Fic: That Was The Year (Sam/Dean, R) Part 3 of 5

[smalltrolven]

Part 2
*****

“I liked that picture you texted me. How did Jack take to the whole college scene?” Dean asks through a mouthful of rib meat.

Sam shakes his head slightly to dislodge that image. “He did okay, definitely comes off as a newbie freshman type which is handy when you’re trying to disarm the library staff. He got to the good stuff pretty quickly, which is what I wanted him to see.”

“You’re a good teacher,” Dean says.

“You are too,” Sam says, it almost sounds like a challenge.

“Did you pick up any admission brochures while you were there?” Dean asks, not taking the challenge.

“For who, Jack?”

“Sure, I guess, or…you know, you?”

Sam sighs, that long-suffering-wife kind of sigh that makes Dean feel simultaneous happiness at their connection and dread for what comes next.

“Dean, we already talked about this, before I left, remember?”

“That was the other day though. I know how it goes, when you’re back in a place, and all the memories come back, and you maybe change your mind. Which would be totally okay by the way,” Dean says.

Sam puts down the rib he was about to finish and wipes his hands on his napkin, slow and thorough, like he’s gathering his thoughts, or thinking of getting up and leaving. Dean isn’t sure what would be better.

“Look, I couldn’t have been clearer the other day, and nothing changed for me by being back on a college campus. I’m not interested in college anymore, I’m happy with where I am and what I’m doing, and who I’m doing it with. For some reason you’re not believing me, and that’s up to you I guess. So what’s this really about?”

“Just checking, I always think you can do better than settling for this,” Dean waves a hand to indicate himself and the bunker.

“Oh, I see, just like you’ve settled for this,” Sam imitates his all-inclusive wave.

“It’s not settling, it’s just life,” Dean says.

“So it’s perfectly okay for you to ‘settle', but it’s not okay for me to do the same, for whatever reason you’ve come up with?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, I guess,” Dean says. “Sorry, long force of habit and all that big brother stuff.”

“I thought we’d grown out of this by now,” Sam says.

“Guess not, I mean looking back at those photos from twelve years ago brought it all back again. We’re very different people now, so much has changed, but we’re still…” Dean trails off, not sure whether to say together or tangled-up or stuck or some other word that means all three. Soulmate…his heart whispers.

“That we are, and I can’t imagine it being any other way,” Sam says, almost as if he heard all of the word choice options.

Dean stops mid-chew and stares at Sam for what he knows is an abnormal length of time. Because he can imagine it being a whole lot of other ways. Like Sam having left the million times he probably should have, or one of them staying dead one of the million times they’d died, or if they were together in a way more like that Christmas photo Sam had taken and he’d printed out. “I can,” Dean says, finally settling for short and sweet and good and vague.

“Tell me,” Sam says, the little brother demanding lilt at the end of the word ‘me’.

“I…I…uh, can’t do that,” Dean says, reluctantly conjuring up the big brother finality he knows this moment requires. He can’t just say it, it’s not in him, even though he wants to more than anything. If only he knew for sure what Sam felt.

“Why’d you really print out that photo, Dean?” Sam asks, tilting his head slightly, looking at Dean so steadily that Dean has a chance to notice the red puffiness still left around Sam’s eyes from his earlier crying jag.

Dean gets up from the table and grabs his plate. He stalks over to the sink and starts the water flowing. The water noise against the sink blessedly filling up the silence. He dumps the rib bones in the trash and startles when he feels Sam’s hand on his shoulder. He turns slowly towards Sam, and he’s right there, practically pressed up against him, that big hand a warm and welcome weight on his shoulder.

“Please, I want to know,” Sam says.

“I don’t know if I can really explain it well enough,” Dean admits, finally meeting Sam’s eyes and attempting to sort out all the conflicting emotions he can see there.

