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“Well, you’re safe if you just don't fall in love.”
“No worries.” Sam’s love life had cooled down considerably since his early thirties. There hadn’t been a girl on his radar in a long time. Not since Piper at that diner a couple years back. He wasn’t sure if she even remembered his name.
“And no more bullshit like that-”
“I’m sorry.” Sam held his hands up. “I wasn’t thinking. Just acted.”
It was always in his gut instinct to help a woman in need. This time, it was a love curse. An ancient one. They’d been trailing a witch who was cursing women. There were so many victims, there was a news report on the unusual skin condition her curses inflicted. Her latest and last victim, was a woman named Bailey. She was a sweet and shy freshman at Oklahoma University, she was suffering from deep grooves on her skin. It happened every time the guy in her physics course touched her.
She needed to either confess to the person she loved, or die from the wounds. It became worse when the guy passed away in a car crash before she was able to say anything. There was no way to confess, and no way to remove the deep fissures in her skin. Bailey would suffer until she died as the cracks would break.
Fortunately this witch, like all witches, thought she was the cleverest person in the room. She’d designed the curse to be transferable via kiss. To Sam, the solution was a no-brainer.
Kissing without thinking was supposed to be Dean’s thing, not his.
After killing the witch and a goodbye to Bailey, they headed back.
It was turning out to be a smooth drive home from a bumpy case. The Impala was full up and so were Sam and Dean. An empty brown paper bag that had formerly held dinner sat between Sam’s feet on the floor of the car. Dean had scolded him when he had first set it on the seats. The corners were dark brown with grease, a good sign, but Dean griped that he didn’t want it staining. Sam didn’t feel like getting into it, even though he could point out that Dean had gotten grease on the steering wheel from driving with a burger in one hand.
The sun was setting a fresh rosy color for a spring evening in Omaha. The temperature was in the mid-fifties, perfect to have his passenger window rolled down a couple inches to enjoy the cool breeze. If only the sunset could follow them home and instead of a curse, Sam thought.
“You’re lucky we have a library to dig through.”
“Looking forward to it already,” Sam replied as he crumpled the wrapper from his own burger. There weren’t any salads or vegetarian options on the burger joint menu, so Sam conceded to a cheeseburger. Dean had called him “bougie” when he requested extra romaine lettuce, tomato, and onion instead of opting for bacon and cheese.
“For once I’m happy you got the curse instead of me,” Dean said around the last bite of his burger. “I wouldn’t want it to hold me back from my erotic adventures.”
“The kind of love curse you usually get requires special cream.”
Sam regretted making any kind of joke when Dean started choking. Sam gave him a couple whacks on the back before Dean swallowed down.
“Dean! You’re gonna kill us!”
“‘How did you lose control of the vehicle sir?’ ‘My brother made a joke for the first time in years and almost killed me.’”
Sam pursed his lips to try and contain a smile, but when Dean started chuckling again, Sam couldn’t keep it in. He loved when Dean smiled at his jokes, even if they were rare. That laugh, although obnoxious at times, made everything they did seem easier. It lifted the weight enough that Sam felt like he could breathe clear and easy.
Even if his hand still tingled from smacking Dean’s back extra hard, it was worth it to have this feeling. And what a relief to have Dean no longer pissed at him for self sacrificing behavior.
He dug out his fries from the bag “I’m surprised you’re not more mad at me.” Sam plucked out another fry, but when he saw Dean eyeing it hungrily, he handed it over. “I mean, don’t we have some sort of agreement to not be self-destructive?”
“I’m not happy about it, but we’ve been hit with bigger whammies,” Dean shrugged. “You’re not in imminent danger. We have resources. Books, witches.”
Sam rubbed his tingling palm against his other one. “I guess so. You used a big word there, Dean.”
“Shut up. We got a win out of it.” Dean continued, eyes on the sunset-lit road. “It would have been a hell of a lot worse if it were me.”
“To be honest, yeah,” Sam knew he was tip-toeing through a minefield. “It would be kinda hard to confess to someone who doesn’t remember you.”
Silence. Shit.
“Dean, I-”
“That was a long time ago.”
Sam held up his hands. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
No answer. Dean was staring out at the road with a frown. It was going to be the silent treatment for the rest of the trip huh? That good mood from earlier disappeared.
