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[personal profile] elohvee
broken up and dances.
Supernatural. Sam/Dean, R. Post-pilot ficlet. Warnings for incest and angst. 300 words. Title from Jim Morrison.


For a few months, Sam drives faster than Dean does. He's angry at the road, at the car, at the sun in his eyes and the rain on the windshield. They spar in empty fields or parks, once a playground at midnight. Sometimes, squinting up at Sam from where he's lying in the dirt, Dean's not entirely sure it's just practice.

Less than a week after they leave Palo Alto, Sam crawls into Dean's bed, pinning him to the mattress. He opens his mouth to Dean's throat and bites down on his brother's shoulder, and he doesn't use nearly enough lube. He moves in Dean, over Dean, jerks his brother off too hard and too fast, and it's not like it used to be.

They used to fit together smooth and clean, like gears turning or puzzle pieces fitting into place. Maybe they've both just gotten harder, rougher. They clash and jar and come out of it with bruised skin and aching bones, but calmer. Sated. It's something, at least.

Sam doesn't ask for permission, not like he used to, stopping at every movement to ask, is this okay? And this? while Dean twisted and groaned under him: begging, wanting. But Dean doesn't say anything, not even when Sam drops his forehead to between his brother's shoulders and cries, digging his nails into Dean's arm only to hurt and hang on.

He kisses Sam's forehead when they're done, and he stays in his own bed when Sam moves away. It'll just take time, he thinks. The grief will pass, fade, and then he'll have Sammy back the way he was before. Before all this. The ache will dull, and when that happens, they'll fit again. The road will smooth out, and they'll slide into place along it.

Somehow. Someday. Soon.
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