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The Earth is Still Part of the Sky	By : Io Category: Supernatural > Slash - Male/Male > Dean/Sam Views: 2469 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Supernatural, characters, locations, etc, do not belong to me in any way, shape or form. I make no profit from this work.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
This story starts at the beginning of "Born Under a Bad Sign" in Season 2. A few lines have been lifted directly from the episode and hopefully seamlessly integrated. The story will evenually arch over the next few seasons, but I wrote this years ago and am just now revisiting it. If you want to skip straight to the buttsecks, hit chapter 3, but the buildup is kind of worth the payoff, in this author's humble opinion. ;-)
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He couldn't find Sam.
Fear gripped Dean in an unholy grasp, and he couldn’t stay still, couldn’t think straight. Sam was all he had, and a week ago, he’d just...disappeared. Ellen, who was understanding but also understandably tired of his numerous phone calls to her, told him patiently again that she would call him if Sam contacted her.
“I don’t know where he went or why. Sam’s just gone,” he said.
“This is so unlike him,” said Ellen, but then Dean’s call-waiting interrupted her.
“Hang on,” he said to her impatiently.
His heart leapt into his chest as Sam’s number showed in the caller-ID. Without another word to Ellen, he took the call.
It was the beginning of a very, very bad day.
When Dean opened the unlocked door to room 109 in a particularly seedy motel, he thought he was prepared for anything. He wasn’t prepared to see Sam wearing a shirt soaked with old blood that wasn’t his. He wasn’t prepared to spend the day in a Memento-like mystery, since Sam didn’t remember a damn thing that had happened over the week he was gone. The fear that had been at the pit of his belly had abated somewhat at Sam’s call, but it returned full force as he tried to keep Sam protected from his own blacked-out actions.
After an angry and frightened gas station attendant threatened to call the police on a bewildered Sam, Dean’s calm façade began to deteriorate. A hundred hush-dollars later, they were headed north on the highway, and they ended up at the home of a dead Hunter.
Broken glass at the window, a tripped alarm, and the cold, bloody corpse of a man pointed them in the direction of a camera, and ultimately a surveillance tape.
On the monitor, Dean watched Sam slit the throat of the man lying not two feet from them. Instantly, he began cleaning up, covering their tracks, while Sam sat at the desk dejectedly looking at some papers. Dean pointed at the monitor containing the surveillance footage of Sam’s actions.
“How do you erase this? Huh?” Sam didn’t look up. “Sam, c’mon. I need your help.”
“I killed him, Dean,” Sam said lowly. “Just broke in and killed him.”
Dean didn’t have time for Sam to feel sorry for himself. He needed to clean up and get them out of the area as fast as they could. They could worry about Sam’s morals later.
“Listen to me,” he said to Sam. “Whoever this guy is, he’s a Hunter. Which means that other Hunters are gonna come looking for his killer, which means we gotta cover our tracks, okay?” He rose and began searching for a clean rag.
“His name was Steve Wandell,” Sam said suddenly, holding up the papers in his hand. “This is a letter from his daughter.” The letter fluttered like a dying bird as Sam threw it back onto the desk.
Dean understood Sam’s angst, understood that this Steve had been a person, with family and a life and soul, and that that life had been snuffed out and that Sam was the person responsible for it. He wished they had time to come to terms with it, but there were more pressing things that needed to happen first.
Taking the CPU that held the proof, he raised it above his head and smashed it into the floor. The noise startled Sam out of his malaise somewhat, and Dean threw the dirty rag he’d been holding to his brother.
“Wipe your prints, then we go,” he said, and left the room, leaving Sam shaken.
Dean knew he was being abrupt and unfeeling, but he also knew, deep down, that Sam could never have done what it looked like he did. Something else was afoot here, and he knew that Sam hadn’t been Sam when he’d slit Steve Wandell’s throat. Not his little brother. Not his Sammy.
Once back at the motel, he said as much, but Sam - being Sam - didn’t believe it. It always amazed Dean that Sam could think so little of himself, when it was Dean that was the fucked-up one, whose life was shit.
Predictably, Sam, who was so prone to grand gestures, forced a gun into Dean’s hands and asked him to do what their father had said to do if and when the time came.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone else,” Sam said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Dean looked at him in disbelief. “You won’t,” he said firmly. “Whatever this is, you can fight it.”
“No. I can’t,” Sam replied, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Not forever.” He pressed the gun to Dean again. “Here, you gotta do it.”
