fic: Doesn't Matter What I Remember (Dean/Sam, R) Chapter 3 of 3

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Dean licked his lips and leaned through the last sliver of space that separated them and brushed his lips against Sam’s.

Sam kissed him back, tentative at first, like he was expecting Dean to disappear or morph into Lucifer or worse. Dean tried to let Sam control the speed and intensity of the kiss but his worry about breaking him out of the hallucination made him stop things before they got too crazy.

“Hey, Sammy?” Dean asked, lips moving against Sam’s lips and cheek, kissing the adorable moles he’d always wanted to taste. And oh god, his skin was softer than he’d ever imagined it could be. “You know who I am, right?”

“Shut up and kiss me, Dean,” Sam said with a smile against Dean’s lips.

Dean had always wondered what Sam’s smile would taste like and now he got to find out. And crouched together between the motel bed and wall with his Sam in his arms, kissing like middle-schoolers having their first make out session was of course how this was always going to go. But then his back twinged and twanged at him, interrupting the perfectness of the moment. He pulled away and tried to stand up. It didn’t work until Sam pushed him from behind, so that he landed square in the middle of Sam’s bed in an ungainly heap.

“Your back again?” Sam asked.

“C’mere,” Dean said, holding his arms wide open, making ridiculously demanding grabby hands, because at least he could still do that.

Sam ducked his head, gone adorably shy at Dean’s request, but he folded himself into Dean’s arms. Working his way down so that his head was on Dean’s chest, Sam finally settled on tangling their legs together under the blanket.

“Sorry if I scared you, checking out like that,” Sam said, fingers clenching at Dean’s bicep.

Dean brought a hand up to cover Sam’s. “No sorries, I’m just glad you’re okay. You know what brought it on? It’s been a while since you had one of those.”

“Your reckless texts, they…uh, made it all too unreal.”

“Unreal, hmmm, as in too good to be true?” Dean asked his heart soaring at Sam’s words.

“Yeah, something like that,” Sam answered, tightening his arm around Dean’s waist.

“Well, now I’m the one who’s sorry. Didn’t mean for anything like that to happen. I shouldn’t have chickened out, I should have stuck around while you read that thing.” Dean nuzzled into the top of Sam’s head, breathing in deep the smell that reminded him that he finally held everything he’d ever wanted in his arms. Whatever came next, at least he’d had it for one night.

“No more sorries, sleep now,” Sam said in that demanding little-brother voice Dean had been missing for years now.

*****

Dean woke up to the feeling of his jeans being unzipped and pulled down over hips. Sam’s warm hands felt amazing as they stroked him to hardness beyond just morning wood. He could feel Sam was just as turned on, given the long, hard length poking into his thigh. He moaned at the feeling of Sam’s hand moving over him in a perfect rhythm.

He woke up enough to get his own hand on Sam then, stroking in time, from root to tip. Sam was getting so wet, all of it getting used to make the glide better. He thrust into Sam’s hand when he twisted the right way. He tried the same move out on Sam who reacted with his own thrust.

Morning breath be damned, he thought as he turned his head to find Sam’s lips, kissing him deeply, tongues tangling in time with their hands moving. They sped up, faster and faster, still in time.

“Come for me, Dean,” Sam whispered into his mouth. The words cutting deep to the last line holding him back. Dean cried out his brother’s name and who knows what else, coming hard, his own hand gripping even harder which pulled Sam’s orgasm out of him. Sam shouted Dean’s name, sounding almost surprised which made Dean laugh. Chuckling against the side of Sam’s neck, they wound down together.

Sam brought his hand up and licked it clean, smiling wickedly as Dean’s eyes went dark at the sight. Dean did the same and enjoyed seeing the same response. Their kiss was flavored with the taste of both them mingling and mixing into something Dean was instantly addicted to. He never wanted to go another day without this.

“I want this, Sammy. Every damn day, you get that, right?” Dean murmured into the soft skin behind his brother’s ear.

“I do, I want it too, Dean, always did,” Sam said, arms going around him and holding him tighter than tight.

Eventually they had to get up, housekeeping knocking on the door for the third time forced the issue. They microwaved the Chinese that Dean had brought last night, it made a decent breakfast that got them out the door and on the road for home.

****

That whole morning in the car, Sam couldn’t help himself staring at his brother. And he knew Dean knew he was doing it, he just couldn’t stop, he didn’t want to—at all. As the miles rolled past, they grew more comfortable together, and it was okay that he was looking. It was more than okay really, Dean seemed to almost glow and preen under his gaze and it made Sam love him even more. It kept surprising him, sneaking up on his quiet heart, this was a real thing now that they openly shared. It was no longer a secret he had to work at hiding from himself or the world.

