Title: Maybe a Million Miles

Disclaimer: Not mine, don’t sue.

Summary: Sam/Dean Wincest. Part of the Still Life 'verse. Dean has always had all his love. Oneshot. Complete.

Feedback: Is love.

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Dean has always had all his love. This messy, throbbing thing, black and somehow still beating, which serves as Sam’s heart... Disloyal as it can be, it recognizes Dean in the same way it always has. As its own missing piece.

And throughout his life, Sam has punished Dean for it. For taking his love, all his love, and keeping it and thinking it a precious thing. He tried to cut himself away from Dean at Stanford, he tried to find other people who would take his love in as completely and gratefully as Dean did.

No.

There is no one who will do that. Who will love Sam this much. Dean still does. He adores Sam with the same simplicity and purity that he always has, except that now it is on show for the world to see. And Sam loves him back in the same way.

When he was a kid, Sam took this for granted. Dean was Dean and he was annoying and bossy and he was brave and stupid. So stupid. He could check under Sam’s bed for monsters, but he wouldn’t do his homework and kept getting held back after class so Sam had to amuse himself in libraries all across America.

Sam could probably write a guidebook all about the libraries of America. It wouldn’t be interesting, but he could do it.

When he grew up, Sam stopped taking it for granted. Dean’s love was like a curse. Something that crawled under his skin and bit him over and over. A mongrel dog that wouldn’t let go. Sam thought that what he felt for Dean was a million miles away from that.

Sam’s love was dutiful and clean.

Except when it was sick and out of control.

Now, of course, it’s all different. Now Sam’s love isn’t clean or dirty or wrong or right. It just is, like any other fact in the world. It is maybe a million miles away from the love he expected to feel at this point in his life, but he treasures it.

And Dean still takes it, hungers and wants every scrap of affection Sam offers him. It worries Sam that sometimes he still wants to tell Dean: No. Don’t be like this. Don’t make me love you so much. It hurts. I’m not strong enough to love you like this.

It’s impossible not to, all the same. His heart doesn’t take his strength into account.

Sam tries to shows his love in ways that aren’t always hugs and kisses, out of deference to who Dean used to be – someone who hated to be touched in public, who rarely let Sam cuddle up to him even in private. He does small things. When Dean has a headache, he will crush up painkillers into juice, because Dean doesn’t like swallowing pills. It makes him retch.

He buys small gifts for Dean which capture his attention for a while. He takes Dean for long drives in the Impala, lets his big brother pick the music and sit back with the windows open. When they hit a clear stretch of road and Sam really accelerates, Dean laughs so hard it sounds like screaming, joyful screaming. The wind wrenches tears from both of them, warm tears that go cold right away. When Dean is behaving in a level way and they’re going slow, Sam allows Dean’s hand to cover his on the wheel, to give the illusion that they’re both driving. It gives Dean the biggest thrill. Afterwards he will repeat the story of his triumph to Bobby in his fractured language until both Sam and Bobby know the tale off by heart. For Dean, though, it’s like a fresh telling every time.

But, regardless of these adventures, really all Dean wants is Sam, and it’s obvious. It shows. Whenever Sam leaves the room, he makes noises like a beaten animal and Sam can’t bear it. He can’t take it. Dean has to go everywhere with him, holding his hand or clinging to his arm. They sleep wrapped around one another and he wakes with Dean’s body blanketing his. Trapping him by making him love so fiercely.

Dean says his name all the time. Sammy. This person he is. Dean’s little brother and the love of his life, the person who protects him from the harm of the world.

Sam worries less about demons than he does about people, no matter how ignorant that is of him. He fears people. People who will make Dean think he’s stupid, people who will reinforce Dean’s belief that he’s too slow, that there’s something wrong with him.

Dean knows there’s something wrong with him. This is one of those pieces of information that he never forgets.

He doesn’t need telling.

“Sammy, what’s this?” Dean points to a picture in a book Sam bought for him a while back. It’s a book about sea creatures. Sam only really picked it out because it’s colourful, and he hopes that it will keep Dean’s attention. So far it seems to be working. It is the only book that Dean ever wants to pick up, even though he finds it difficult to recall anything he learns from it – he gets attached to things that Sam gives him, like they are extensions of Sam himself. He even dragged it with him to the hospital one time to show the nurses. They were all appropriately appreciative of how amazing it is, so blue and pretty.

