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[misled]
sam/dean; R
497 words




And remember when I moved in you?
The holy dark was moving to
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
And it's not a cry you can hear at night,
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's cold and it's a broken Hallelujah




The distance from the motel to the bar isn’t more than a couple miles. It’s not a long walk, and still Sam’s thinking it would be better to be riding shotgun in the car. It’s way after dark, sky inky and spotless, it’s damp and pretty damn cold- Sam has to draw his jacket tighter around himself more than once to keep the warmth he has in. His back aches though, low in his muscles, spreading a claw-like pain up his spine and into his neck, and it makes him really wish he was in the car with Dean.

When he gets there, he’s still feeling a little buzzed, and more than a little tired, so he fumbles a little with the key and it scrapes against the door loudly before he gets it to its mark and unlocks the door. The lights are off – no surprise there – and Dean’s lying on one of the beds on his back, arms behind his head, and from where Sam’s standing it looks like he’s still awake.

Sam closes the door and toes off his shoes; he unbuckles his belt and pulls it through the loops, tossing it onto the chair by the little table. He takes off the plaid button up he was wearing at the bar, and hangs that over the chair too, leaving him in too-loose jeans and a white tee-shirt. He stands there, just looking at Dean for a minute, and Dean doesn’t move, not that Sam really expected him to. Whenever they played this game – the I’m-not-talking/moving-first game – Sam always lost. He sighes and sat down on the bed opposite Dean.

“You didn’t say it wasn’t just us.”

“I didn’t say it was,” Dean replies, not moving or looking at Sam.

“Dean, when we…” Sam says and then pauses, running a hand through his hair. “I thought it was just you and me- I thought it meant-“

“Fucking doesn’t mean forever, Sam,” Dean says and this time Sam can see the way Dean’s body tenses.

“But you…” Sam shakes his head. “It was more than that.”

“I’m sorry if you thought that.”

Sam kind of feels a lot like he’s choking; like he can’t breathe because he remembers what it felt like to have Dean all over, Dean inside him, Dean breathing his air- he thought it was different from one of Dean’s random skank-fucks. He guesses he should have been more specific about the terms before he decided it was ok to let Dean fuck his ass, to suck Dean’s cock and everything else in between that they did.

It kind of feels like he’s dying. Maybe. A little (or a lot).

“Yeah, me too,” Sam says.

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andiunfold

May 2010

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