for spn_30snapshots

Pairing: Sam/Dean
Table: Less Talk, More Action
Prompt: 11. lie

Some days it's Dean who cuts Asia off, some days it's Sam. Some days Sam is already awake and watching Dean when 'the heat of the moment' lyric fills the room. Some days Sam just rolls over, sticks a pillow over his head and falls back to sleep.

It doesn't matter how it starts. It always ends the same.

Sam stopped keeping track of how many Tuesdays had passed after 164 or so. And even though he couldn't tell you how many Tuesdays it's been, he can tell you every single way Dean has died. From choking on a chicken bone, to poisoned dart, to bear mauling. He doesn't count time in numbers anymore, he uses death rattles.

One Tuesday he makes a choice. It'll be his only chance--in this whacked out version of circular reality--so he decides to go for it. No repercussions here.

What he doesn't figure on is how much it hurts. First the incredulity. Then the horror. Then the denial. Followed closely by the punch. He starts counting again. 37 times so far. His jaw is swollen and his ribs hurt, but he powers on, shrugging off Dean's curious stares in the morning, and at least he only needs one lie when Dean probes about why Sam doesn't look as rested and recouped as he should after a good night's sleep following a day of nothing much. But that's just because Dean doesn't remember the Tuesday before, or being the one doing the beating.

On day 38 of the new count, Sam tries a different tact. He's gone before Dean wakes up, comes back with sausage croissants and hot coffee. Dean starts moving before the alarm, nose sensing the aromas of food and caffeine nearby. Sam showers while Dean eats, carefully soaping and rinsing his bruised ribs, gently massaging his aching jaw, palming his dick until it's almost hard and then letting his hand fall away. He turns off the shower, sluices the water from his hair, grabs a towel and drys off behind the safety of curtain and steam. Almost on time, maybe a few seconds early, Dean pounds on the door bellowing about needing to piss. Today then.

Dropping the towel to the floor beside the bath, one foot on the threadbare bathmat then the other, and he opens the door. Dean's eyes narrow and his nostrils flare slightly before his jaw drops and his eyes widen. Sam doesn't give him a chance to say anything today, just moves forward and takes Dean's head in his hands, swiftly leaning down to press his swollen, humid lips to his brother's. Calloused hands scrape up Sam's torso, making his cock jump in anticipation before they settle firmly and push back hard, forcing Sam away.

Dean's face is a flurry of emotion, eyes wide and frantic, a caged bird metaphor would not be amiss.

"What the fuck, Sam?!"

Sam doesn't try any of the things he's done before. He doesn't prevaricate, cajole, explain or justify. He just tells the truth, "I want you, Dean. I've always wanted you."

He doesn't follow up with what he knows to be the truth, "and I know you want me too," he just stands there, naked and sore. Tired of this endless Tuesday. Tired of not being able to have what he wants: Wednesday and his brother.

Dean turns his back on him and stumbles toward his bed--sits down hard and stares at his hands. Sam notes that they're shaking. Well, that's new at least.

Something else new happens then. Dean asks, "Why, Sam?"

Sam blinks and looks over Dean's shoulder as if the right answer might be written on the rickety headboard or the peeling wallpaper. After a few beats, Sam answers with the only thing that he knows, "Because."

He focuses on Dean and takes a step, "Because you're always there."

"Because you've always been there." Dean's hands move to the edge of the bed as if to keep himself from falling off.

"Because you're all I have." Sam takes another step and Dean's head falls down and his eyes pinch shut.

"Because you're all I want." Up close now, he can see the pulsing of his brother's jugular, feel the heat of his body.

He breathes long and slow, "Because I don't know how not to."

Dean looks up and his eyes are clear and green. Moments, minutes, hours, days, years pass. He raises out one shaking hand and Sam moves into it.