
walked over to the bed and reached out and touched a pair of the jeans.
 
Dean saw SamÕs jaw tighten as his brother swallowed, trying in vain to hold
back a sob that finally broke free at the reminder of all that he had lost, and
more. He sank to his knees beside the bed, and Dean immediately dropped down
beside him, wrapping an arm around SamÕs shaking shoulders.
 
Here was the grief that Dean had been waiting for, as Sam turned in the embrace
and buried his face in DeanÕs shoulder, hands clutching at DeanÕs shirt as he
cried.
 
What could Dean say? That it was okay, that everything would be all right? It
would just be a lie. So instead he simply held Sam tighter and whispered, ÒIÕm
here, IÕve got you, let it out, Sam,Ó his own eyes filling with tears at the
sight and sound of his brotherÕs grief.
 
Sam cried himself out but didnÕt let go of Dean for a long while, resting his
head on DeanÕs shoulder as Dean ran his hand slowly up and down the younger
manÕs back. When Sam finally raised his head, his face streaked with tear
tracks, his pain filled eyes stabbed right into DeanÕs heart.
 
ÒCÕmon, Sam,Ó Dean said quietly, urging his brother to his feet, turning down
the blankets on the other bed. ÒGet some rest. YouÕre exhausted,Ó he said,
squeezing SamÕs shoulder gently, and without a word the younger man climbed
under the blankets and closed his red rimmed eyes.
 
Dean blew out a long breath as he sat in the chair by the table, exhausted
himself, watching his brother until he knew he was asleep, then stood and moved
to the other bed. He removed all of the items heÕd bought, piling everything on
the table, then stripped down to his boxers and crawled gratefully into bed
himself.
 
It was full dark out when he was awakened by the mattress dipping next to him,
where he lay on his side. He blinked open sleep heavy eyes to see Sam,
illuminated by the neon glow of the hotel sign through the thin curtains, slip
under the blankets, laying to face Dean.
 
There was silence as they looked at one another, the heat of SamÕs body making
Dean ache to reach out and touch r11; four long years since theyÕd shared a bed
and it all came crashing back like it was yesterday r11; the memories of bare
skin and limbs entwined. But all of that was in the past now, so Dean curled
his fingers into a fist instead, until he felt the brush of SamÕs fingers
against his hand.
 
ÒI never meant to hurt you,Ó Sam whispered brokenly.
 
It took a moment for Dean to find his voice, but when he did he couldnÕt
disguise the hurt. ÒYou did.Ó
 
ÒIÕm sorryÉÓ
 
ÒWhy, Sam? Why did you keep that from me?Ó
 
Sam took a breath, released it slowly. ÒI wanted to tell you as soon as I got
the letter,Ó he began. ÒBut then I thought about it. About the two of us, and I
decided to turn it down because I wanted to stay with you.Ó
 
He looked away from Dean. ÒBut then a couple of weeks went by and my friends at
school were all talking about going away to college, about finally getting away
from their parents and living their own lives.Ó
 
Sam swallowed and met DeanÕs gaze again. ÒAnd I realized deep down that I
wanted that, too. That I hated the hunting and I wanted to choose for myself
what I wanted to do with my life, not be forced into one by DadÕs decision. But
I was so afraid youÕd hate me for wanting to leave that I kept putting off
saying anything until I couldnÕt any longer.Ó He paused, dropping his head,
voice catching. ÒAnd I ended up making you hate me anyway.Ó
 
Dean shook his head. ÒI never hated you, Sam. I was angry and hurt, but I
didnÕt hate you. Underneath it all I was proud of you.Ó
 
SamÕs head came up, brow furrowed. ÒWhat?Ó
 
ÒSam, I knew you hated hunting, the life we lived, that you wanted to do your
own thing. And I wanted you to. It wasnÕt too late for you. Me, I was the
oldest. I had to help Dad. I had to be what he needed me to be. And if that was
a soldier to him and a parent to youÉwell, pretty soon I just embraced it. I
was good at hunting and soon I didnÕt know how to do anything else.Ó
 