“Okay then, in case it might help, you probably should know that the frame that you used, it might be a wish-granting thing. There’s a latin inscription on the bottom that translates to ‘what you desire most—pray for it’,” Sam says, a matter-of-factness lays over the top of his sadness in not getting an explanation from Dean. “It may just be completely ornamental, like a motto inscribed or it may be something more powerful. Since you found it here in the bunker, I’m guessing it’s the latter.”

“Oh shit…I didn’t even think to look,” Dean says, voice trailing off as he thinks about exactly how hard he’d been wishing last night as he’d fallen asleep.

“Did you make a wish or a prayer after you put the photo in the frame? Or maybe while you were holding it?” Sam asks, that matter-of-factness still there up front, blocking all the rest of the emotions that Sam’s obviously struggling to keep hidden.

Dean watches his brother closely while he briefly thinks about lying about what he’s done. And he just can’t do it, not when he sees through the wall Sam is trying to throw up. His brother needs the truth this time. And he knows he needs it himself too. “Yeah, I uh…yeah I did,” Dean admits, heart heavy with the dread that hits him, now he’s going to have to answer, there’s no way out of it this time.

“What was it that you wished for?” Sam persists, amazing in his resolve.

Dean takes a deep breath and prepares to try and b.s. his way out of this even though he knows it probably won’t work. “I wished to know if that was possible, how we were…together in the photo, and if you still wanted that,” Dean says all in a rush. He clasps his hands over his mouth, shocked that he’d said it out loud. Was that how everyone had felt under that Veritas spell when he’d been getting the truth, like it or not?

“Wow, okay, tell it to me straight out. Maybe it’s the frame making you speak so plainly, I don’t know. But to answer you, yeah, it is,” Sam says, his eyes challenging and intense, like he’s willing Dean to just even try to not believe him.

“Sammy—I…” Dean is stunned into incoherence. To have truth answering truth, it’s so unlike them, and maybe it’s the spell or something else, but it’s really too much.

“Did you watch all the videos?” Sam asks, a shadow of fear clouding his face for a moment.

“No, only like two or three of them, they took a while to load because of the old SD card format,” Dean says, wondering why the heck Sam’s even asking.

“Here…come on, let me show you, since I can tell you don’t believe me,” Sam says, big hand on Dean’s lower back, steering him out of the kitchen and back to the work room. He boots up the computer and clicks around until he’s got one of the videos loading. Sam presses him down into the chair in front of the computer and stands behind him, both hands on his shoulders like he’s making sure Dean won’t run.

The video starts, and it’s pretty dark and grainy, the setting is one of a zillion nondescript, crappy motel rooms. The camera jiggles and then settles as Sam sets it down, leaving it aimed at one of the beds. Dean can see himself, either asleep or passed out in that bed. Sam comes into view, strips down to his boxers and climbs under the covers. With him.

Dean watches as he sleeps through (or is passed-out through) his brother manhandling him into his arms, petting through his hair, stroking his face. Then the whispering starts.

The real Sam that’s standing behind him now, leans over his shoulder and turns up the volume on the laptop. Dean manages to control the shiver that comes as Sam’s hair brushes the side of his face and ear.

He can hear the video now, there’s the ambient sound of trucks passing by on a highway, the shake and rattle of the motel windows, then Sam’s voice, whispering and hesitant but filled with tender conviction. “I love you so much, Dean. I always have, more than you’ll ever know. I’ll never stop. You’re it for me, everything I want and everything I need. I wish you knew. Fuck…I wish I could tell you.”

The video stops on its own, probably some internal time limit for the file size, but Dean never wants it to end. He’s pretty sure he could watch that on repeat for the rest of his life.

“That enough of an answer for you?” Sam asks in a hoarse whisper.

Dean looks up at him, upside down it’s hard to tell if Sam’s crying again or maybe about to. “No, only answered half of my question. That was then, this is now.”

Sam’s answer is a smile, slow and wide, with early and deep dimple involvement. Dean turns around in the chair, loving the feeling of Sam’s hands not letting go, but skimming along his back and still staying on his shoulders.