Those fucking puppy-dog eyes gazed down at him and begged him, but everything inside Dean rebelled at the thought of putting a bullet to his brother. Sam was the one thing in this life he loved, and no way could he live without him. Sam was his anchor, his compass, his lifeline. Dean could never do what Sam was asking of him. He looked down at the gun laying so awkwardly in his hand.
“You know, I’ve tried so hard to keep you safe,” he murmured.
“I know,” Sam replied, his voice tight.
Dean studied his brother’s tortured face, then shook his head.
“I can’t,” he said, and put the gun on the table next to them. “I’d rather die.” He walked away from his brother.
He never saw the pistol-whip coming.
After coming-to to a motel manager’s banging on the door, another hundred bucks got him use of the motel computer. On the phone, he spoke to a Justin Timberlake die-hard at a cell-phone helpdesk, and found Sam’s cell phone GPS in Duluth. Never again would he not be able to find Sam.
Shit. Jo was in Duluth.
Bait.
Fuck. He hoped he could get there in time.
As it turned out, he just barely made it before Sam slit her throat with a very large knife.
Jo, tied to a wooden pillar in a dockside bar, her eyes frightened and angry, was on the receiving end of a very bad Sam-trip. Dean advanced, his gun out and pointed at Sam, and Sam immediately began begging for Dean to end his life.
“I told you to stop me! I can’t fight it! My head feels like it’s on fire, all right? Dean,” he said, “Kill me. Or I’m gonna kill her.” Jo closed her eyes. “Please, you’d be doing me a favor. Shoot me.”
Dean did nothing.
“Shoot me!” Sam shouted, holding his arms wide for the perfect target.
Dean’s finger tightened on the trigger momentarily, then he made up his mind.
“No, Sammy, come on,” he said.
Sam looked back at him in disbelief as Dean lowered his gun and turned his back to his brother.
“What the hell’s wrong with you, Dean?” Sam bellowed at him, “Are you that scared of being alone that you’d let Jo die?”
Sam didn’t see what Dean held in his hands.
The water steamed and hissed as it hit Sam when Dean turned around and threw it.
“That’s holy water, you demonic son of a bitch!” Dean yelled.
Sam’s eyes turned black as the demon inside him finally made itself known. Again and again, Dean threw the holy water out of the flask he held. Each time, Sam screamed in agony. But a flask only held so much, and when Dean ran out of heaven juice, Sam made his escape by throwing himself out the nearest window.
Hurriedly, Dean untied Jo and started after Sam.
“He was possessed?” he heard Jo say. He stopped and threw her a brief but disdainful glance.
Duh. Of course he was possessed.
She was a pretty blonde who thought she was tougher than she was. As he turned back around and jumped through the broken window to go chase Sam, he made a mental note to call Ellen and tell her where her daughter was. Jo needed looking after.
The dry-storage facility was almost abandoned, but there were numerous places even someone as large as Sam could hide undetected. He kept his gun low and ready.
He saw a flash of Sam’s white shirt, but turned too late, and the demon was gone. He decided to try a new tact.
“So who are you?” Dean asked. His breath fogged in the damp chill.
“I got lots of names,” came the reply in Sam’s voice, and Dean began to move closer to the sound. He knew the demon was armed, so he kept his movements quick and silent.
“You’ve been in Sam since he disappeared, haven’t you?” he called out to the dark cavernous room. He needed to keep the demon talking.
“You should have seen your face when you thought he murdered that guy,” the demon retorted laughingly. “Pathetic.”
Dean decided it was gonna pay for that. Later. Now he just needed to save Sam.
“Why didn’t you kill me? You had a dozen chances,” he said, and heard something clatter behind him to his left. The demon was trying to misdirect him.
“Naw, that would have been too easy,” it said from a different place than before. “Where’s the fun in that? See, this was a test. I wanted to see if I could push you far enough to waste Sam.” What? “I should have known you wouldn’t have the sac.”
Oh, the demon was definitely going to pay for that. Dean had never even come close to killing Sam, but the fact that this prick had tried to get him to… There was going to be a lot of pain inflicted on this bitch when Dean caught it. No one did that to the Winchester brothers and expected to get away with it.
“Anyway,” the demon continued, “fun’s over now.”
The demon stepped out from his hiding place and simply opened his palm, and suddenly Dean was slammed against a tin partition. He fought, strained against the power holding him, but the demon inside Sam was too strong, so Dean stood pinned against the wall, exposed and helpless. How had that fucker moved so fast?
