Pairing: Sam Wesson/Dean Smith
Word Count: 2.4K
Summary: Sam Wesson is out of work again and his world seems to be turning itself upside down and inside out. Then Dean shows up.
Fic Links: A03 or below the cut.
A/N: Written as a gift for the-occasional-mishap for the 2021 SPN Spring Fling.
Original Post here.
Sam Wesson is out of work. Again.
Funny how challenging it can be to keep a job when you have anger management issues and freaky dreams every night. Dreams about hunting monsters with a guy you only just met even though he feels like a brother. Or something.
They’d been a good team. Sam feels it in his bones that they’re meant to be together. It drove him insane when Dean Smith refused his suggestion that they leave their jobs, hit the road together, keep hunting monsters like the thing they killed together on the 22nd floor of Sandover.
On one level, he gets it. Dean’s successful. He comes from a good family. He’s a rising manager at the company. Why would be drop all that to go on the road with Sam? Sam who was raised by an alcoholic single dad who worked as a long-haul trucker. Sam, a lonely only child who got moved around a lot, went to a lot of different schools, never made friends that lasted more than a month or so. Sam, who barely graduated from high school.
Dean went to Stanford.
But Sam knows he’s right. He knows Dean, the real Dean, and no matter what Dean says, Sam’s sure Dean belongs with him.
Looking for work again is a non-starter, of course. The fact that there’s no recommendation letter, no references because he quit his last three jobs too, doesn’t make it any easier. Sandover hiring him in the first place was a kind of miracle Sam didn’t deserve.
Sam’s not even sure why he tries. He should go on the road by himself. He should look up those crazy Ghostbuster guys and find out what they know about spells or curses that cause people to forget who they really are. He should get to the bottom of whatever freaky thing happened to Dean to make him forget that Sam used to be the most important person in his life. Because Sam’s pretty sure of that.
Then he should come back with the evidence, make Dean believe him, whatever it takes.
Whatever it is, it’s affected Sam, too. His memories don’t include Dean, even though he’s sure they should. But his dreams do. And Sam’s just sure that those dreams are more real than his own memories.
The day after leaving Sandover, Sam packs up his meager belongings, finds the physical address of those Ghostbuster guys, and starts out to follow his only lead. He’ll hot-wire a car to get there; somehow he’s certain he knows how to do that, even though he can’t remember ever doing it. Then he’ll figure out a way to fix Dean, get him to remember who he really is.
Then he opens the door of his apartment and there’s Dean.
For a moment, Sam thinks he’s dreaming. Dean’s dressed casually, in designer jeans and a soft green Henley, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair is slightly mussed, and the shirt brings out the green of his eyes, the high color in his freckled cheeks.
The sight of him makes Sam’s chest ache.
“Dean? What are you doing here?”
Dean shifts awkwardly, not meeting his gaze. He puts one hand on his hip, scrubs the other one over his jaw, then the back of his neck. He’s nervous. Sam recognizes all of Dean’s tells, reads him like a book, although he’s not sure how that’s possible. His messed up brain tells him he barely knows the guy, even if his heart tells him otherwise.
“How long were you standing here?” he tries again, gently.
Dean clears his throat, swallows. “A while,” he admits.
“You — You want to come in?” Sam moves back into his apartment, opening the door wide in invitation.
Dean hesitates, rubs his jaw again, then nods. “Yeah, okay.”
Sam closes the door once Dean’s inside. He watches as Dean looks around, takes in the modest digs, empty of any personal items, which have all been packed into Sam’s duffel bag. Dean’s gaze drops last to the duffel.
“You going somewhere?”
Sam draws in a breath. “Yeah. I found the address of those Ghostfacers guys. Figured I’d start there.”
Dean licks his lips, nods. “You — Do you need some help? A ride, maybe? I mean, I’ve got a car.”
Sam’s heart pounds. His palms sweat. “I thought you had to work,” he says tentatively.
Sam doesn’t want to assume anything. After their last confrontation, he’s wary. Careful. Doesn’t want to push too hard.
“Yeah, well, I quit,” Dean says.
Sam watches Dean as he sits down on the only chair in the room, sliding his hands up and down his thighs like he’s drying the sweat off them. Like he’s every bit as nervous as Sam right now.
