it’s been a few weeks, and sam’s healing up as well as can be expected. soon, they’ll be back on the road, catching wind of new cases---- saving people, hunting things---- but for now they’re home healing. all of them. sam . . . cas. . . mom.
it’s strange, in a good way, of course, he’s glad to have her back; amara wasn’t wrong in assuming that this is what he wanted, what he needed. but when he thinks about his mom. . . in a life where she was still alive, it didn’t leave a more than thirty year gap of pain. he’d always imagined it as if she’d never died, as if he’d 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 wasn’t really sure how to interact with her. it wasn’t like they could move back into their old home, and she could continue to cut the crusts off his pb&j. it wasn’t even like she could go off on her own, to start a life somewhat resembling the one where she’d left off.
she’d wanted out of the life, and now dean was kind of the one throwing her back in.
but that wasn’t exactly the biggest thought on his mind at the moment. no, he was more worried about. . . sam. and him. and hiding the hell out of it, because it was awkward. and he’d never felt shameful about it before, still doesn’t, really. but it’s not something she should know, and it’s certainly not something he wants to tell her---- but he’s starting to itch about it. all this hiding. he doesn’t like it. for the last year or so, they’ve gotten better. he’s so used to crawling in sam’s bed at night, that when they’d finally gotten home, and they got sam patched up, he realized he couldn’t. that mom was in a room just down the hall.
he’d 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. . .. but they couldn’t 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 hadn’t 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.
so, it’s been a few weeks, and sam’s healing up nicely. he can’t touch anymore than what’s really brotherly appropriate, fixing up his bandages, offering a pat to his shoulder. god, he wants more, thinks he can see it in his brother’s eyes too, he’s almost sure of it, but they’re being careful. trying to, at least. so when he walks into the kitchen first thing in the morning, and see’s 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 sam’s legs---- to kiss them both awake. instead, he gets to listening carefully for his mother’s 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 brother’s shoulder while he washes out the stale coffee from the night before. though, while he’s practicing this new routine, working on their. . . separation, he feels sam lift a hand to the back of his elbow, and really, he couldn’t 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 they’re 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 hadn’t had any since he’s gotten back---- he feels responsible for this, yet can’t help but quietly groan all the same with need. it’s hard for both of them, equally, but when sam opens his mouth, whispering their secrets between them, it’s like a punch to the gut.
”i miss you, dean.”
he knows. hell, he knows better than anyone.
“i know, baby. i know---- but we can’t.”