A gloating smirk appeared on Sam's face, an expression Sam would never use, and Dean's hatred of the creature grew.
"Oh, Dean," said the demon using Sam's voice. "Do you know how amazing it is to be inside Sam? His body is as close to perfection as mere humans can achieve." He paused, considering Dean's face. "But then you know that, don't you?" he said cannily.
Dean inhaled sharply, unable to reply with his jaw being held shut by the demon's power. A small, quiet bloom of panic began to unfurl in his belly. Surely this demon didn't know.
"Oh, yes. I know," murmured the demon as if reading his mind. "You see, when we're not busy possessing hapless people to get our quota of evil in for the week, we're watching. There's always one demon or another watching you, Dean. And we've noticed a few things."
Sam's face broke into an evil grin that didn't reach the deep black eyes that were the only evidence of the demon's possession. His hands reached up and began unbuttoning his own shirt. Slowly, deliberately, each button slid free of its hole, and soon the garment fell off Sam's broad shoulders and onto the floor. The undershirt shortly followed. Dean closed his eyes, a horrified groan escaping his throat despite himself.
"Magnificent, isn't he?" the demon said, stretching and flexing Sam's body. Sam's chest was wide and deep, his nipples small and perfect. His abdominals looked like they were fresh from a sculptor’s chisel. The muscles moved gracefully under his honey-gold skin, and Dean couldn't help but agree with the demon's assessment of Sam's attributes. His brother was a work of art.
Then his anger doubled. Here this fucker of a demon was, showing off Sam's body with the proud air of a car-thief cruising around in a Bentley he'd just lifted from a gated community.
"Like I said, we've been watching you, Dean. Watching you watch Sam. You aren't even aware of it most of the time, but we catch it." The demon made Sam snicker derisively. "You are one sick puppy, Dean. Lusting after your younger brother that way. You do know that's illegal, right Dean? Oh, no snappy reply. What, cat got your tongue? Oh, wait, that's right. Demon got your tongue."
And laughing at his own joke, the demon made a small gesture, and Dean felt his tongue come unglued from the roof of his mouth.
"Get out of my brother, you filthy bottom-feeder."
"Temper, temper, Dean. What can you possibly do to me? You know anything you do to me will hurt Sam. And you wouldn't want to mar this splendid body, would you?" The demon snickered. "In fact," he said lowly, his gaze settling very intently on Dean's face, "you have something very different in mind for Sam, don't you Dean?'
The demon drew closer, and Dean tried to step back, to no avail. "You keep away from me, scumbucket," he spat.
It only laughed, drawing inexorably nearer to Dean, crowding him, stopping within an inch of his nose. "Isn't this what you want, Dean?" Sam's hands found Dean's chest, one snaking up behind his neck, the other settling over his heart. Said heart skipped a beat, then started pumping double-time, and confusion addled Dean's already strapped mind. It was the demon, he knew, but it was also Sam, and his disobedient dick didn't seem to know the difference.
Sam's cheek swept gently over Dean's, his dark brown locks tangling in Dean's own spiky hair. Sam's lips brushed his ear. "Dean," it whispered, and he sounded so much like Sam that Dean groaned in despair, his breathing labored as he fought to control his reaction.
Then Sam's hand moved from its resting place over Dean's heart and began lazily stroking his pectorals through his shirt. Where Sam's hand passed, he left trails of heat. Dean's nipples stiffened under the firm pressure, and the sensation made him moan in longing. Sam flattened his hand and covered Dean's heart once more, then slowly traced it downward.
"No." The word tore out of Dean's mouth as he felt Sam's fingers trace down his belly, graze over his belt, then gently cup the growing hardness under his zipper.
"Yes," whispered Sam, and firmly pressed his fingers up, at the same time catching Dean's earlobe with his teeth and gently biting down. The tortured groan that escaped from Dean's chest shook his whole body, and Sam shuddered.
"God, Dean," he said shakily, "I can feel how much you want me." He nuzzled Dean's neck as his hand left the lump in Dean's jeans to tug on his belt buckle.
Again Dean felt the need to protest, to resist, but couldn't quite remember why, and the "no" that issued from his mouth this time was no more than a tiny whimper, easily brushed aside and ignored.
Then Sam's large, warm hand delved down the front of Dean's jeans and closed over his thick, throbbing shaft and gently pulled it free, shoving the tight fabric down a little. "Jesus," Sam whispered, staring down at Dean's straining cock. "You're so hard for me."