"I guess we don't have to worry about Amelia then, since it's hard to love someone when you leave them."
That was a low blow. It stung.
But, he didn’t leave Amelia because he didn’t love her. Dean knew he had to make a choice and he chose- Oh. Was this about this was about Stanford? Or the couple other times he’d left Dean hanging?
Sam took a look at Dean. That frown was set in place and there was a faraway look in his eyes. Dean was miles away. It had been so long. Years. There was a guilty feeling in the pit of Sam’s stomach. Something he did years ago still caused pain, insecurity. Sam knew there were undercurrents of hurt that Dean had yet to work through, that Sam had yet to see.
“Dean, that was years ago-”
Led Zeppelin blared from the speakers, cutting him off.
---
Once they were back in the bunker, they headed to the library.
“Come on.” Dean’s hand landed on his shoulder, a gesture that should have been a reassurance for earlier. That he wasn’t mad anymore. They were good and everything was okay. Usually, Sam would feel a pleasant wave of affection when Dean touched him like that. Sometimes, even a spark.
This time there were fireworks. Blazing, tingling, painful. Sam held his face neutral. Dean wasn’t paying attention; instead, eyeing the mountain of books heaped on the shelves. “We have work to do.”
“Sure, I’ll be right back.” With an uptick of his chin, Sam headed toward the bathroom. His hands were shaky as he unbuttoned and pulled down his flannel. Fissures crackled across his shoulder. Just like he saw on Bailey. Like fractures on a dry desert floor.
Sam took a deep breath. Another. Dean touched him there. His hand had been on his shoulder, just briefly. Like the hand of a ghost, Sam could still feel Dean’s palm on the spot.
This meant-
His fingertips traced along the edge of the cracks. His heart thudded in his chest. Panicky. Deafening.
Dean’s touch had sent a fire through him. But he can’t love Dean like that. Shouldn’t.
“You gonna help or what?”
Sam’s throat managed to bark out a reply, “Yeah!”
He tugged up his shirt back up and headed out.
He could never let Dean know.
With a calm mask on, Sam joined Dean in the library to research.
Sam wasn’t able to do much. His eyes just drifted along the words.
At times like this, Sam wished he had a lever in his brain he could flip that would make him stop thinking. Although there was a book in his hands, all Sam could feel was fire on his shoulder.
He wasn’t entirely surprised. Maybe he’d known all along. Maybe this was some sort of self-sabotage his subconscious was pulling on him, telling him it was a good idea to transfer a love curse when he was in love with someone he shouldn’t be in love with.
As he hid behind the guise of reading, Sam tried to pinpoint when he’d fallen in love with Dean. It had to be before he offered his neck for the scythe. It was before Ruby for sure. She was just a substitute. Sam couldn’t remember a time in his life where he hadn’t felt something for Dean. As a teenager he labeled it as idolization, as a young adult he refused to put a label on it at all, but looking back on it-
The way he looked at Dean. There was always something more to it.
Dean ended up asleep in the chair next to him, his book open on the table and his arms folded across his chest.
All this work, but Sam could fix it in just a couple moments.
Dean’s chest was rising and falling slowly. His face was soft and relaxed. Sam wondered what it would be like to run his fingers through Dean’s hair as he slept. He’d break up that gel until his hair was downy and light, and Dean would turn toward him in his sleep, using Sam’s bicep as a pillow.
Maybe Sam could get him to sleep a little deeper. Drift off into a place where he felt safe, and secure, and-
The grooves in his shoulder pinched and Sam snapped out of the fantasy.
Dean was a light sleeper, but Sam had to give it a shot.
“I love you,” Sam mouthed the words, trying them out. They felt good. They felt terrifying. Like those seconds of lingering at the very top of a roller coaster.
If Dean heard him, he’d know. He’d know and their relationship as it was now would be over. Dean would pretend to take it as a brotherly love sort of way, but deep down, he’d know. It would be unsaid, but Sam knew Dean would think of him differently from then on. Things would get weird. It would shatter what they had.
Sam was trying to prove to him he wasn’t going anywhere, but this would break them. It would break Dean.
Sam inhaled deeply. This time, he added more voice behind it, a sigh of sound, “Dean, I love you.”
The cracks in his skin pulsed, but Sam could tell they were still there. Dean began to snore.
Shit.
Of course that wouldn’t work. It was never the easy road. The recipient would have to be awake.
