Summer is a promissory note

[essene_backup]

for spn_30snapshots
Claim: Sam/Dean
Prompt:  01. inhale
warning: underage Sam


Leaves are jostling in the wind, and Sam listens to them for awhile, staring up at the ceiling at the few forlorn glow-in-the-dark stars that refuse to give up their hold on the old plaster. The summer's been excruciatingly hot, even for Arizona, and this has been the first night in nearly a month that any sort of breeze happened by. To take advantage of it, Dean's jerry-rigged a poor man's swamp-cooler using a wet towel, a hanger, some clothes pins and the box fan. It's not perfect, but it's keeping Sam from feeling feverish in the dry air.

 

Things have been different this summer. Dean’s been gone more--sometimes because of his bagging job at the grocery and sometimes because of one pretty girl or another, and more and more frequently because Dad’s wanted him on a hunt. Sam’s missed the teasing and rough-housing, the secret swigs of Dad's whiskey, and tooling around in the Impala with nowhere in particular to go.

But it’s more than that. Things between him and his brother are different now. He can pinpoint when things shifted, when his world changed. He knows the date, the time and the minute. His memory clings to the very second the page in his life turned.

It had been the very beginning of summer. Three days after school let out, the end of Dean's junior year and the end of Sam's seventh. Dean had woken Sam up by sitting on his chest and bouncing, causing the worn bedsprings to wail and Sam to grunt and flail helplessly against his brother's larger body. Dean moved once he knew Sam was awake and then stood looking down at him, mischievous grin on his face.

"Come on, Sammy. Summer's waitin'!" He reached down to the floor and swung one strap of his stuffed backpack onto his shoulder.

Rubbing his eyes and yawning, Sam asked, "What're we doing?"

Tossing an equally stuffed backpack on the space he’d just vacated, Dean said, "Just get your ass up and you'll see."

Turns out, Dean had decided they were going fishing. Fishing. Sam had rolled his eyes and protested until he saw the almost imperceptible twinge of disappointment in Dean's eye. After that, he'd changed his attitude and they'd actually had a good time. Dean had managed to think of everything: lawn chairs, an old blanket, food, drink, a book for Sam, walkman for himself, bait and fishing poles. Sam was actually kind of impressed.

It was late afternoon, the sun low and heavy in the sky, the heat not quite so oppressive thanks to the cooler of beer and soda, not to mention the slow shedding of clothing that had left them both in just their boxers over the course of the day. Neither of them had caught anything, and in truth their technique had left much to be desired, but Sam suspected that wasn’t the point. NOW was the point.

Being brothers. Being together. That was the point and Sam delighted in it. He’d always admired Dean, loved him, wanted to be like him. It was things like this that tamped those feelings solid and cemented over them. Sam couldn’t think of much that was better than Dean.

Easing resistant skin gingerly off the plastic strapping of the chair, Sam stretched and padded his way to the edge of the lake, cautiously dipping a toe in. He wasn’t aware until too late of Dean’s solid body behind him, pushing him in so he landed with a painful belly-flop.

Coming up sputtering Sam yelled, “You bastard!”

Dean laughed before jumping in himself, head breaching the surface just as Sam got close enough to duck him back under. A rough and playful game of dunk-and-tackle ensued, resulting in Dean capturing Sam between his arms, effectively trapping him against his solid form while he tilted from one side to another, dunking Sam this way and that while still managing to keep his own head above water. Sam tried to time his breathing, but just couldn’t get it right. He didn’t know what exactly happened after that until the ground…

…it was hard and prickly under his skin, pebbles and twigs digging in as Dean pressed on his chest rhythmically. He couldn’t hear anything at first, and then there was Dean’s voice, harsh and desperate, “Come on Sammy, come on, you little shit, you don’t get to do this, I’m sorry, okay? I’m so damn sorry. Come on Sammy, come on….”

Then he was coughing and dank water spewed over his tongue and out onto the ground, as Dean quickly turned him on his side, and moved to clap him on the back, breath whistling, “Thank God, thank God, thank God.…”

Sam pressed back against Dean’s supporting hand and Dean eased him back down on the ground. Lids fluttering against the blur and the brightness, Sam finally opened his eyes. The sun was behind Dean’s body, giving him a glow Sam had only ever seen surrounding angels in Christian iconography, glinting off his damp skin and hair.

There wasn’t any thought behind what he did, no preconceived plan, no long repressed urge that came to the fore, it was just instinct that caused him to sit up and firmly press his lips to his brother’s. Instinct that made him grip Dean’s pale face between his palms and stroke his thumbs over raised cheekbones while his mouth slanted and his head tilted until Dean’s arms surrounded him and pulled him close. Instinct that whimpered low in his throat as he opened his mouth to accept his brother’s tongue.

That was the precise moment that Sam’s everything had changed. That was the moment his thoughts drifted to again and again--replaying it on an endless loop of fevered wonder and frightened guilt.

Laying in the chilled breeze of his brother's construction, Sam shifts to his side to look at the empty bed on the other side of the room. Outside the crickets sing in counterpoint to the whisper of the leaves and he wonders how much longer things are going to go on like this. How much longer they CAN go on like this.

Table here: Less Talk, More Action

Comments

[ewlyn.livejournal.com]

Please just admit now that you and DT are trying to destroy me by forcing me to let out so much fangirl squee that I forget to breath properly.

This did me in: and then there was Dean’s voice, harsh and desperate, “Come on Sammy, come on, you little shit, you don’t get to do this, I’m sorry, okay? I’m so damn sorry. Come on Sammy, come on….”

[dancetomato.livejournal.com]

Hah! You have stumbled upon our evol plan...

[ewlyn.livejournal.com]

I KNEW IT!!!!

Sneaky!

[essene.livejournal.com]

Thanks so much! I wasn't really sure where this one was going, so it's good to hear that it all worked out.

[dancetomato.livejournal.com]

You made me lose my breath with this. The desperation in Dean's voice as he tries to get Sam breathing again almost killed me. The desperation of the kiss DID kill me. You are amazing.

[essene.livejournal.com]

Yeah, Dean was pretty desperate. He'll do anything, anything for his Sammy.

THANK YOU!!!

[electricalgwen.livejournal.com]

*whimpers*

Oh Dean. So much guilt...

*pets*

[essene.livejournal.com]

Guilt makes Dean's world go 'round.