A vein in Dean's neck stood out as he fought to keep from making a fool of himself by redecorating the floor in white. But Sam's hand began stroking him slowly, squeezing the head between forefinger and thumb as he reached the end. A single drop of liquid appeared at the tip, and Sam brushed it off with his thumb and lifted it to his impossibly lush lips. Dean watched as Sam's tongue flicked out and delicately licked the drop from the digit. Sam closed his eyes in delight at the flavor, then opened them again, and his sweet, chocolate gaze met his brother's. His dimple, the one Dean had always longed to kiss, appeared as he smiled guilelessly.
Then Sam's hand found Dean's cock again and began jerking him off in earnest. Sam bent to whisper in Dean's ear again, his lips brushing it with every syllable.
"I want you so much, Dean. I ache with it. When we're lying in separate beds, I have to force myself to keep quiet when I'm jerking off to thoughts of you. Of your mouth, your cock-"
"Sam-"
Suddenly, his arms came free of some paralyzing spell, and without thought, Dean clasped them tightly around Sam. Sam's skin under Dean's palms felt like he always knew it would, warm and smooth and firm. He pulled him close, pinning his cock and Sam's hand around it between Sam's bare stomach and Dean's own clothed one.
But a new hunger consumed him, and Dean thrust his hands into Sam's hair. Blindly, he sought Sam's mouth with his, roughly covering his brother's lips with his own. They were soft and eager, but Dean couldn't stop to savor them in his quest to take Sam's mouth, and his tongue parted them greedily. His first taste of Sam was unlike anything he'd ever experienced, sweet and hot and wild and familiar all at the same time. But the slick glide of Sam's tongue sent his eyes back in his head. Dear God, yes. He was where he'd always wanted to be, and though he couldn't exactly remember how he'd gotten there, he didn't much care. Again and again, he kissed Sam deeply, wanting to bind his brother to him forever.
Abruptly, though, it was too much. Dean felt the familiar tingle start at the base of his spine, and he tore his mouth from Sam's. No, no, this has to last, he thought. He tried to tell Sam to slow down, to ease the pressure, but he couldn't find the words, and Sam jerked him even faster as he felt Dean's cock jump and grow harder in his hand.
Then, cat-like, Sam slid his tongue into Dean's ear, and the strangely electric result made the pleasure-sensors inside it riot.
"Fuck!" he shouted. Stars exploded behind Dean's eyes, and his body tensed as his orgasm slammed into him. His seed spurted out of him in a hot, white gush, splattering Sam's bare chest and Dean's chin and one cheek. "Oh, God, Sam," he groaned, dazed, as his cock jetted another spray of come. He buried his face in Sam's neck as he rode out the rest of it, the paroxysms gradually easing, until the only movement or sound was their breathing in the dim, silent room.
"Oh, Sammy," Dean sighed, the word only the faintest hint of sound. He let his arms go slack and finally leaned back and opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Sam's bare stomach, crisscrossed with spatters of Dean's come. Slowly, he followed the pattern upward to where it spread across Sam's chest. There was one small drop on Sam's neck, but his chin and smiling mouth were free of it. Dean felt a small, light ball of happiness settle in his chest and lifted his gaze to meet Sam's eyes.
Which were solid, endless black.
The light in his heart was snuffed out as realization of what had just really happened flooded through Dean in a sickening, horrifying wave. Nausea washed over him, and he would have fallen to his knees were it not for the demon holding his legs locked.
Sam's lips twisted in a cruel smile, and his voice laughed in a deep, dark way Sam would never do naturally. Before Dean could react physically, the demon's power had him forced against the wall again.
"My word, you're an easy mark," it said, casually wiping a forefinger through the semen on Sam's belly. "That took me all of what, two minutes?" He brought the finger to his lips and licked Dean's come off of it, echoing his earlier charade. Dean quavered in disgust. "Mmm. You know, you really do taste good, Dean," the demon said conversationally, continuing to wipe up all the drops one by one and suck them into Sam's mouth. "A bit sweeter than normal. Must be all that pie you eat."
Dean concentrated on keeping the bile from rising into his throat.
Finally satisfied that Sam's torso was clean enough, the demon bent over and snagged his undershirt off the floor. "You know, I think I'll wake Sam up in a few minutes." Pulling the shirt on over his head, he continued, "He'll come to, taste your come in his mouth, and for the rest of his short life, he'll be wondering whose it is and where it came from."
The demon laughed delightedly at his idea, then pinned Dean with an unreadable stare.