Maybe he’d turn to dust by the time this was through.
---
“Thank you.”
Sam carefully took the cup of coffee Dean handed him, discreetly not letting their fingers touch. The last few days had been difficult. Sam hadn’t realized how often they made physical contact on a daily basis. Never outright hugs, but there were so many little things. There were always handing each other pens for notes, or plates of food; and there were casual little bumps around the kitchen, or hallways when passing.
Sam gracefully avoided all of these micro-touches without looking suspicious. Plucking the pen away at it’s furthest away point, “Set the plate there Dean, thanks,” and maneuvering like he was attempting to do a sick limbo move when Dean tried to point out an eyelash on his nose.
Research had become difficult too. Things weren’t connecting as he’d hoped, not to mention it was hard to focus when he knew the solution was right there.
Another thing kept bothering him. Sam couldn’t get his mind off of how Dean never let go of Stanford. When Michael was in Dean’s head he’d said it out loud, but Sam thought he was just provoking him. Dean actually thought Sam would abandon him again.
“What?”
Sam looked up from his thoughts to find Dean watching him, head cocked.
“What?” Sam straightened up, stretching his back. Like he hadn’t been hunched over pretending to read and poring over his own mistakes.
“You keep huffing and sighing,” Dean pointed out. “What's up?”
Caught.
Sam shifted, thinned his lips. He wanted to have this conversation, really, but it was going to be hard. “You know I didn’t leave because of you, right?”
“What?”
"Stanford."
Dean's eyebrows rose. Maybe Sam was dragging up old shit, but he pressed on.
"I still cared about you. It wasn’t about you.”
Dean should have known this by now, but instead of acknowledging what Sam said, he gave a one shouldered shrug. The lines on his face looked more etched. Did he even believe what Sam was saying?
“I was young and wanted to do something on my own,” Sam played with the handle of his now cold cup of coffee. This was hard to talk about. “I felt like I kept getting pulled along. I wanted to try standing in one place for once.”
He checked on Dean. He hadn’t said a word yet.
Dean stood up, glanced to the doorway. Sam knew the feeling. He never wanted Dean to feel like that with him.
“I’m not gonna leave you again.”
Dean looked at him. Held his gaze. It was guarded. Sam was laid bare, open for Dean to reach right into his rib cage and snatch his heart. And Sam would let him. He’d just let him have it.
“I won't.”
Dean reached out to touch him, and there was no way Sam could flinch away or avoid it. It was just a pat on his forearm, brotherly and fond. Sam wanted to say it. He felt tender and sincere. He wanted Dean to know.
But there was still a little voice in the back of his mind that whispered, ”you’ll break it. You’ll break him.”
“I know, Sammy.” Dean left, giving him a plastic smile on his way out.
---
It was late, and Sam was exhausted. His eyelids drooped low, lingering closed. He just needed to rest them. Just a little rest before he hit the books again. Had to break the curse without Dean knowing-
A quiet, “Hey,” jolted him awake.
A hand on his shoulder sent a shock of electric fire through him. Before he could hide his reaction, Sam hissed through his teeth and cringed away.
Dean lifted his hand when Sam made the noise, but his eyes held suspicion. Shit.
“Sam.” Dean’s tone was like steel. Sam’s stomach plummeted. “What’s going on?”
“I-” Sam winced. There wasn’t any getting out of this one. Maybe he could at least play it off like he didn’t know. “I’ll just show you.”
Sam stood and tugged his shirt over his head with unsteady hands. The jagged lines looked worse than what they were. There were a few new ones from Dean’s touch moments ago. They ran deep, red, and burning.
Dean’s expression pinched hard. “Who did this?”
“I don’t know.” Sam lied and rubbed at his eyes, ran his hand over his face.
“Is this the curse?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” It was hard to look at Dean so Sam chose not to.
“Are you…” Dean frowned at the floor, and Sam felt sick. He could see the cogs churning in Dean’s head. He wished he could throw a wrench in there. Dean looked up again. “Who are you in love with?”
Isn’t that the question.
Sam huffed out a grim laugh and flung his arms out to the sides, “I don’t know.”