“Well?” Dean asks, standing up so that they’re face-to-face, in each other’s personal space, which is only right for something as momentous as this suddenly feels.

Sam clenches one hand and then the other on Dean’s shoulders, like he’s reminding himself that he’s still touching Dean. He looks up to the corner of the big room, and takes a big breath that expands his chest. God, he’s just so big now, Dean’s hands move on their own accord, instinctively finding their place on Sam’s hips.

Sam’s eyes flick down to where Dean’s hands are resting on his body and slowly track up until they meet Dean’s own. He can see it as Sam decides to answer, the courage and determination take over from the hesitance and fear. It fills his face and this is Sam, this is his amazing Sam who’s stood up to Lucifer and Chuck and everyone else. This is his brother trusting him that he can handle the truth.

“Back then, I loved you like a teenager loves his first crush, I didn’t let it go too much beyond that, I couldn’t let myself. I almost did that year…you know, the one before you went to Hell. I mean, you can see it in the photos and videos that I was taking, right? But I chickened out, didn’t think I’d survive losing you as just a brother, if we’d been anything further past that…let’s just say you wouldn’t have had much to come back to.”

“What about now though?” Dean asks, heart in his throat, stomach clenching with the fear of what’s next.

“Now, it’s different, I mean, like you said, we’re different people after everything we’ve been through,” Sam says.

“Together, we’ve been through it together. That’s the important part to me,” Dean offers, he squeezes his hands a little harder into Sam’s hips, his thumbs settling into the grooves at the top of Sam’s hip bones, what a moment to realize that they’re a perfect fit. Like Sam was made for him and vice versa.

“Me too, absolutely. But there’s important life-changing stuff we’ve been through on our own too, like your time in Purgatory, and mine in the Cage. And what we were doing when the other one was gone, that changed us too.”

“True, but we always come back together, like we’re supposed to be,” Dean says.

“It’s better than that though, more than just being together because we’re supposed to be. It’s not just some bullshit fated soulmates thing where we have no agency. We chose it, Dean. Over and over again, we’ve made that choice, a lot of times when we should have probably chosen differently. We still choose each other, Dean. We choose to be together, every single time. That’s how I see it, that’s what’s most important to me. Every time I see you choose me, it…well it makes me love you even more.” Sam’s eyes finally overflow, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks, filling up his dimples.

“Aww, Sammy, c’mon, you’re getting your goddamned dimples wet,” Dean says, hugging him closely, one arm wrapped around Sam’s lower back, one reaching up across the expanse of his upper back to his shoulder. Sam does that impossible thing of making himself small enough to tuck his face into the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean’s heart is on fire now, he can feel it pumping fast, the excitement of hearing his brother’s words almost too much.

“We’ve wasted so much time,” Sam whispers into the skin of Dean’s neck. He feels weak when his whole body flushes hot at the feeling of Sam’s soft lips moving against his skin like a kiss in motion.

“None of it’s been wasted, little brother, not a damn second. Not if it finally brought us here,” Dean says, rubbing his hands in a circle in the center of Sam’s wide back. The flannel under his hands feels super-heated, like Sam’s skin is going to burst through demanding a touch from Dean’s fingertips.

“Is this just you and me, or is it the picture frame?” Sam whispers into the skin of Dean’s neck. “Is it real?”

“It is real, it’s you and me choosing us again. I just wished for the truth, to know the truth, not for something to happen between us. And before I even found that frame, I wanted this, whatever comes next here, you gotta know that I wanted it more than anything, Sammy,” Dean says, baring his heart for the sharpness that Sam can always wield against him. He doesn’t know or care if it’s brave or stupid, he’s finally taking the chance.

Sam pulls back from the hug, but he’s still holding him, giant arms over Dean’s shoulders, one hand on the back of Dean’s head. “Guess I can’t believe it can just be this easy,” Sam says.