"Or maybe he's been awake this whole time, Dean. Maybe he knows now about his big brother's sick obsession with him. Maybe he heard you call out his name when you jizzed all over his chest with all the restraint of an adolescent."
Dean groaned unwillingly and tried to close his eyes, but somehow he couldn’t, and he was forced to watch as the demon finished dressing Sam. It turned back to Dean and studied him for a moment, then chuckled.
"You should really see yourself standing there with your limp dick hanging out. It's so pathetic."
Shame heated Dean's cheeks, and the only thing holding back tears was the adamant thought that no demon had ever seen him cry, and neither would this one get the pleasure.
The demon drew closer again.
"For what it's worth," it said, then very gently brushed his lips with Sam's, "you're the best kisser I've encountered in over a thousand years. You should be proud." Then the demon licked a stray drop of come from Dean's cheek and laughed lowly.
"Pity you didn't last longer," it said. "You could have had Sam's ass. But don't worry. When we've finally succeeded in dragging both of you to hell, I'll personally make sure you get to watch as Sammy boy is bent over the sacrificial altar and violated in every way possible by an entire legion of demons. That's a promise." The demon reached down and patted Sam's backside fondly. "It won't be virginal much longer," it said.
Then suddenly, there was a gun in Sam's hand. Dean's pulse leapt.
"I could so easily kill you right now," said the demon, advancing on Dean until the barrel hovered just over Dean's heart. "But what would be the fun in that? This torture of you was so entertaining. I can't wait to see the aftermath. Has Sam seen our little tryst? Will he be able to hold in his disgust for you long enough to tell you he's leaving you, or will he just walk away?
"Or will I always have him, and this delusion you so happily suffered for a few moments is the last memory you'll have of your brother, and the closest you'll ever be to happiness?
"Or maybe he doesn't know, and when I finally release him, he'll always wonder why you look at him so strangely and carefully, and he'll sense a vague connection between your guilty face and the taste of a stranger's come on his tongue."
The demon was gone before its laughter was finished ringing through the room.
Without warning, Dean came crashing down from his forced stance. His knees hit the stone floor hard, and he heard one of them crack, but he didn't care. Rage and pain and shame and hatred and disgust were vying for supremacy in his head. They choked him, and his body bowed under the mass of stress, knocking him flat on his back.
He tried to keep his gorge down, but he couldn't stop replaying the demon's last words to him, about what he'd done. Sam would hate him. He'd lost him forever. That thought made him lose control, and he bent over and vomited.
Not much came up, since he'd been so caught up with finding Sam that he'd forgotten to eat much in the last week. But his body was wracked with dry heaves, and the bitter taste of bile filled his mouth as his stomach emptied itself.
Fighting through the self-loathing and nausea, Dean forced himself to stand. Resolutely, he got his clothes back in order, refusing to think more about his sick lack of control while he tucked himself in and fastened his jeans. Once he was together, he followed the demon, running jerkily in pursuit. His own feelings weren’t important right now. Saving Sam was important, and he would deal with Sam’s knowing or not knowing, or his rejection or his (yeah, right) acceptance of what had just happened. Later. He would deal with it after he saved Sam.
He pushed through the wooden door the demon had disappeared through. It led to a pier and no sign of Sam. He hadn’t heard a splash, but Dean checked the water anyway. No Sam.
Suddenly, the little hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he turned.
Sam’s gun was held low, and before Dean could react, a searing pain tore at his shoulder, and the blast from Sam’s gun echoed in the night. The force of the shot catapulted Dean into the sheltering darkness of the water, and without thought, he swam as fast as his injured arm would let him. He would need reinforcements to save Sam. It was time to call Bobby.
Jo’s bedside manner could use some improvement. Her soothing words of, “Don’t be a baby,” as she dug in his shoulder for the bullet Sam had planted there did not comfort him at all.
After she had him patched up and he’d pulled on a bottle of whiskey a few times and they’d fought over whether she was going with him to get Sam, he left her with a dismissive, “I’ll call you later, okay?”
He didn’t hear her say quietly, “No you won’t.”
He made a call to Bobby on the way to his house, but Bobby gave no answer. He swore and hung up, then jammed his foot down harder on the accelerator.
When Bobby answered the door, relief flooded him. The old man was okay. Sam hadn’t gotten to him yet.
“What the hell have you idjits been up to? Why the hell’s Sam possessed by a demon?” Bobby asked, disgruntled.
Shit. Sam had gotten here first. Thank god Bobby was a crafty old devil.