It had always been hard to keep things from Dean, but if there was a time Sam hoped he could do it, it was now. Perhaps there was enough ambiguity here that Dean wouldn’t question it. Wouldn’t think about it. Bury it somewhere where he could forget that Sam ever had fucked up feelings about his own brother. They could pretend everything was normal, and he wouldn’t lose him again-
“I’m gonna go to bed.” Sam rubbed his neck, fingertips finding the grooves there. He turned to leave, running away again-
“You don’t have to keep shit from me.”
Sam glanced back-
Dean’s grimace from earlier had disappeared into something else. There was a slight furrow in his brow, but there was something else there. Some kind of softness that squeezed Sam’s heart.
Dean’s hand dropped, like he’d been thinking about reaching out.
It would be so easy. Simple. But if he said it, it wouldn’t be something he could just erase. Could never wipe that slate clean.
If Dean had touched him, Sam knew he’d just break apart.
Sam left the room.
---
“I pulled a couple strings, called in a few favors, and I think I found something,” Dean leaned against the doorframe of Sam’s room.
“Yeah?”
“Found the witch's house. She died a while back, but all her stuff is still there. There could be a spell book that has an anti-curse”
“Let's get going then.”
There was a space between them as they walked down the hallway. Usually, they’d bump shoulders, brush arms, or sometimes even accidentally give a flat tire. But Dean was hugging the wall, and Sam was on the other side. There was a good three feet between them.
It felt like a lot more.
The house was a decent distance away. Seven hours into the bottom half of Arkansas where the soil held water that squished out like a sponge when you stepped on it. Unluckily for them, the witch’s house didn’t have a sidewalk or a driveway. Dean had to park the car on a dirt road half a mile away and they had to walk.
“Couldn’t they put in, I don’t know, gravel?” Dean winced as his boot squished into a soft spot.
“It would sink.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
As they approached, Sam noticed the house was built on stilts. It might not be too unfamiliar to live in a house without a solid foundation underneath.
Dean climbed the worn wooden steps up to the front porch, scraping his boots off as he went. Hot southern evening wind blew through the marsh and rattled the bone wind chimes that hung from the porch rafters. A hollow noise in the rustling of willow trees.
Sam rounded the side. There weren’t any signs of anyone living there, no lights, no recent footprints, but he had learned to take precautions.
He found the back door. The rusted lock was barely bolted in and the wood was old and half rotten. It was easy to pry it apart the blade of his knife. Sam heard Dean knocking at the front door as he let himself into the back.
Sam wrinkled his nose at the stink of stale damp air. Hopefully, the spellbook they were after wouldn’t be covered in mold. Sam turned on his flashlight. He was in a kitchen area. A sink, a stovetop, and an ancient yellowed fridge. Everything was coated in dust with a thick layer of criss-crossed spiderwebs. Sam shuddered and rotated his good shoulder to try and shrug it off. Spiders didn’t fuck around in the south.
Underneath the creepy mess, Sam could make out what looked like animal skulls, opaque jars, snake skins, and pieces of gnarled wood. Nothing even remotely useful. Everything must have been taken right after the witch’s death.
“Anything?” Sam called out.
“Not yet,” Dean called back., “Bookshelf has been cleaned out.”
Sam moved toward the front of the house, warped wooden floor boards creaking.
“The front door was unlocked. People probably raided and-”
There was the sound of wood thumping against wood, and then something pierced his leg right above the knee, hot and icy. It instantly burned with pain.
“Ahh!”
“Sammy!”
“Don’t! It’s a trap!”
Pushing the pain to the side, Sam concentrated on what set the trap off to avoid a second. His right foot was on a specific plank of wood. They all looked identical. It was impossible to tell which ones triggered traps.
He shined his light down to see what stabbed him and saw a wooden spike sticking out of his thigh. Sam grasped the end of the spike and yanked it out with a grunt. Blood began gushing. Fuck. Hit an artery.
“I’m coming around back!”
“Okay.” Sam limped a couple steps back toward the kitchen, a hand on the wall to guide him. He used the wall to ease himself onto the floor, gritting his teeth as the muscles in his leg sharpened the pain.
“Ah shit,” Dean winced as he came through the back door. “Didn’t think this place would be booby trapped. It’s supposed to be deserted.” He kneeled next to Sam, shrugging off his flannel.
