#pining mostly

Little brothers aren’t supposed to be in love with older brothers that have taken care of them since…..well, forever.

Little brothers aren’t supposed to be in love with their big brothers at all.

Sam had realized his predicament when he had been just thirteen. Had choked on love and lust every time his brother’s emerald eyes had turned their gaze on him.

And he wanted, oh how he wanted.

He wanted to know how Dean’s plush, pink lips would feel moving on his. He wanted to know how Dean’s skin would taste, what sounds he would make as Sam swallowed him down as he had done in his fantasies so many times. He wanted to know what it would be like to feel his big brother inside him(be inside his big brother), to feel him come, to watch him come.

He was desperate and needy and sick with what Dean would think.

Reality had been so much better than his fevered imaginings.

Sam remembers being fifteen and being kissed by Dean for the first time. It had been in that worn and tired motel in Omaha. The one with the broken heater and it had been freezing, the middle of January, but Dean had made him warm, so warm, with his mouth on Sam’s, his hands on Sam’s body, and Sam had wanted it to never stop.

And Dean’s eyes had shown with fierce adoration and need and a dazed astonishment, dark and deep, like a verdant  forest at the edge of twilight.

Through the years that followed, they had fought and disappointed and even left each other once or twice.

But they had always come back to each other, drawn by forces they neither cared to understand nor examine.

Some might call it obsession, dependence, abnormal.

To the brothers, it was as necessary as breathing. They were not whole without the other.

Many times it was all that kept them sane and they had only one word for it.

Even no-chick-flick moments Dean had no compunction in calling their relationship what it was.

It was comforting to know that one was loved and cherished, desired and needed by the only person who knew absolutely everything about you.

And loved you in spite of it. Or maybe because of it.

They had defeated heaven and hell, monsters of the literal and figurative kind. They, themselves, had become monsters a time or two.There were times they had wanted to quit it all, just live and love before their time ran out.

And finally, they had tried. 

They had saved the world yet again, they had both cheated death for what they thought might be final time and they needed each other and whatever anonymity they could find.

On the outskirts of a small Minnesota town, about an hour and a half west of Sioux Falls, they had found a modest two-bedroom cottage, surrounded by aspen, and elm and white spruce.

Dean had commented that all it was missing was the white picket fence and then had proceeded to install one because he could.

They were never all of the way out of the life. Hunters would call for advice or stop by to get Sam’s and Dean’s opinion of what they thought the monster of the week might be.

Sometimes, Jody would come bearing wine and fresh-baked pie and they would sit out back on summer nights, and watch Dean cook on their small charcoal grill and then eat perfect steaks, talking of anything but hunting and death.

Other times, Sam and Dean would spread a blanket on the soft grass and lay hand-in hand and watch the stars come out.

In the winter, they would listen to the blizzard winds sing around the eaves of their sanctuary, only getting out of bed when absolutely necessary. Then they would fall back into the welcoming warmth of the king-size bed Dean had built for Sam as a Christmas present that first winter, two years ago. 

They would sleep, then wake, limbs entwined, mouths hungry for each other, skin sliding against skin, hands roaming, eliciting gasps and moans from one another, until they begin to move together as one and the world around them ceased to exist.

Sam remembers all of it, every moment, every smile, every touch like it was yesterday.

He rememberes all of their yesterdays and those memories had made today a little easier.

Sam looked at his brother, silver hair shining in the afternoon light, lips slightly parted. You would think he was sleeping if it wasn’t for the blue tinge at the edges of his lips. He looked peaceful now, lying in their bed, hands at his side, the amulet lying in the center of his chest.

He thought of the last look in Dean’s green eyes, no longer glassy with pain from the cancer eating away at his body.

Dean’s eyes had shown a brilliant green like the first leaves Spring brought to the large elm that shaded their bedroom, keeping it cool even in the midst of Summer.

And in them, Sam had seen equal parts love and gratitude.

Sam had held his brother’s hand, murmuring his love so that his voice would be the last thing Dean would hear. His touch the last that Dean would know.

Stroking his fingers through his own silver streaked hair, Sam laid the envelope with Jody’s name inscribed on the front on the bedside table. In it, Sam had written the brother’s final wishes. To be placed next to each other on the pyre, as close as possible, before they were reduced to ashes.

He then sent a simple text to Jody’s phone. “I need your help with Dean.”

In the letter, Sam had asked Jody’s forgiveness for this last bit of subterfuge.

He thought she would.

Sam stabbed the four ampules of morphine into his thigh in quick succession. 

He kissed his big brother one last time before he laid down beside him and took his already cooling hand in his and entwined their fingers.

The morphine was already effecting him and he struggled to turn on his side so he could look at his brother’s face.

Soon sleep would come and if he could dream, all of them would be of Dean.

Dean had promised to wait for him. To tell the reaper, Sam would soon be following. They would be together.