“Bobby, I’m sorry. I didn’t know until today.”
“Well, the demon in him’s kinda dumb. Sam goes missing for a week, and of course you call me to tell me. Then he shows up like everything's all normal. Please.”
“How’d you know?” Dean asked as Bobby led him to a back room.
“Holy water in the beer. Oldest trick in the book. Bastard never saw it coming.”
Bobby pushed open a door, then turned abruptly and threw water on Dean.
Dean blinked, but didn’t take offense. Bobby wasn’t still alive because he was stupid.
“It’s me, Bobby.”
“Had to check,” the old man replied, and handed Dean a towel.
“I know,” Dean said as he dried his face, then looked around.
Sam, unconscious, was tied to a chair in the middle of the room. A devil’s snare was painted above him.
For the first time in over a week, the cold knot of panic in his belly began to loosen. Bobby’s house was the safest place on earth, and Dean knew things would be okay now.
“What’s that on his neck?” asked Bobby, pointing at a small pearl of what Dean knew was his own semen under Sam’s jaw. Dean had to keep himself from reacting.
“No idea,” he said faintly, glad that his little dip in the river had washed away from Dean’s shirt any evidence of his earlier climactic meeting with the demon.
It was time to get this party started.
He nodded at Bobby, then turned and smacked Sam upside the head.
“Hey!” Dean said as the demon woke up and saw its new unfavorable situation.
After a thorough dousing with holy water, an almost-escape, and being thrown around the room and punched out by a pissed-off Meg demon (it was Meg? What the hell?), they finally succeeded in getting the demon out of Sam, thanks to some quick thinking on Bobby’s part.
As Meg fled in a huge black cloud of smoke, Dean’s eyes latched onto a confused and bewildered Sam.
“Sammy?” he asked from his position on the floor. His nose was bleeding, and his shoulder burned like a sonofabitch.
Sam seemed to notice the pain in his arm from the hot poker Bobby had used to break the binding brand the demon had placed there. He looked from Dean to Bobby, then said, in a very Sam fashion:
“Did I miss anything?”
Dean loved his brother so much. But he could be such a moron. The sucker punch he landed on Sam’s left cheek was a weak one, but it made Dean feel a hell of a lot better.
Once Bobby sent them on their way with warnings about other Hunters hunting down Steve Wandell’s killer (how did Bobby always know everything?), Dean began his probing search of Sam’s memories of the past few hours. Obviously Sam remembered being in Steve Wandell’s house, as he’d almost spilled the beans to Bobby about it before Dean stopped him, but he didn’t know if Sam remembered everything.
Dean looked over and studied Sam’s face. There didn’t seem to be any revulsion in it, nor any indication that he knew what the demon had done with Dean in that godforsaken boat hangar. He didn’t flinch away from Dean, didn’t hold himself apart. He was just Sam again. But Dean still needed reassurance.
“You okay?” he asked. Sam didn’t answer. “Sam? Is that you in there?” Lame joke. He always made bad jokes when he was nervous.
“I was awake for some of it, Dean.” Sam’s face was deadly serious.
Oh, god.
Dean took his eyes from the road and carefully studied Sam’s face for any memories of Dean’s taste on Sam’s tongue.
“I saw myself kill Wandell with my own two hands. I saw the light go out in his eyes.”
Oh. The killing thing. Right. Reason to be upset. The killing thing. Not the Dean-coming-all-over-Sam’s-chest-while-kissing-him thing.
“That must have been awful,” Dean said vaguely, too wrapped up in his relief to really care.
Sam looked at him like he was crazy.
“That’s not my point,” he said. “I almost carved up Jo, too. But no matter what I did, you wouldn’t shoot.”
“It was the right move, Sam. It wasn’t you.”
“Yeah, this time. What about next time?”
Dean couldn’t believe they were having this conversation again.
“Sam, when Dad told me…that I might have to kill you, it was only if I couldn’t save you.” Sam just stared at him. “Now, if it’s the last thing I do, I’m gonna save you.”
They both turned their attention back to the road. Suddenly, Dean gave a small chuckle.
“What?” Sam asked, serious as always.
“Nothin’.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, what?”
Dean gave in. “Dude, you…you like, full-on had a girl inside you for like, a whole week,” he said, then laughed again, relief flooding his mind and making everything seem five times funnier than usual. Begrudgingly, Sam started laughing with him.
“That’s pretty naughty,” Dean added.
Things were okay.
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The Earth is Still Part of the Sky