He had to look up a place for them to stop for lunch so he was searching the Colorado map, tracing their route with his finger when he saw a familiar name. One he hadn’t seen in maybe, seven, eight years by now. Back when they’d just encountered their first horseman of the apocalypse, War. He could picture Dean sitting at that picnic table snarking out geeky jokes about making a pitstop at Mount Doom while fiddling with War’s ring.

That day, that godforsaken horrible day when he’d walked away. Back then he’d been trying his best to save Dean from having to deal with his own endless need for the demon blood. He’d thought that he’d never see Dean again, that when he climbed up into that stranger’s truck with the trailer and took off with just his backpack, that was it for them. The physical reminder of what they’d once shared had been tucked in his front pocket that day, just like it was now. He folded up the map and pressed on it through his jeans, making sure it was still real, still there. Hoping it gave him the familiar bruise on his hip bone that had kept him going through the tough years.

“Could we stop at the rest stop that’s coming up?” Sam asked, trying to keep his voice from quavering with emotion. Dean looked over at him sharply, with that worry line between his eyes Sam hated to see. He watched as Dean almost gave him a hard time and then visibly changed his mind. The sign for the rest stop came up and Dean made the turn. They both got out and stretched.

Dean started walking towards the bathroom building but Sam didn’t immediately follow. He stopped and looked back at Sam. “Aren’t you coming? You’re the one that needed to stop,” Dean asked.

“Got something to do first,” Sam said, starting off for the picnic tables at the edge of the cliff. Dean followed him as he’d known he would, his brother’s curiosity was always so easy to rouse.

The same picnic table was still there in the same place, kind of set off alone from the other ones. Only a few families were scattered here and there, eating their lunches out of coolers, one group had a small yipping dog that was chasing the birds on the scrappy lawn. He sat in the same spot where he’d sat eight years ago and waited to see if Dean would remember.

Dean sat across from him with a strange look on his face. Sam half expected to hear that French horn sound alerting him to a text, but he had all of Dean’s attention in the here and now. The moment stretched out long and expectant between them.

“Why are we back here, Sam?” Dean finally asked, the skin around his eyes looking almost bruised with worry.

Sam realized with a jolt that Dean was thinking he was going to leave again, of course he would think that. Shit. “Dean, this isn’t about me leaving or anything like that, okay?” Sam asked in a rush, hoping that Dean wasn't too far down the rabbit hole of despair he knew was always waiting to swallow his brother whole.

Dean nodded and visibly swallowed, looking relieved but still worried.

Sam reached across the table between them and held his hands out, waiting to see if Dean would take his or not. Dean looked at him, down at his hands and back up again, a shade of a smile ghosted over the corners of his lips and then their hands were joined there under the Colorado sun.

“The last time we were here, I broke us apart, and I thought it was the right thing to do. Something I had to do for your own good, to save you from having to see me… go down that path. And I’m sorry for doing that, leaving you was wrong, it’s always been wrong to leave.” Sam waited a couple of beats to see if Dean would or could respond. This was a whole lot harder than texting confessions back and forth to each other.

“I thought it was the right thing too, at the time. But now I know I never should have let you leave,” Dean finally said, looking across the table at Sam, never flinching or looking away.

Sam smiled then, big and wide, until Dean returned his smile. “And look at us now, huh? Back here in this same place, all these years later, but together, really together. Think about how much we’ve done, what we’ve learned, how far we’ve gone together. It’s all kind of amazing.”

“I’m glad that I got to do it all with you,” Dean said, grinning even wider.

“So, given all that—I want to do something to mark this occasion or whatever you want to call it. But I’m not sure how to do it,” Sam said, hesitating at this last moment, because even though everything and nothing had changed yesterday between them, this was still probably a sore place to be poking at.

“Just go for it,” Dean said, encouraging and curious just as he always was.

Sam let go of one of Dean’s hands, still holding onto the other tightly. He reached into his front jeans pocket and brought it out, clenched in his fist.  Still he hesitated, but the thing that made him go for it was remembering how they’d gotten here, Dean’s reckless texts, that article, the advice to say it, share it, give yourself over to daring to take the chance to make sure your loved ones knew how deeply you loved them.

“I know that you know I still have this thing, that I’ve always had it. But I wanted to…I want to give it back to you officially. You don’t have to wear it or anything, that’s up to you, but I want you to have it back, because it’s always been yours,” Sam finished speaking and took a deep breath, trying to hold his emotions back long enough to get through his brother’s reaction. He opened up his fist and watched Dean realize what he held.

