Campaspe (cs_whitewolf) wrote,

  • Mood:
  • Music:

SNFanFic: Do You Remember [SW/DW]

First thing I’ve written in, oh I don’t know- about a month? …Yup, that sounds about right. Sorry it’s not even remotely HP related folks, I’ve been dabbling in the Supernatural fandom as of late and after a month of being a writing sloth, it was just a blessing to be able to write something. Hope ya’ll enjoy!



Do You Remember


 - - -


Rating(s): PG/13-Rated.

Pairing(s): Sam Winchester/ Dean Winchester.

Warning(s): Incest (Wincest); Mentions of Sexual Situations.

Word Count: 1428.

Summary: Set after episode 1.16: Shadow. Sleep is a hard thing to come by, when you're afraid of the dark and the shadows dancing on the walls...

A/N: Unbetad. My first dabbling in the Supernatural fandom, so play nice please!


 - - -


I remember this,” Sam’s whisper is loud in the darkness, accusing and accepting both as the twines his fingers through his brother’s own. Dean feels the tremor in Sam’s hand- slight as it is- and squeezes gently, nervously, into the hold.


They lie together this night, battered and bruised, their bloody wounds long congealed but still smarting raw and stinging as they lie spooned together, sleep evading them- their eyes wide and open, trained on the slow dancing shadows as they move languidly across the drearily painted walls of the run-down motel room they have the misfortune of lodging in this evening. Whispers of the past twenty-four hours still grip at their beating hearts, halting their breaths with each flutter of the thin, moth eaten curtain (the window jammed just that hair-breadth apart), and they replay and remember and mourn – their foolishness, their loss, their need.


“You were too young to remember.” Dean replies with hoarse voice, all scratched and rasping and choked as he squeezes his eyes shut a moment only to think back to the beginning- or what he classes as the beginning, when the fire scarred him and scared him and stole his voice to pale silence as dread and terror claimed his joy and innocence, stealing the simplicity of childhood away.


There had been only one way to feel safe, at night, when it all got too much to bear and the memories and nightmares joined to hunt him in the midnight hour- waking him with jolts of childhood fear and panic and he would rush over to Sammy’s cot and crawl in beside his baby brother, wrapping little arms about him, whispering platitudes of protection into Sam’s unhearing ears, promising to protect him and look after him- tears leaking from his eyes as he sobbed silently in the dark, trying to ignore the leering whispers of malicious voices that mocked and jeered and spoke things he was too young to make sense of, to remember…


“I remember.” Sam answers, resolute. Dean presses closer to his brother, his arms wrapping tighter. He knows Sam doesn’t remember the beginning- he was too young- but that he remembers another beginning, a beginning between them Dean dares not acknowledge though he aches to remember it, choosing to focus instead on the way the covers have been pulled up to their chins despite the warmth of the night- and like the fear-of-the-dark nightmares he once had, he too feels the heated sweat and burn of trepidation creep over his flesh as they cling together in this dark room; the shadows moving on the walls.


“I didn’t want him to leave.” Sam speaks again, a choke to his voice as a sob suppressed lodges its way there, urging to spill past clenching teeth and lips pressed thin. Dean wonders if Sammy’s cheeks are as wet as his with silent tears as they lie and try not to think of the shadows and the dark, and of Dad… Dad who came to them, Dad who had to leave so soon again…


“I didn’t either.” Dean presses his face to the back of Sam’s neck- his brother’s long hair tickling at his cheeks, the subtle smell of sweat and musk filling his nuzzling nose- Sam doesn’t answer his words, his fingers tightening their grip around Dean’s own instead- and it is words enough, yet not enough between them.


Dean presses a breath of a kiss to his brother’s neck and closes his eyes for another moment only- he dares not sleep, and knows Sam will not either, not this night with this dark and its shadows and the memories so fresh and ripe and bleeding between them, for there were other times when Dean had shared his brother’s bed, times when hands held and closed-mouthed kisses were being taken that one step further- hands roaming heated flesh and parted mouths introducing dancing tongue-on-tongue as hips rubbed and rolled and they lost themselves in this intimacy- illicit, illegal- this incest between brothers fearing the dark and needing the touch of love between them, if only for a short time.


