![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Summary: Life after Jessica.
Disclaimer: They will never belong to me. Could you not rub it in? kthx.
* * *
What would I do without you?
Crash and burn.
It had been one of those jokes that wasn't really a joke. She had burned, and he had crashed. His life without Jess was a bomb crater, the landscape fractured and charred.
He worked hard to hide it from his brother, but he'd never been a good liar. Dean thought he'd saved him. Sam didn't know how to tell him that even though, once again, Dean had pulled him from the flames, he'd been too late to save him. So instead, he kept as distant as he could within the close confines of the car and an endless parade of cheap motel rooms.
People that are around me...tend to get hurt. It's like I'm cursed.
Maybe he was. Cursed with blood and death and flames; he would scorch anyone who got too close.
But Dean never could listen to reason. Tell him that the stove was hot, the dog would bite, or the cops were looking, and Dean just had to see for himself if you were right, snatch victory from the jaws of defeat or lose an arm trying.
Sam wasn't sure if it was stupidity or bravado. But it scared the hell out of him. He'd already managed to get careful, normal, everyday people killed just by touching their lives. How long was it going to be before he was the death of his reckless brother too?
Things will never be the way they were before. I don't want them to be.
God, such a blatant lie that he expected Dean to burst out laughing. But he hadn't. He'd gone dangerously quiet instead, his eyes darkening with pain. A part of Sam had hoped that it would be enough pain to keep him safe. Another part of him had seen the pain, and wailed and screamed and bled.
That lasted two weeks, and just about the time Sam's nerves reached the breaking point, and he wasn't sure if he was going to beg for forgiveness or run and never look back, one dark moonless night a hard arm slid around his waist. Soft breath teased the back of his neck, and Sam was on fire everywhere they touched before he was quite awake. "Dean..." Don't, God, please don't, I can't lose you too.
A husky chuckle in his ear, and then his brother's wry voice. "You haven't burned me alive yet, Sammy. Can't get rid of me that easy. Can't get rid of me at all."
He braced to deny and turn away, but even in the dark room, Sam could feel the pleading strain in every line of Dean's body. He closed his eyes and opened his arms and finally let his brother save him.
* * *
It took time, hotels and highways blurring together and months flowing into years, as Sam allowed himself to tap Dean's endless stock of patience and strength. Every time a vision hit, he expected to see his brother on the ceiling, and when he didn't, they'd make love in a fierce silence that spoke of terror and relief.
That fear eventually faded, somewhere between New Paltz and nowhere in particular. The last smoldering coals of the fate that had cost him two people he loved went out, and he never missed them, entirely occupied with the newer, safer heat of gentle hands and loving kisses to keep the nightmares at bay. And one day, Sam saw signs of new growth in the ashes of his past, and he wondered how he ever could have forgotten that when they were children, Dean had said he was going to be a firefighter.
Disclaimer: They will never belong to me. Could you not rub it in? kthx.
* * *
What would I do without you?
Crash and burn.
It had been one of those jokes that wasn't really a joke. She had burned, and he had crashed. His life without Jess was a bomb crater, the landscape fractured and charred.
He worked hard to hide it from his brother, but he'd never been a good liar. Dean thought he'd saved him. Sam didn't know how to tell him that even though, once again, Dean had pulled him from the flames, he'd been too late to save him. So instead, he kept as distant as he could within the close confines of the car and an endless parade of cheap motel rooms.
People that are around me...tend to get hurt. It's like I'm cursed.
Maybe he was. Cursed with blood and death and flames; he would scorch anyone who got too close.
But Dean never could listen to reason. Tell him that the stove was hot, the dog would bite, or the cops were looking, and Dean just had to see for himself if you were right, snatch victory from the jaws of defeat or lose an arm trying.
Sam wasn't sure if it was stupidity or bravado. But it scared the hell out of him. He'd already managed to get careful, normal, everyday people killed just by touching their lives. How long was it going to be before he was the death of his reckless brother too?
Things will never be the way they were before. I don't want them to be.
God, such a blatant lie that he expected Dean to burst out laughing. But he hadn't. He'd gone dangerously quiet instead, his eyes darkening with pain. A part of Sam had hoped that it would be enough pain to keep him safe. Another part of him had seen the pain, and wailed and screamed and bled.
That lasted two weeks, and just about the time Sam's nerves reached the breaking point, and he wasn't sure if he was going to beg for forgiveness or run and never look back, one dark moonless night a hard arm slid around his waist. Soft breath teased the back of his neck, and Sam was on fire everywhere they touched before he was quite awake. "Dean..." Don't, God, please don't, I can't lose you too.
A husky chuckle in his ear, and then his brother's wry voice. "You haven't burned me alive yet, Sammy. Can't get rid of me that easy. Can't get rid of me at all."
He braced to deny and turn away, but even in the dark room, Sam could feel the pleading strain in every line of Dean's body. He closed his eyes and opened his arms and finally let his brother save him.
* * *
It took time, hotels and highways blurring together and months flowing into years, as Sam allowed himself to tap Dean's endless stock of patience and strength. Every time a vision hit, he expected to see his brother on the ceiling, and when he didn't, they'd make love in a fierce silence that spoke of terror and relief.
That fear eventually faded, somewhere between New Paltz and nowhere in particular. The last smoldering coals of the fate that had cost him two people he loved went out, and he never missed them, entirely occupied with the newer, safer heat of gentle hands and loving kisses to keep the nightmares at bay. And one day, Sam saw signs of new growth in the ashes of his past, and he wondered how he ever could have forgotten that when they were children, Dean had said he was going to be a firefighter.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
*tiptoes over to the next tab*
From:
no subject
From:
no subject