His brother’s eyes seemed to go even greener as they followed the curves of the small brass face in his palm. “Really?” Dean asked in such a quiet voice, Sam could barely hear him.

He leaned forward and caught Dean’s eyes with his own. “Yes, really, Dean.”

Dean reached out and took the amulet out of Sam’s hand, and held it in his own, still not saying anything.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

Dean obviously didn’t know what to say or do. His hand clenched over the amulet, his knuckles going white, the points of it no doubt denting his palm. “I am, yeah, I’m okay,” Dean said, looking up with a smile. He stood up from the table then and came around to sit on the bench next to Sam. Dean leaned in and kissed him achingly soft and gentle. “Would you put it on me?” Dean asked against Sam’s lips.

Sam took the amulet from Dean’s hand and spread the cord out wide, and settled it over Dean’s head. It nestled back into its spot on his chest like it had never left. Sam’s hands stayed though, and he could feel Dean’s heartbeat speeding up. He pressed one of his hands over Dean’s heart and leaned down to kiss him, thanking him for accepting his re-gift.

“Wish I had something to give you,” Dean said.

“Don’t worry about it, I kinda sprung this on you. I know you’ll think of something when the time’s right,” Sam said.

****

Dean had one more errand to run before he could get back and start cooking Sam’s birthday dinner. The frame shop was about to close but he made it just before their neon ‘OPEN’ sign flipped off. They were nice enough to wrap up his gift for him, Sam deserved something that wasn’t wrapped in newspaper for once.

When he bustled back into the bunker’s kitchen with the bags of groceries and the gift under his arm he was surprised to see Sam sitting at the table nursing a cup of coffee that had long gone cold.

“Sam, you okay?” Dean asked after he’d set all the bags and the gift on the counter. Sam seemed so small and still, like he was on the edge of another episode.

“What’s all that for?” Sam asked in a monotone, eyes glancing over the bags on the table.

“It’s for your birthday dinner, it was supposed to be a surprise,” Dean said. “Wait a second, did you think I ditched you on your birthday or something?”

“No…well, I didn’t know where you were,” Sam said in the same horrible monotone.

“Sorry, you were sleeping so deep when I left, I didn’t want to bug you since I knew you stayed up late researching. You could’ve texted or called…oh shit, my phone. I left it in the charger in my room. I didn’t want to come in there and wake you up.”

Sam stood up to leave, his shoulders slumped, yet still tight with tension.

“Can I give you your present before I start making dinner?” Dean asked.

Sam stopped and leaned against the door, still not looking at Dean.

Dean dug the square package out from under the grocery bags and walked across the kitchen, holding it in front of him. The bright wrapping paper and bow seemed silly all of a sudden, he wished it was just newspaper.

Sam took the present and seemed to examine the pattern of the wrapping paper very closely.

“You gonna open it or what? C’mon, back to the table, I don’t want you to break it before you even see what’s inside.”

Sam shook the package, but it only crinkled, nothing broken about it. He took his seat again and moved the coffee cup to the side, setting the present in front of him. His big hands stroked over the sides and ran up the ribbons to the bow. But he still didn’t make a move to open it up.

“You okay?” Dean finally asked as the wait seemed to be abnormally long.

“I’m sorry, yeah—I’m good now,” Sam said, taking a deep breath and finally meeting Dean’s eyes.

Dean could see the unshed tears and he was unsure what was really going on with his brother. Knowing Mr. Worst-Case-Scenario he’d probably been coming up with all sorts of awful reasons for his absence this afternoon. Instead of pressing Sam to detail where his brain had taken him, Dean decided it’d be a gift for him not to have to say it, instead he should open the one in front of him. “Go on, open it. I know you’re dying to see what it is.”

Sam finally smiled, big and wide and Dean felt his shoulders relax at the beautiful sight. He ripped the paper off carefully and took the frame out of the box it was packed in. The foam corners fell off as he lifted it. Dean watched his brother’s face carefully as he realized what he’d had framed for him.

“It’s the actual page isn’t it?” Sam asked, voice quiet with wonder.

“Yeah, it’s the one I ripped out of the magazine back in that laundromat. It’s still kinda wrinkled and creased, but they did their best at the frame place.”

“Thanks, Dean. This is…it’s perfect, I didn’t know you still even had it.”

“It’s the thing that changed everything for us, made it possible for me to do this,” Dean said, leaning across the table to kiss Sam fast and deep. The taste of his mouth still made him crazy, always wanting more of those perfect pink lips. “Now, you want to help me make dinner or what?”

“I want dessert first,” Sam said, getting up from the table and pulling Dean into his arms. Dean didn’t object to being dragged down the hall to their bedroom, it was all up to the birthday boy.

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