There is a tug on his hand entwined, then the soft press of a kiss to his knuckles. Dean encourages Sam’s delicate advances- urging him to turn in their embrace- there is the stick of sweat-dried flesh till Sam is turned and they are held chest-to-chest, hot breath heavy in the dark, loud suddenly to their ears as they try to focus their eyes on each other- noting the highlights that allude to the jut of a nose, the hollow of an eye, the curve of a brothers lip, parted wantonly in waiting.


“Dean…” Sam whispers with shaking voice, his hand sitting awkwardly-confident over the jut of his brother’s hip; it hasn’t been like this for a long time between them.


Dean feels the tingle across his lips as Sam speaks his name, questions and uncertainties all conveyed in that softly whispered tone and his throat closes, his mouth dry and unable to answer, to reassure, to deny. He just wants to lie with Sam, to hold and be held tonight, it’s what made him slip from his own bed into Sam’s waiting arms in the first place- with feigned calm and dignity he’d tried not to rush to Sam’s single bed as the darkness closed in on him- his brother a silent comfort as he’d lifted the blankets about them both and urged Dean’s arm around his slim waist- fingers splaying across Sam’s tensed stomach until his hand was captured and held to his brother’s breast.


“Do you remember, Dean?” Sam asks, speaking again when all Dean wants is for him to be quiet. ‘Shut up, Sammy.’ He wants to snap. Instead he lifts his arm off his brother’s side, moving to press the heel of his hand into his right eye until he sees the burst of dancing white spots as they explode against the pressure, using the motion as an excuse to dry his eyes of grief- because really, how could he not remember?- Remember; hot nights spent fumbling beneath thin sheets, biting lips and arms and pillows just to keep their moans from sounding- Dad’s snores echoing from the room beside theirs making it that much more dangerous, forbidden, exciting.


They had been too young really, and Dean feels the guilty bite of responsibility for allowing them to touch each other in ways that brothers should never touch. Dean drops his arm to settle between them, a sigh suppressed but on the edge of being released as he blinks away the spots of black and white and thinks of a way to answer his brother, knowing that his silence would not be taken as answer enough.


There are lips pressing against his before he has the chance to form any words. A soft mouth touching to the corner of his own and Dean sighs then, shivering as the covers slip from his shoulder, pooling down to the dip of his side as Sam shifts closer, his lips so very tender and urging and he hates himself for allowing his mouth to fall open in invitation to the slick warmth of Sam’s tongue- his eyes half lidded in the darkness, the fear of the night fading with Sam’s coaxing kisses, the self-hate fleeting as he cups his hand over Sam’s cheek (tenderly he avoids the deep-sliced cuts inflicted there from their encounter earlier that evening) and breathes content as Sam does, their kisses languid and needed; forgiven and forgotten- the wrongness of this- as he strokes his brother’s face, curling his fingers into his dark hair and letting it be, for now.


“I remember,” Dean whispers, his voice cracking on the last word as they part and Sam smiles in the dark though Dean cannot see the twisted curve of his mouth turned upwards in wry amusement. Sam twists himself to lie on his back, pulling his brother with him till they are lying together, Dean half-draped over his brother, his eyes fluttering with sudden sleepiness as Sammy’s fingers rub soothingly at his head. Sam says nothing else and Dean tries to believe that he is glad, (ignoring the bitter taste of disappointment that coats his insides).


There are still shadows dancing across the walls, but they no longer seem so sinister and supernatural.


It is the sleepy-murmur of a kiss pressed awkwardly to his forehead that has Dean sighing into sleep, his fears for now banished away into the far recesses of his mind for another night at least.


 - - -




 - - -
Tags: [&]: [m/m]: dean/sam winchester, character: [spn]: dean winchester, character: [spn]: sam winchester, fanfic: supernatural, fanfic: supernatural: coda: 1.16, fic: rating: pg/13, fic: wordcount: 1000-5000

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.