Fic: Damaged Goods - (Sam/Dean, NC-17) Part 3 of 3

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Back to Part 2

The next morning, Dean woke up first, in pain because he hadn’t taken a pill before falling asleep. He was warm though, all along his back, and it smelled like sex, and he was in his bed. And in an instant, he remembered what they’d done last night. His body flushed with heat just at the memory, not from shame, but from the raw hope that it would happen again, that he didn’t dream all of it.

“No, you didn’t dream it, Dean,” Sam said in a sleepy mumble against the bare skin of Dean’s back.

Dean felt himself quickly harden, just from the feeling of Sam’s lips moving on his skin. Sam’s hand which had been resting on Dean’s belly moved a little lower, closing over Dean’s hardness. He thrust a few times into Sam’s hand, also pressing back into Sam’s hardening cock behind him. Sam ground his hips forward as he slowly jacked Dean, it was the best sort of torture, drawing this feeling out as long as possible, turning himself inside out at the weight of his brother’s hands on him, his lips murmuring filthy things into the skin of his back.

Dean’s hand scrabbled back at Sam’s hip, holding them close together, his fingers tightened, pressing deep into Sam’s skin over his hip bone, denting him permanently, bruise-tight as Dean shouted out his climax. Sam’s hips sped up briefly, his cock rutting between Dean’s ass cheeks, a few times until Dean felt Sam’s hot release. It wasn’t even seven in the morning and they were already a glorious mess.

“This is the kind of mess I don’t mind cleaning up after,” Sam chuckled into his shoulder.

Dean rolled onto his back so he could see Sam. His brother’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes sparkled with laughter and something else that Dean couldn’t bring himself to name out loud.

“I always wanted to wake up just like this with you,” Dean said.

“And now you have,” Sam said. “So what’s next?”

“Get me a pain pill and I’ll tell you,” Dean said.

Sm laughed as he climbed out of bed, gloriously naked as he washed up at the sink. He brought a washcloth and a pain pill back, cleaning Dean up as he swished down the pill. Dean lay back on the bed and watched as Sam pulled on some clothes out of his dresser.

“I like seeing you in my clothes,” Dean said.

“Yeah?” Sam asked, twitching his hips as he pulled a pair of Dean’s boxer briefs up.

“Oh yeah,” Dean growled, reaching out to smooth his hand over the perfect curve of Sam’s ass. “God damn your ass looks good in these.”

Sam looked over his shoulder and down at Dean, eyes twinkling with the same unnamed thing. “I can’t wait to see you in mine.”

Dean groaned at the thought of wearing Sam’s clothes, it would feel so good, he could picture how the oversized flannels would drape over his skin.

The next few weeks of recovery time weren’t as bad as Dean had thought they’d be. There wasn’t nearly as much yelling as the first time around, although Sam disputed how much there really had been. He felt cooped up though, it was easier to hang out on his bed in his room as the chairs in the library and the stools in the kitchen weren’t very comfortable as his hip healed. He got to know the rhythm of his ceiling fan very well.

Sam stuck with him, most of the day he would spend sitting on the bed with Dean, reading as Dean watched dumb shit on his tablet. He binged all the old schlocky horror movies that had been the soundtrack of their childhood. Sam told him it was relaxing, he was used to it after all. They fooled around a lot, which was awesome and took his mind off the pain.

Sam was sneaky about getting him to do the recommended PT moves, converting the workouts into erotic massages, which was okay as far Dean was concerned. After all this time denying themselves, falling into being lovers was the easiest thing they’d ever done. It just worked, it was them, loving each other with their bodies as well as everything else. Although that particular word wasn’t used of course.

As the weeks passed, Dean got stronger and no longer needed the crutches. He could get up and down the stairs without much help and was back to cooking at least one meal a day. It almost seemed too easy, just quitting—boom all at once like this. Hanging it up, a lifetime of hunting, just…over and done, just because he said so.

