The Other Side of Sunrise

Part Three

Sunlight streams in through a crack in the curtains and hits Sam right in the eye, and for a moment or two he has no idea where he is.

His arm's asleep. He tries to move it, and finds it being held down by someone sleeping curled up to his chest. Yawning, he rubs his eyes with his free hand and inhales, deeply—

—and all he can smell is sex, and Dean.

Oh, god.

What little he can remember comes rushing back in bourbon-tinted waves, and he feels like he might be sick. I did—with my brother—oh, fuck, and he—Sam's mind whirls frantically, and suddenly he really, really needs to get out of that bed.

But Dean isn't just curled up against him, he's hugging his arm like a stuffed animal, and he is deeply, completely asleep.

Sam looks down at him, and through his panic realizes that Dean is sleeping, really sleeping, peaceful and silent. He even has a small smile on his lips. Not a nightmare, Sam marvels, and for a brief moment he is simply happy. He realizes he feels rested, something he hasn't experienced in god knows how long.

Then he remembers why.

Throwing caution to the winds, he slides his arm out of Dean's grip and rolls out of bed as smoothly as he can, and to his immense relief and no small surprise, his brother doesn't wake up. Then Sam dashes to the bathroom and brings up all that whiskey until he's dry-heaving, his face streaked with tears.

He feels... wrong, dirty, and utterly ashamed. I didn't help Dean, he thinks helplessly as he slumps against the toilet. Guaranteed I made things a million times worse.

When he leaves the bathroom, he knows without looking that Dean is awake and studying him, and all the love he does have for his brother can't keep the sick expression off his face.

"I'm getting us some breakfast," he says as he leaves the room, just so Dean won't think he's running away—even if he is.

Dean wakes up in an empty bed to the sound of retching, and is allowed no peaceful reverie. He knows exactly what's going on—he's always held his liquor better, so he remembers everything in exacting detail, which makes the current situation worse. He remembers Sammy's lust-blown eyes, the way he laughed, that rich, indulgent sound that struck Dean with a shiver in his very core. His hand moving in strong, sure strokes.

Knowing his little brother didn't actually want to do any of that makes Dean feel like the scum of the earth. Still, he can't keep himself from seeking Sam's eyes as he exits the bathroom, still in his jeans from last night. The sick look on his face ties Dean's stomach into knots, speeds his heartbeat til it's like a jackhammer against his ribs.

Then Sam looks away, and leaves.

The door clicks shut and Dean is so disgusted with himself that he curls into a ball beneath the covers, trying not to think or feel anything.

* * *

It gets easier, after that first day.

Sam doesn't speak directly to him for almost a week, but the strain begins to ease almost immediately after they get in the car, and put that town behind them. Dean focuses intently on not seeming tense or off, and he sings along with his music as he drives to keep his mind from wandering. When Sam has to say something, he says it in the direction of the window, or to his laptop, keeping eye contact to a minimum, but Dean is just glad his brother hasn't left him in the dust.

He has no idea why, and decides it's better not to ask.

The first time Sam looks him in the eye to tell him something, Dean simply nods and continues the discussion, not even allowing himself a moment to rejoice. It's just another day.

Over the course of a month Dean expends less and less energy focusing on maintaining his gruff, easy manner. Sam, still quieter than was his norm, does the research and when they're ganking monsters together he'll even touch Dean on the shoulder to get his attention. They move from place to place, do the jobs, and flip their fake I.D.s with all the confidence they had before.

But of course, even as normality returns—such as it can be for the Winchesters—nothing between them will ever be normal again.

Another year passes, and the boys mature from grown children into hardened adults. Friends die, they die. Sam lives without a soul and he says and does things that make Dean's own soul shrivel within his chest, and by the time Sam gets it back his brother is all but dead inside. Dean's time with Lisa and Ben has become a faint memory, but that's all right, because they were only ever a fanciful escape.

That one night in that one dingy motel has all but been buried under layers and layers of dingy motels and diner food and various partners and the constant slam and drain and flux of the hunter's life.

But of course, such things are never truly forgotten.