thecatevari | Lightverse Snippet

Snip of the Lightverse. Don't know where it goes yet. Dean freaks out.

Sam isn't normally a heavy sleeper, but he doesn't register at all that someone is in his apartment with him until that someone is trying to climb into his bed with him. "Hey," he says, which has to go into Guinness for the world's stupidest thing to say when roused out of a sound sleep. "Hey, what…?"

It's Dean. It only takes two seconds for his brain to process it and maybe his body always did, because he's scooting back across the mattress to make room as Dean crowds in next to him, his face twisted away and his body cold. "Dean?" he says then, still kind of thick, and reaches out to actually put his hand on Dean, not totally convinced this isn't a dream or something.

Dean shudders under that light touch, a hard, racking shiver that goes through his whole body. Then he's making himself small and curled into the curve of Sam's body and Sam is confused and sort of frightened and totally not sure what to do because Dean's isn't like this. Not ever.

"Dean, what's going on?" he asks and Dean's hand comes up past the bent curve of his head and neck to cover Sam's lips. It's Sam's turn to shiver. He says, "Yeah. Yeah, okay, Dean. Whatever," and pulls Dean into him, wrapping his arms around Dean's shaking body. Dean's arms slink around him in turn, tight, almost painful, like Dean's afraid of getting swept away, like Dean's just barely holding on. And Sam finds himself rocking slightly, his lips against his brother's hair murmuring nonsense like, "It's okay, Dean. I'm here. I'm right here. You're okay…"

He knows his brother's body. To say intimately is such an understatement, a disservice to all they are and have been. Every break and scar has been catalogued by his mouth, his tongue, his fingers, many times over. He knows the soft spikes of Dean's hair and how it coarsens further down and then changes to something in between on his thighs and legs. He knows the spot just where Dean's thighs meet his ass where there's hardly any hair at all, and the skin is smooth and soft as one of his children's. He knows Dean's fingers, how they feel, how they move, the strange, clever, sexy things they can do. Dean's body has very little mystery to him and is all the more precious for that, because inside, he feels like he hardly knows anything about Dean at all.

He doesn't know why Dean agreed to be with him, once the curse that brought him to Sam's bed had faded away. He doesn't know why Dean lets Sam be with him now, after breaking his heart so many times and for so many stupid reasons. He doesn't know how Dean can forgive him, doesn't understand why Dean would want to and he suspects that he wouldn't be nearly as forgiving if their positions were somehow reversed.

Except they never would be, because Dean doesn't do things like Sam does.

And now Sam doesn't know what to do when Dean needs him. Because he's never really felt that Dean needed him at all. But for as fucked up as he knows he is, Sam can't—doesn't dare—to not try. Because it's so seldom that Dean asks for anything and on the rare occasion that he does, it makes Sam want to give him everything.

Sam wraps himself around his brother, rocking, shushing, soothing. "I'm here," he says over and over until the trembling dies out of Dean's body and Sam can feel his brother still, relax. "I'm right here."