Dean did reach out now, resting his hand on SamÕs chest. ÒBut you r11; you were
still young enough to live a different life, and the fact that youÕd gotten
yourself a full scholarship r11; I was so fucking proud of you. It wouldÕve
been the hardest thing IÕd ever done, letting you go, watching as you left for
Stanford, but we couldÕve made it work between us. I wouldÕve visited as often
as I could, called youÉÓ Dean trailed off for a moment, dropping his hand from
SamÕs chest, hurt creeping back into his voice.
 
ÒBut the fact that you did it all in secret, like you felt you couldnÕt trust
me with this r11; thatÕs what hurt so bad. And thatÕs why I never returned your
calls or came to see you. If you kept that from me for months, what other
secrets would you keep from me? I was laid bare with you, Sam. IÕd never been
that open or vulnerable with anyone in my life. We shared everything with each
other all our lives. You never lied to me. I couldnÕt trust you anymoreÉso I
let you go.Ó
 
There was anguish in SamÕs voice. ÒThis is all my fault r11;Ò
 
ÒNo, itÕs both of ours. You shouldÕve told me and I shouldÕve stopped to listen
to your explanation. We both made mistakes, made assumptions that were wrong.Ó
 
Sam sighed sadly. ÒAnd we lost four years because of it.Ó He reached out and
curled his fingers around DeanÕs wrist, pinning Dean with intense hazel eyes.
ÒBut I never stopped loving you, Dean. I waited for you. At Stanford. For the
first six months I was there I kept thinking IÕd see you out of the corner of
my eye, kept checking my phone for messages, hoping youÕd finally call me. But
two years went byÉand I knew you werenÕt coming. That IÕd hurt you too badly.
Six months later I met JessÉÓ
 
SamÕs voice broke and he took a second before he continued, fingers gently
squeezing DeanÕs wrist.
 
ÒBut I need you to know that even though I loved her, she only had a small part
of my heart. I could never give her anymore than that because youÉÓ Sam pulled
on the material of the shirt he was wearing. ÒÉyou would always have the rest,Ó
he finished with a ragged whisper.
 
Dean looked down r11; to see that Sam was wearing the Marvin shirt.
 
ÒSam, I r11; I donÕt know what I was thinking. I didnÕt mean anything by itÉÓ
 
SamÕs fingers caressed the inside of DeanÕs wrist, sending a shiver up DeanÕs
arm. ÒIÕm hoping it means you still love me,Ó he whispered hesitantly.
 
DeanÕs breath caught in his chest and his throat threatened to close up. ÒI
never stopped.Ó
 
Sam swallowed hard at DeanÕs answer. ÒSeeing you again. JessÕs death. I donÕt
know how I should be feeling anymore. ItÕs all mixed up in my head.Ó
 
ÒItÕs okay, Sam. I understand,Ó Dean said softly. ÒJustÉIÕm here. Whatever you
need, IÕm here.Ó
 
He saw SamÕs eyes fill with tears. ÒCould you just r11; Ò he reached for Dean
and Dean pulled him close, their bodies fitting together like a familiar jigsaw
puzzle.
 
ÒGod, yeah, Sam, cÕmere.Ó
 
As Sam moved closer, their faces just inches apart, time seemed to slow down,
DeanÕs heart clenching at having Sam in his arms again. Their eyes met and
without a word they met in the middle, for a soft, lingering kiss.
 
ÒI missed you,Ó Dean breathed when they moved apart.
 
Sam smiled and laid his head on DeanÕs chest, wrapping an arm around him,
fingers warm against DeanÕs bare skin.
 
Dean didnÕt know what the future held for them, if they could get back to what
they had so many years ago, but they were together again, and the healing
process had begun for them both r11; and for now, that was enough.
 
THE END
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