“You what?” Sam sits down opposite, on the bed. “What happened?”
Dean takes a deep, shaky breath. His eyes lift to Sam’s, and Sam can see the effort it takes him to answer, the pain and confusion there.
“I called my mom,” he admits. “After what you said? About your fiancé?”
“Ex-fiancé,” Sam says automatically, although he doesn’t even understand why it’s important to get that straight.
“Right.” Dean nods. “Well. The guy who answered the phone wasn’t my dad. He said the number was a feed store in South Dakota. The business had been in the family for generations, and the number had always been theirs.”
Dean blinks, raises round, panicked eyes to Sam.
“That number was our family home phone since I was a kid,” he says haltingly. “It was the first thing I memorized, so I could tell someone if I got lost.”
Sam flinches sympathetically.
“I’m sorry, man.”
“I need to — to see,” Dean goes on. “Before I go with you, I mean.”
Sam’s heart soars.
“Yeah, sure,” he agrees. “Whatever you need.”
It’s a seventeen-hour drive to Sioux Falls, so they take turns driving.
“You say you found out where those Ghostfacers dudes live?”
Sam nods. He’s trying hard not to show how ridiculously happy he feels, riding shotgun while Dean drives. It feels incredibly good. Right.
“A little town in Wisconsin,” he tells Dean.
“And you think they’ll have some answers for us? About why ghost-hunting comes so naturally, I mean.”
Sam shrugs. “I hope so. It’s a place to start, anyway.”
Dean clears his throat. “In those freaky dreams of yours, you said we were working together, just like we did when we took down the old guy’s ghost, right?”
Sam nods. “Yeah. We were.”
“And you said it felt like we were close, like brothers.”
Sam nods. “Yeah.” Although there was definitely something more there, some kind of bond Sam’s not sure how to describe.
Dean glances at him, then quickly looks back at the road, but not before Sam sees the blush rising on his cheeks, spreading down his neck.
It looks good on him.
“I lied, back at the office,” Dean admits.
Sam waits, determined to hold back the urge to encourage the other man. Dean needs to express himself without Sam’s putting words in his mouth. He won’t make that mistake twice.
Dean nods, licks his lips, pulls the lower one between his teeth and holds it there for a moment.
It’s very distracting.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “I don’t know how or why, but I feel like you do know me. Maybe better than I know myself. And I feel like — like I know you, too.”
Dean chuckles, shoots Sam a look that’s almost a smirk. “But we’re not brothers, man. That’s just — That’s impossible.”
Sam draws a deep breath, more relieved than he can say.
“We’ll figure it out, man, I promise.”
Sam knows, even before they pull up in front of the junkyard in Sioux Falls, that they won’t find Dean’s family home. Or his family.
Singer Salvage, the sign says. Dean sits in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the place that should be something that means home and safety and real memories, and Sam can tell how devastated and confused he is. Sam wishes there was something he could do to wipe that look off Dean’s face. Anything.
“Hey,” he says gently, watching Dean start a little at the sound of his voice, like he’s shaking himself out of a bad dream. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”
Dean swallows, and Sam could swear he’s fighting back tears.
“We’ll find a motel, get some sleep, get something to eat, head out to Wisconsin in the morning.” Sam keeps his voice soft, soothing. “We’ll figure this out.”
Dean gives a little nod finally. “Yeah, okay,” he says, voice hoarse with unshed tears. “Let’s get out of here. Let’s get out of this town before we stop.”
They find a Day’s Inn just outside Sioux Falls, pick up a bottle of whiskey, a six-pack of beer, and some Chinese take-out on the way. Sam chooses the food and the motel, since Dean still seems to be in shock and there are literally no five-star hotels within a hundred mile radius. He does his best to select simple stir-fried vegetables for Dean and is rewarded by Dean’s little smile of appreciation when he pulls out the food and sets it on the little table in their room.
“You want the first shower?” Sam offers after they finish their meal, mostly in silence.
“No, you go ahead,” Dean insists. “I’ll clean up.”
When Sam re-enters the room after his shower, Dean’s already thrown out the food containers and is sitting on one of the beds with a glass of whiskey in one hand, the TV remote in the other. He glances up at Sam, blushes and looks away, then quickly drains his glass and rises from the bed, tossing the remote to Sam as he heads into the bathroom.