“Let me,” Sam reached for it, grabbing it out of Dean’s hands. He grimaced as he lifted his knee, wrapping the arms of the flannel around his thigh as a makeshift bandage. It was already starting to bleed through. Sam gripped the wound with both hands. It was hard to keep a hold on his leg when his shoulder ached with fissures.
“We gotta get you out of here.” Dean’s voice was steady, one that Sam knew was purposefully deceiving. “Sam, you gotta apply more pressure.”
“I know,” Sam sucked in a shuddering breath. “I’m trying.”
Dean reached for his leg, his hands over Sam’s. Sam batted his hands away, growling when the contact burned his knuckles.
“Dean, don’t!”
“Sam, you’re gonna bleed out here.”
Sam’s jaw tightened. Dean needed to touch him. It would hurt more than it already did. Sam held his blood smeared hands up in defeat.
Dean reached for him again, both palms on his leg. Sam growled through clenched teeth. Searing heat crackled through his thigh. His hands balled into fists, but his leg jerked autonomously. Dean lifted his hands.
“Sam.”
Why did it have to be like this? Sam glared at the floor. Why couldn’t he take it to his grave?
“Sammy, come on.”
He couldn’t lose Dean. Not like this.
“I need to touch you. Sammy, say it.”
Sam locked his jaw. Gave a shake of his head. His lips twisted.
“Say it, it’s fine. We’ll be fine.”
A lie. Shame burned through him. It shouldn’t be like this. Dean shouldn’t know. Sam wished he could just carve out that corrupted, fucked up part out of himself. If he died now, he’d be abandoning Dean again. Letting him down again. A sob left his throat.
“Fuck it.” Dean grabbed a handful of Sam’s collar and leaned in. Sam’s eyes closed, body expecting what was happening before his mind caught up.
Soft. Dean’s lips were so soft.
Sam’s mind was blissfully blank. Everything relaxed, all thoughts swept away. All he could focus on was how Dean was so close. The way Dean breathed in when he kissed, breathed out through his nose. Sam could feel it against his cheek. Dean’s fingertips contacted his cheek, slipping back into his hair, touching him like he was something sacred.
The way they were touching.
Sam cupped Dean’s neck. He could feel his heartbeat there. Rapid and strong.
The ache in Sam’s shoulder lifted.
Dean pulled back.
And there was that soft look again. There was something in his eyes that Sam had always known was just for him. He could see lines begin on Dean’s skin along his neck, right where his hand was. Sam let go.
Sam took in a shaky breath as his mind rebooted. Catching up to what was happening. Oh no.
“You took the curse-”
“Sam.” Dean held his gaze steady. Intense. Warm.
“I love you.”
Sam’s leg hurt so damn bad, and he’d beat himself up so much he’d felt sick.
But those three words. It was like Dean had rubbed a forearm across Baby’s dirty windshield.
Sam’s face contorted. He let out a choked laugh. It must have sounded like another sob, because Dean was in his space again. Dean’s arms bound him in a tight hug. Sam tucked his chin into Dean’s shoulder.
He’d been falling, expecting cold concrete, and landed on a cloud instead.
“I love you too.”
It was quiet. Not the strong declaration Dean made.
Dean’s arms squeezed tighter. Sam felt a kiss pressed to his forehead.
“Let’s get you fixed up. Come on.” Dean let go and put his hands on the puncture on his leg. Once he was satisfied with the slowed blood flow, Dean re-wrapped the makeshift bandage. Sam stood with his help.
With an arm thrown around Dean’s shoulders and a hitch in his step, they made the slow journey back to the car. Sam eased into the passenger side. Dean bitched about grease on the seats, but he never bitched about scrubbing out blood.
“We could have fixed this days ago.” Dean threw him a teasing glance as he started up the car.
Sam scoffed, but he smiled out of the passenger window. “You made it seem so easy.”
“There's been hard parts for sure.”
Sam’s smile dropped and he swiveled his head-
“I’m joking, I’m joking.”
It was seven hours back to the bunker. They probably weren’t going to talk about it. Not for a while. But that was fine. Everything was fine. They’d take it slow.
As Dean pulled away from the swamp, Sam felt a hand on his good leg. Dean’s thumb rubbed idly on his knee. Like it was always meant to be there. Sam kinda wanted to tell Dean to pull over. Couldn’t kiss him again while he was driving. The backseat could hold them both.
Instead, Sam put his hand over Dean’s, his fingers slotting in between. A promise.