itâs been a few weeks, and samâs healing up as well as can be expected. soon, theyâll be back on the road, catching wind of new cases---- saving people, hunting things---- but for now theyâre home healing. all of them. sam . Â . Â . cas. Â . Â . mom.Â
itâs strange, in a good way, of course, heâs glad to have her back; amara wasnât wrong in assuming that this is what he wanted, what he needed. but when he thinks about his mom. Â . Â . in a life where she was still alive, it didnât leave a more than thirty year gap of pain. heâd always imagined it as if sheâd never died, as if heâd always had her. having her back now, after all this time, after all the years dad spent to avenge her death---- that led them all down the slippery slope of hunting---- it was just strange to adjust to. it had been just him and sam for the longest time, and he wasnât really sure how to interact with her. it wasnât like they could move back into their old home, and she could continue to cut the crusts off his pb&j. it wasnât even like she could go off on her own, to start a life somewhat resembling the one where sheâd left off.
sheâd wanted out of the life, and now dean was kind of the one throwing her back in.Â
but that wasnât exactly the biggest thought on his mind at the moment. no, he was more worried about. Â . Â . sam. and him. and hiding the hell out of it, because it was awkward. and heâd never felt shameful about it before, still doesnât, really. but itâs not something she should know, and itâs certainly not something he wants to tell her----Â but heâs starting to itch about it. all this hiding. he doesnât like it. for the last year or so, theyâve gotten better. heâs so used to crawling in samâs bed at night, that when theyâd finally gotten home, and they got sam patched up, he realized he couldnât. that mom was in a room just down the hall.Â
heâd been so uprooted by it, that he had stood stupidly in the doorway, staring at his brother, wishing like hell he could just hold him for an hour, if even that little. and he thinks sam knew, could see the longing in his eyes, the way they both needed each other for just a damn moment. Â . Â .. but they couldnât risk that, really. as nice as it would be to reground themselves to each other, to let his brother sleep against his chest, and take in the fact he hadnât died---- for dean to protect, to breathe easy---- he (painfully) had to pull himself away, trudge himself down to his own room, and fall asleep alone.Â
so, itâs been a few weeks, and samâs healing up nicely. he canât touch anymore than whatâs really brotherly appropriate, fixing up his bandages, offering a pat to his shoulder. god, he wants more, thinks he can see it in his brotherâs eyes too, heâs almost sure of it, but theyâre being careful. trying to, at least. so when he walks into the kitchen first thing in the morning, and seeâs sam leaning against the counted neat the sink, coffee mug in hand, it takes everything in him not to go over and fit himself between samâs legs---- to kiss them both awake. instead, he gets to listening carefully for his motherâs quiet footsteps, sure that there ready to follow him in here shortly.
begrudgingly, slippered feet shuffle their way to the sink, and he tries not to let his head fall warm and wantingly against his brotherâs shoulder while he washes out the stale coffee from the night before. though, while heâs practicing this new routine, working on their. Â . Â . separation, he feels sam lift a hand to the back of his elbow, and really, he couldnât have expected such a small touch to make his body freeze, white hot, and laser focused. he looks behind him quickly, double checks the doorway to make sure theyâre really alone before he can finally look at sam. how desperate he looks---- the way his chest is rising in falling, sleep evaded, as if he hadnât had any since heâs gotten back---- he feels responsible for this, yet canât help but quietly groan all the same with need. itâs hard for both of them, equally, but when sam opens his mouth, whispering their secrets between them, itâs like a punch to the gut.
âi miss you, dean.âÂ
he knows. hell, he knows better than anyone.Â
âi know, baby. i know---- but we canât.â