They were sitting in the kitchen, finishing up the ham and asparagus casserole Dean had made when he realized why it was so easy. Because Sam had made it that way, he hadn’t stuck up for what he wanted.

“It’s been a few weeks since we talked about this. But I’m not hunting again, that’s still how I feel, just…you know, in case you were wondering,” Dean said, scraping up the rest of his casserole on his fork. He watched as Sam thought about what he’d said.

“I was actually wondering, because I figured you’d change your mind once you got better. Like you did last time, as soon as you were walking, you were bugging me to find a case,” Sam said.

“Well, I don’t want a case, not ever again,” Dean said.

Sam looked up in surprise, no doubt reacting to the stubbornness in Dean’s voice. “C’mon, really?”

Dean put his fork down and reached across the table for Sam’s hand. He twined their fingers together. “Really, Sammy.”

Sam sighed with relief, his hand tightening around Dean’s. “I never thought you’d mean that.”

“I do, I have so much more to lose now,” Dean said. “It’s just not worth it, you know?”

“I do know, yeah,” Sam said with a slow nod and smile that made Dean’s heart beat faster.

“But you can hunt if you want to, it’d be okay with me,” Dean said. “Or if you need to go somewhere else, school or something, that’d be okay too.”

“You trying to get rid of me or something?” Sam asked, tilting his head, eyebrows scrunched up in worry, which should be so adorable.

“Why, you want to leave or something?” Dean challenged right back, knowing in an instant how stupid that sounded. He let go of Sam’s hand and twisted his own hands together under the table. Why the hell was he trying to start a fight like this?

Sam’s face clouded over, Dean could see his internal sunshine dimmed and dark clouds gathered in his eyes. “I’m not leaving. I don’t want to hunt without you, and I don’t want to go off to school or anything else. But if you’re feeling crowded or something, then speak up, we can change things. Maybe it’s too much for you jumping into all of this, I don’t know, you tell me, Dean,” Sam said, looking sadder then Dean had seen him a very long while.

Dean thought about it for less than a split second. “I don’t want to change anything, but I don’t want you to stay with me because you’re guilty or feel like you have to take care of me because I’m a gimp now. Basically, I don’t want you to feel stuck here.”

Sam’s head tipped down, his shoulders slumped and his hair blocked Dean’s view of his face. He counted to ten before saying anything.

“Sammy, I just don’t want you to waste your life stuck in the bunker with me.”

“What if I want to stay here and waste my life, would you let me?” Sam mumbled in a hollow voice that made Dean’s stomach cramp with fear. He was still hiding behind his hair.

“That’s not what—“ Dean started to say.

“That’s what you said, Dean. And it’s goddamn bullshit and I know you know it!” Sam yelled, finally looking up at Dean, eyes ablaze with anger. “I want to be here with you, I want to have a life with you, and if there’s no hunting in our future that is more than okay with me. But if you don’t want me here, for whatever reason, then just say it now and get it over with.”

Sam got up from the table in a rush and stalked to the doorway. He stopped himself, holding onto the doorframe with a white-knuckle grip, his shoulders were hunched and his whole body was turned away from Dean.

“You made me promise you something, in the car on the way home from the hospital,” Sam said in that sad, hollow tone that Dean dreaded ever hearing. It was the tone that meant he’d really truly screwed up.

“I did?” Dean asked, mouth going dry with fear, what the hell had he said.

“You were talking a lot more than usual about your uh...feelings and stuff,” Sam said, still facing away from him.

“I was out of my mind on account of the meds, you know that,” Dean protested. He wished that it didn’t take him so long to get up and start walking, otherwise he’d be across the room already.

“You said it felt like truth serum, and maybe I’m a bigger idiot than I’d thought I was, but I believed you, Dean,” Sam said. His shoulders heaved up and down in a full body sigh.

“Why are you bringing this up now?” Dean asked, fully confused now.