“Nothing ever is for us, true true, but like you said, we’ve had a lifetime of practice, choosing each other.”

“That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it?” Sam asks.

“That’s what I’m doing, yeah,” Dean says.

“Even if it changes everything?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, even if,” Dean answers. “Maybe it won’t really change much, who knows.”

Sam doesn’t say anything at all in response, in fact he goes quiet and his face kind of shutters so that Dean can’t tell what he’s thinking. “Hey…uh, if you need time to think about it or something, I understand, man. Maybe it’s asking for too much too fast,” Dean says in a rush.

“No…No! That’s not my hesitation, not at all, Dean, please don’t think that.”

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to think here?” Dean asks.

“It’s not you, or even you and me…” Sam trails off, looking embarrassed at not being able to spit out what he’s trying to say.

“Let me guess, it’s everyone else, and what they’re gonna think?” Dean suggests.

“Yeah, I know it’s stupid, but yeah,” Sam admits, nodding so that his hair falls and covers one eye.

“Listen, a lot of them already think this about us, or at least they wonder. We’re way closer than any brothers…probably ever. And it’s just none of their damn business, don’t ask-don’t tell, right?”

“I guess,” Sam says.

“You’re mostly worried about Jack,” Dean says, voice flat because he knows this will be the sticking point. He should have thought of an answer to this.

“How do we even…I mean, we’re trying to be like parents to Jack, teach him right from wrong and all of that. And we’d be giving ourselves a pass on the whole incest thing because…why exactly? How would we explain it to him?”

“Would we need to? Would he even really care? Doesn’t he want us to be happy?” Dean asks, throwing all the heat and emotion into his challenge that he can muster.

“Sure, of course he wants us to be happy, and maybe it wouldn’t even bother him because he sees everything so differently than we do. But we’re supposedly trying to teach him human rules and taboos, etcetera.”

“What were you teaching him today, at the college?” Dean asks.

“How to break human rules and lie his way into the restricted collection,” Sam answers.

“And what were you showing him, in the police history files online the other day?”

“The same kind of thing,” Sam answers.

“So we’ve been showing him how we break all the rules, day in day out, when we have a good reason that’s worth it. Don’t we have the mother of all good reasons here?”

“You mean how much we love each other?” Sam asks, licking at his lips nervous and shy at saying the words.

Dean nods, not sure if he can take another second of this. He steps away and walks to his room, because he’s not sure he can say anything else to change Sam’s mind. He gets that answered when Sam doesn’t try to stop him, or follow him. The desk lamp is off, so he switches it back on, he touches the picture frame and then places it face down, flat on the desk. He doesn’t want to look at it, doesn’t want to moon over it any more. If it’s not happening, then so be it, moving on. But at least he knows now. Maybe it would have been better not to know for sure. The knowledge of what was possible might just kill him if he lets it. Even though it’s pretty early he gets undressed and slips into bed, puts his headphones on, and tries to tune out, maybe sleep will make his heart stop aching like it is, maybe Sam will change his mind overnight. Maybe he can just forget this all happened. Maybe.

****

Dean wakes up, someone is in his room with him, he can feel it. He can’t hear it, because 10cc is still playing on his headphones. He switches them off.

“Dean?” Sam asks from the direction of the doorway.

“What?”

“Can I talk to you?”

“I’m all talked out, Sam. How about tomorrow?” Even in his sleepy state he knows it’ll hurt Sam, not hearing his nickname. Maybe it’s petty, but it’s all the protection he’s got left at the moment.

“Okay, sorry I woke you up. Want me to turn off the light?” Sam asks, hovering over the desk lamp. Surely he’s seen the picture frame is face down, and who knows what he thinks that means.

Dean grunts, not wanting to talk or wake up much more than he already has. The room goes dark when Sam flips off the desk lamp. He watches through slitted eyes as Sam closes the door behind him, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Dean switches 10cc back on and tries to sink back into sleep.

It doesn’t work.

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Part 4

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