Sam catches the remote easily, keeping hold of the towel around his waist with the other hand.
“Nice catch,” Dean praises with a smirk as he closes the bathroom door behind him.
Sam shakes his head as he rifles through his duffel for a clean t-shirt and sweatpants to sleep in. Dean’s an enigma, for all Sam thinks he knows him well. He understands that Dean’s grieving the loss of his family, but more than once today he caught Dean looking at him when it was his turn to drive, then looking away quickly when Sam glanced over. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Dean was attracted to him.
Or maybe just trying to understand his own complicated feelings for this strange dude he’s only known for a few days.
Just like Sam.
Sam would be an idiot if he couldn’t admit having complicated feelings of his own. Dean’s beautiful, sure, but it’s more than simple attraction. Sometimes he feels such powerful affection for the man it’s as if he’s known him all his life.
But it’s more than just affection, too. It’s like Dean’s his. Like Dean belongs to him. Like they’re a part of each other in some not-quite-normal way. No, more like abnormal. Totally abnormal. He wants to crawl inside Dean’s skin, except for the fact that he feels like he’s already there.
When Dean exits the bathroom, wrapped only in a towel, Sam stares. He can’t help it. It’s like Dean’s a magnet and Sam’s helpless not to watch him. He feels like he’s been watching Dean all his life.
Dean blushes, and for a brief moment Sam feels sorry for the guy. Here he’s just found out his family doesn’t exist and all his memories are shit, and now he’s being ogled by the guy who seems to be at the center of it all.
Sam drags his gaze away, watches the nature program on TV as Dean turns his back and pulls on clean boxers and a t-shirt from his designer suitcase. Then he climbs into his own bed, pulls the blankets up, and turns on his side, away from Sam.
So that’s how it is, then.
“Oh, okay,” Sam mutters, downing the last of his whiskey and placing the glass on the bedside table between them. He flips off the TV, then the light. “Goodnight.”
As he snuggles down in his own bed, Sam knows sleep won’t come easily. Besides the fact that he dozed in the car whenever Dean drove, he’s too excited. Something’s coming, he just knows it. Something big. When they find out who they really are, everything’s going to change.
At first, Dean doesn’t answer. Then he shifts onto his back, turns his head towards Sam. In the light from the parking lot Sam can see his eyes glisten.
“Can I sleep with you?” Sam asks, embarrassing himself with how young and hopeful he sounds, but he can’t help it. That’s how he feels.
Dean surprises him by answering, “Okay.”
Maybe Dean feels it, too. Maybe he feels the need to have Sam close, to feel Sam’s weight on the bed, the heat and bulk of his body next to Dean’s.
Sam doesn’t hesitate. He scoots out of his bed, crosses the arm’s length distance between the two beds, and pulls the covers back. Dean scoots over to make room for him, but once Sam’s under the covers next to him, Dean doesn’t move away. He turns onto his side, towards Sam, and reaches up to touch his cheek, cupping it gently and turning it towards him so they’re looking into each other’s eyes, so close they’re practically breathing each other’s air.
“Okay?” Dean asks. “Can you sleep now?”
Sam nods. “Yeah.”
Dean fingers linger against Sam’s cheek. His thumb rubs along Sam’s lower lip.
Sam holds his breath, fighting the urge to suck Dean’s thumb into his mouth. His dick is painfully hard under the covers.
When Dean pulls his hand away, Sam lets out a breath that sounds like a pant. He’s sweating and shivering at the same time.
Dean licks his lip and nods. “Okay, then.”
Sam lies facing Dean all night, struggling with the urge to touch him or kiss him or something. Anything. When sleep finally overtakes him, he dreams of Dean, dreams of chopping off vampire heads together, grunting with effort and covered in blood and sweat.
Sam dreams of rolling on the floor with Dean after killing all the monsters, tearing Dean’s clothes off to get to skin, desperate to feel Dean’s pulse under his lips, just to reassure himself that Dean’s still alive.
Sam dreams of Dean fucking him on the dusty, blood-covered floor of some nameless warehouse, gratitude and relief pumping through his veins as he screams Dean’s name and holds onto him for all he’s worth.
Sam dreams of Dean holding him close as he comes, breathing his name into Sam’s neck.