Between Here and Gone
Author: Crimson Kaoru
Pairing(s)/Main Character(s): Sam/Dean, implied Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,150 words.
Warnings: Spoilers for The Rapture, 4x20; this takes place directly before Sam and Dean arrive at Bobby's at the end of the episode, right after Sam ends the call with Bobby. Dub-con.
Disclaimer: Supernatural characters and storyline are property of Eric Kripke and associated publishers/licensers.

Summary:
Sam's heartbeat won't slow down, and he knows it's not because of the demon blood freshly pumping through his veins. He hasn't tried out his new mojo on Dean yet, this weird demon influence thing that has only gotten him extra cream on his coffee and a free salad so far. He hasn't wanted to, but now he laces his voice with all the power in him and says, "Dean, pull over."

between here and gone

Sam stares down at the screen on his phone, the caller ID reading Bobby with the thirty second call time still blinking. "He said to get to his place," he says as it goes dark, stuffing it back in his pocket. He sneaks another look at Dean, his heart in his throat and his whole body shuddering with the force of keeping his voice steady. "Dean, pull over."

Dean shoots him a sidelong look but kept driving through the rain. His hands on the steering wheel are lax, music off. His face looks pale and drawn. The clock on the dash clicks over to two AM. "I can't even see where 'over' is, Sam."

Sam sucks in a deep breath. His heartbeat won't slow down, and he knows it's not because of the demon blood freshly pumping through his veins. "Dean. Pull over." He hasn't tried out his new mojo on Dean yet, this weird demon influence thing that has only gotten him extra cream on his coffee and a free salad so far. He hasn't wanted to, but now he laces his voice with all the power in him and Dean pulls over. Veers sharply to the left and rolls onto the shoulder, so quick it nearly sends them headlong into a ditch.

Dean's fingers around the wheel are vice-tight. His knuckles are white, but his eyes are sleepy, blank. It's the same look that Sam saw in the waitress' eyes when she asked if he wanted ranch or French dressing. Sam hates it, wants to get rid of it, wants to take it back. Thinks of how Tracy looked at Andy after he used his powers on her for the first time, the only time.

Slowly, Dean's eyes focus. Anger flickers deep in them, only the barest hint, and Sam waits for the what the fuck was that but it never comes. The silence hurts like a physical blow.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry," he babbles. "It's not like I've been able to do that long, it's not like. I haven't been. This is the first time, I swear, oh god—"

Dean rubs a hand across his forehead, defeated. "We're supposed to be going to Bobby's," he says, and reaches for the ignition.

Sam catches his hand and pins it to the seat. "No," he says. "No. Just. Hold on." Dean doesn't say anything, so Sam crawls across the seat until he's practically sitting in Dean's lap, and then and only then does Sam cup Dean's face and say, "Dean. Tell me you care. Fuck, tell me you do."

Dean blinks up at him; it's like the effects of Sam's mojo haven't worn off yet and he's still slow, sleepy. "Sam—"

"Tell me you care, Dean," Sam pleads again, desperately. He doesn't even realise he infused it with power until Dean's eyes go glassy.

"I care, Sam," he says.

Sam chokes back a sob and lets his head drop onto Dean's shoulder. Dean is pliant and quiet underneath him, and doesn't say anything when Sam fumbles for his fly and pushes a clumsy hand into his boxers. It's not the first time they've done this, but it's the first time since before Hell, and Sam knows that even if Dean says he doesn't care, he'll care about this no matter what. Even if he cares just enough to punch Sam in the face.

Dean stares up at the roof of the car as Sam yanks his hand out of his pants. "You… you're not—" Sam says, stupidly.

"Guess I can't get it up for anything with a pulse," Dean says quietly.

Sam's tongue feels like cotton in his mouth. His eyes are stinging and he hopes, prays, needs it to be anything but disgust darkening Dean's words. "God, Dean," he says, barely a breath, barely audible at all, and angles Dean's face up and kisses him. It's less of a kiss and more of an attack, an assault of lips and teeth and tongue and Dean just sits there lifelessly and takes it, and maybe once upon a time that would've been awesome, would've made Sam hard and horny as hell, but now the sob just bubbles up in his throat and Sam breaks the kiss to collapse against Dean's body, beating a fist against his chest.

"Just tell me, please," Sam begs. "Tell me you care. Tell me I matter. Tell me I haven't lost you."

Dean tips his head back more and doesn't say anything, but when Sam pulls back to look at him, tears are tracking Dean's cheeks in thin, shining lines. Sam licks a stripe up Dean's neck, tastes the salt of the tears and the sweat there. He wipes the wetness on Dean's face away with his thumb. "Please," he says, quieter. "For the love of god, please."

Dean's mouth is moving, a few syllables over and over; Sam can feel the tiny bursts of air against his ear. Sam lifts his face, presses his fingers against his brother's lips, feels him mouth Castiel.

Anger surges up from the pit of Sam's belly, anger so sharp that Sam wants to hit Dean, hit and hit and hit

But instead Sam pushes his fingers into Dean's mouth, presses his lips apart so Sam can pull him down and kiss him again, kiss him so deep that Dean chokes on his tongue and doesn't think about that fucking angel anymore. Dean is choking a little when Sam pulls back, gasping for air when Sam finally lets go. He still doesn't raise a hand to push Sam off him, just sits there with his hands clenched into the leather upholstery, doesn't say anything when Sam says, "You have to. You have to, because I love you—"

Sam doesn't know when he started crying, but his vision is blurred so badly that he nearly misses when he reaches for Dean's face again. Dean flinches at his touch and Sam draws back, nearly falls off him, ambles back into the passenger seat. Dean watches him go out of the corner of slitted eyes.

"Fuck," Sam says, staring wide-eyed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Dean." His head is aching. He tries to steady his breathing and ends up taking great gasping gulps until his heartbeat slows enough that he's able to get a coherent sentence out, and then he closes his eyes and concentrates and says, "The rain was so bad that we swerved off the road. We've been sitting here waiting for it to let up. We're on the way to Bobby's. We're okay."

Dean goes slack instantly, mouth parted a little. It's a long moment before he yawns, stretches, says, "This storm's a bitch. Better call Bobby back to say we might be a little late."

Sam picks up his mobile with a shaking hand and dials. Beside him, Dean reaches forward and cranks up Zeppelin.