Sam is trying to clean up the kitchen, so that Bobby doesn’t suddenly become aware that they are staying with him free of charge, and Dean is sitting on the floor. He turns. Dean has his book out and he’s covering the picture with his hands. “I can’t see it,” Sam says, “move your hands.”

Dean smiles at him gleefully. “It’s a dolphin, Sammy.” He lifts his hands. “See? Sammy, see?”

Putting down the coffee cup he’s drying, Sam squats next to Dean. His brother prefers the floor to any chairs or couches, because he can stretch out at will. Dean’s always been sort of a slob like that. In their numerous motels he favoured the bed over any other item of furniture.

The full colour picture under his hands is a spotted dolphin.

“See?” Dean says. He sounds proud. “You said... you said Dean remember. I remember.”

It’s a good day. Sam settles himself next to his brother. “You’re right. That’s really great.”

Dean grins. “Remember for Sammy.”

His throat clenches. “Uh huh. And you did.”

“Did we go see? Before?”

Sam frowns and runs his finger across the faint scar on Dean’s forehead. “Did we go and see what before?” his voice is quiet and he wants to kiss Dean all over, wants to hold him.

“Dolphins. Did we go see?” Dean’s fingernails are scratching against the page, and he doesn’t move away from Sam’s touch. He doesn’t lean into it, either, almost like he hasn’t noticed it’s there. “Don’t remember.”

“Well, you know, Dean... we never did. We never did go and see dolphins. Would you like to sometime?”

“Go see?”

“Yeah. Why not? We could... we could take a road trip.” The words almost get trapped, stuck to the walls of Sam’s heart, but they come out. Somehow.

Dean’s eyes widen. He nods and lifts his hands, grabbing hold of Sam’s left arm. “P-please, Sammy, yeah, please...”

Sam laughs. “Okay, Dean. When you’re a little better, we will go. We’ll go and we’ll see the ocean and we’ll see dolphins.” He isn’t sure where exactly they’ll go, but he won’t let Dean down on this one.

His big brother’s smile fades a little. “Better?” He lets go of Sam. “Not better, Sammy.” His mouth is twisting. “Now. Sammy. Go now.” He slams his hands against his book. Hard.

Sam feels like an expert code breaker cracking a tough case. “You just need to be a little better before we go anywhere,” he says, inching his hands over Dean’s, covering them, “you understand, don’t you?”

There is not one part of Dean’s face that shows understanding. “Am better,” he tells Sam stubbornly, but at least his hands don’t move.

“You’re doing good,” Sam admits, “but you know what would really help me?”

That gets him. The mention of helping is something that Dean is virtually programmed not to resist. Dean stops looking so fixed on his idea. His eyes lock with Sam’s. “Help Sammy?”

“Yes. What would help Sammy.”

“What?”

“If we could practice reading, that way you can help me by reading the map.” In all honestly and logic, Sam knows this won’t happen, not this year. Probably not in the next few years will his big brother be capable of reading well enough to use a map with any degree of accuracy. But he wants to give Dean something to work towards.

Apparently, Dean has no such realistic expectations. His expression blossoms into a beautiful smile and he says loudly, “Sammy, read... can we... now?” He picks up the book and holds it out. Sam looks down at the book and then at Dean again. He’s still smiling, but there’s a sad, hopeful look in his eyes when he asks, “Show Dean... Sammy, show me how?”

Sam bites the inside of his cheek and breathes through his nose, nods sharply. “Sure I will. Let me just finish up in here and then we’ll go sit down, eat some cookies and read. That sound okay?”

Dean seems placated with this plan, he holds his book in one hand and Sam helps him to his feet.

Dean has always had all his love and he will for the rest of Sam’s life and most probably beyond. Sam hasn’t so much resigned himself to that as he has fallen into it. Sam can try his hardest to help Dean get back to where he was, or as close as possible, he can pick up all the parts of his brother and glue them back together with shaking fingers. But the fact remains. They will always be each other’s missing piece.

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End

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