Sam finally turned around, his face was no longer angry, just sad which was a million times worse in Dean’s opinion. “You asked me to remind you, about what you’d said ‘under the influence’. You made me swear that I would this time.”

“Wait a second, this time?” Dean asked.

“You did a lot of talking during your first recovery too, but you didn’t make me promise to tell you like you did this time.”

“Those fucking meds,” Dean grumbled.

“They saved your ass, dude,” Sam said with a grimace, no doubt remembering all the screaming and shit he’d had to have put up with.

“No, pretty sure that was you, dude,” Dean said, flashing on Sam hauling him out of that god forsaken house and tying on a tourniquet at the same time he drove to the nearest hospital. Fucking hero right here.

Sam ducked his head, no doubt to hide his blush, which was a damn shame in Dean’s opinion. Sam’s blushing was one of the cutest things about him.

“So just tell me then, when I was spilling my guts, what’s worth remembering about all that?”

Sam raised his head and leaned his back against the doorframe. “You—you were very clear about you feelings. You told me that you wanted me around forever, and that because we are soulmates, neither of us did well without the other. Which I agree with of course.”

“Soulmates, huh?”

“Yeah, soulmates. And then you said that the drive back from the hospital was one of your favorite drives and you asked me what mine was. I told you it was when you picked me up at Stanford.”

“You did, why?” Dean’s brain throbbed at trying to remember.

“Let me get you some Advil at least, I can see you grimacing from here,” Sam said. He stepped back down into the kitchen and found the kitchen bottle of Advil. He brought two pills and a glass of water over to Dean. Sam waited patiently while Dean slugged it all down before continuing.

“I told you that it was okay that it didn’t end up being temporary and you said you were just sorry I didn’t have Jess to go back to like I was supposed to.”

“I did? What did you say?” Dean asked, massaging at his temples. He hated this TBI shit, not remembering, having these giant random holes in his memory.

“I said that I wasn’t wishing that I’d been able to go back to Jess. I don’t, not anymore, I don’t think I could have gone back to trying to live a regular life with her. She deserved someone who was in it one hundred percent, and that wouldn’t have been me. Not back then and sure as hell not now.”

“I always thought you deserved someone better than being stuck with me for the rest of your life,” Dean said.

“That’s exactly what you said last time,” Sam said with a slow and perfect smile.

“And what did you say to that?” Dean asked, wondering why Sam was smiling.

“I’m smiling because I told you that I honestly couldn’t think of anything better. That’s when you made me promise to remind you,” Sam said with same beautiful smile.

Dean wished he could remember, but as much as he struggled it was just blank, no—not blank, the memories were smeared into something unrecognizable. “I’m sorry, for forgetting, for not letting this just happen like it’s supposed to, for being a gimp and a burden,” Dean said.

“It’s okay, Dean, all of it, your injury—it’s part of you, and that’s what I want. Just you and me, right?” Sam asked, the genuine hopefulness shining out so brightly.

“That’s all I want, Sammy. Just you and me,” Dean said.

“Agreed, and no more hunting,” Sam said.

“Deal,” Dean said, matching Sam’s smile.

Sam got up from his seat across from Dean and sat next to him. He put his arms around Dean and tugged him over so they were pressed together. Dean wrapped his arms around the solidity of his brother and sighed from the comfort that it brought him.

“And if you forget all this again, I promise to remind you,” Sam added, speaking the words into Dean’s neck where he had his face buried.

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean said, his smile turning into a grin. Even though he hated that his brother had to make promises like that now, it still meant everything to him that they were finally on the same page. The page where they got to be together, like they were supposed to be.

“Yeah, just like we were supposed to be,” Sam said.

“Are you reading my mind or am I just talking out loud again?”

Sam pulled away from the hug a bit and waggled his eyebrows, the unstated wouldn’t you like to know was loud and clear.

Dean didn’t know if he’d rather have his brain injuries make him spill his guts all the time or his brother be a psychic mind reader or his brain injuries. Either way, he had Sam now, and Sam had him.