Archive of Our Own ^beta

One Thing I Can't Tell Him

Title: One Thing I Can't Tell Him
Author: MF Luder
Category: Dean/Sam, Wincest
Keywords: slash, incest, angst
Time Frame: After The Benders
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Nothing serious.
Disclaimer: They belong to the WB and whoever produces the show.
Archive: Sam/Dean Archive, my LJ, anywhere else, please just let me know so I can visit and pet my baby on occasion.;-)
Summary: Sam's thoughts about Dean
Feedback: Of course!! [email protected] (yes I know, wrong fandom)
Author's Notes: I hate first person fic/novels. I don't understand why I got this idea. But I did and I can't resist the man. But just a warning about this being my first, first-person fic. Don't get attached. You won't see it often.
Beta Thanks: Thank yous are due to Xscribe and siberian_skys--they both help me so much.
Inspiration:...Gay men are every bit as emotionally closeted as their straight counterparts. Instead of just one partner being distant, uncommunicative and emotionally stunted, both are.--Minotaur


I love watching Dean on the hunt. Not that I often get the opportunity; I'm normally just as occupied as he is. But if there's a pause I'll gladly use it to my advantage, not to catch my breath, but just to observe.

I think his skill with a gun is exceptional, and when he moves to take aim it's as if the whole world is stopping, waiting, to watch the line of the bullet hit its mark. That weapon--whichever he's using--becomes him. Even holy water and matches become an extension of him, as if he's a superhero with these religious demon-killing powers.

I never fantasized about comic book heroes. I promise.

Then there are the times when he's hurt and it's my turn to play Knight-in-Shining-Armour. Except, I feel more like the damsel who just happens to get lucky that her prince didn't die on the fall down--only got his eyes stabbed out by the briers.

I never fantasized about princes either.

But when it's his turn to come in and rescue me because I've been stupid, though I fight like a weasel; it's as if I can see the horse, the gleaming metal and flashing smile. In reality though, it's just him, torn and bloody like me, flashing a grimace or death glare. But he's still my big brother, my prince.

And when we're both healing, aching together, and I watch his chest move up and down, knowing he's alive...well, it's better than any fairy tale I've ever read. Knowing that no matter what, he's invincible. Sometimes, he thinks he's a god. I know he is.

I could tell him all this. He'd laugh, sure. Stare and say, “You're crazy,” and then he'd forget.

But there's one thing I can't ever share with him. Something I try to cleanse myself of everyday, hoping the shower will wash it away with the dirt.

Dean has his girl in each town.

I have Dean.

I couldn't tell you when it started. Only that one day I woke up and in the early morning sunshine looked over at him and realized I loved him as more than a brother. Or beyond just-brothers. Simple as that. Maybe because he was the only one who could understand. Maybe because he was gorgeous. Or maybe because I'm fucked up in the head.

That morning I threw up.

When he walked into the bathroom touching my shoulder and asking in a sleep-gruff voice if I was ok, I shuddered and did it again.

It isn't his fault that when he touches me his warmth lingers for longer than it should.

Since then I've tried to resist--to fight against the overwhelming urges that make me want to ask his forgiveness and beg him to touch me, then ask for it all over again.

I can't bring him down to my level, my own personal slice of hell.

But after those kooks--a human family stranger than most ghouls--after I'd given up on him, after I thought I'd be killed, then him, then me again, and finally both of us breaking free...it was too much. Maybe if Jess hadn't been dead and I could have called her just to listen to her chatter, maybe I wouldn't have done it. Might not have ever realized my feelings for Dean, even. But she is dead and that night I needed to know I was alive.

When we were far enough away I stopped with my head hanging, Dean still walking, and spoke.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

I looked up at him then and he stopped, too, and just held out his arms.

I couldn't resist.

I stepped into the warm embrace, body afire as he whispered in my ear, “It's ok, Sammy. We're ok.” I didn't even correct him on my name. And I pulled back and stared into those hard eyes that were nonetheless comforting for their stoniness.

And I leaned in. Just a chaste kiss on the lips. Until he grunted deep in his throat and I lost control, my tongue seeking his lips. Surprisingly, he opened them and all my life and soul went into the next thirty seconds while he kissed me back: hungry, hard, hot, and oh-so much like heaven.

Then he was disengaging before I could move my hands from his back to his hair or face or hips. He took a breath and licked his lips before a slightly puzzled look appeared and he spoke, breaking my heart.

“I was scared too. I was worried they'd kill you. When I heard that shot...” He paused, shaking his head. “But we're alive. And that's all that matters, ok?” He didn't wait for an answer as I stood there feeling the life drain out of me faster than my blood ever could and yet more alive because he'd fucking kissed me back. I had just stared as he smiled and said, “Come on. Let's hit the road.”

And since, there's been no mention of it, by either of us. There won't be, ever. So I'll sit here, watching his muscles move under that golden skin as he sits and cleans his gun wrapped in only a towel,air drying after his steamy shower. And I'll attempt to imitate his grace and power on the hunt, hoping to be more like him, closer in any way, and when that fails I'll just go back to being 'college boy'.

I'll keep trying to purge myself of this want.

And I'll keep loving him.