Supernatural: Inference (Sam/Dean, PG-13)
Inference
Seven towns, seven places to sleep.

Sam/Dean. PG-13. 1158 words.


This was inspired by asemic, who, in a review for Dirty Old Town, described the Sam/Dean relationship as "a sense of need, mostly, the need to be touched and Dean is there to make that happen." This sparked some ideas, and I used this line in the fic. Big thanks to asemic, and to clex_monkie89, for looking it over. :)

03/26/07: Hey! This fic has a commentary to go with it now.

Inference

Virginia

The twentysomething manager with freckles scattered across his cheeks gives them a single room, even though Sam asked for a double. This happens a lot. People behind the desk see two guys and automatically assume.

Sam doesn't mind. He hopes Dean doesn't, either, because he likes Dean's shoulder bumping into his, likes dozing off to Dean's steady breathing—in, out, in, out—against the back of his neck, likes awakening when Dean touches his hip or his arm, whispering the words he's used since forever—

(Jess would say that he's regressing back into his childhood.)

—likes sitting on the thin mattress during the day and pushing his palm into the Dean-shaped indentation, smelling cologne and sweat and maybe blood.

(He tries not to think about what Jess would say.)

"C'mon, Sammy, time to get up."

Sam opens heavy eyes. Dean is lacing up his boots, fingers pushing the cord through eyelets, and he says, "Mornin', princess," before fixing his collar. "Let's get going."


Maryland

No motel will allow them to get a room because of the red and gashes and smell of gunpowder, so Dean drives to an apartment complex and says they're staying at Gwen's place.

Turns out that Gwen is a girl Dean used to fuck every time they were in Maryland. Waitress. Sam vaguely remembers her from some fourteen-year-old memory that streaks across his eyelids when he blinks: blonde hair down to her ass—the smile she gave Dean when he complimented her—Dad scribbling in his journal, leaving a ketchup stain on the top corner of a page—Dean coming home late, smelling like perfume and wearing a grin that didn't leave for the rest of the week—

Gwen doesn't ask about the blood or why they're here; she simply opens the door and says, "Haven't been ‘round here in awhile, Dean," and gets some hydrogen peroxide for the wounds. She microwaves leftover pasta, which Dean nearly inhales, and gives Sam ibuprofen for the headache that won't go away.

Sam ends up sleeping on her couch, while Dean follows Gwen into her bedroom, slipping off his belt.

The next morning, it isn't as awkward as Sam thought it would be.


New Jersey

A middle-aged woman calls them queers and refuses to give them a room, and when Dean tries to insist that they're brothers, she starts barking at him in a garbled snarl and Sam bites his cheeks.

They end up inside the Impala in a Wal-Mart parking lot, stretched out across the back seat ("Gotta keep warm," Dean had muttered when he wriggled in between Sam and the seat, then added, "and safe.") with the windows up and the doors locked.

Sam tries to sleep, but he can't, because it feels like they should be in the truck, Dad in the front seat and the radio playing something obscure. And there's that pounding headache that will probably evolve into one of his visions.

He's almost afraid to go to sleep at this point.

Dean shifts his weight, knocking their knees together, and whispers, "Asleep?"

"No."

"Didn't think so."

It's quiet then, apart from breathing and Dean's fingers tapping against the leather.

"We could always get out and do the ‘Sixty-Nine Things To Do In Wal-Mart.'"

Sam ducks his head and grins against the seat, thinking of shopping cart races.


Connecticut

There's enough money from a paid exorcism that Dean decides they should splurge on a real hotel. Sam wants to save it, because they can't keep doing credit card scams and doing odd jobs to pay for food and weapons and gas, but Dean says, "We've been working nonstop, and I know you're tired, so let's just take a goddamn break, okay?"

They get a single because it's cheaper, but there's still a king-sized bed when they arrive at their room. Dean scoops up the phone and turns on the TV simultaneously, offering a toothy grin when Sam chokes at the quantity of room service that's being ordered.

At night, Dean takes the right side—he's always had the right side—and is asleep within minutes, snoring softly by Sam's ear.

Sam sleeps peacefully.


Massachusetts

Sam can't go to sleep in this icy motel room. It had been a vision that brought them here, but, yet again, they were too late, and Sam thinks of Max all day and doesn't say anything when Dean asks what's wrong.

He's definitely afraid to go to sleep at this point.

There's a sigh from the opposite bed, then Dean is pushing the covers away and he's slipping into the bed beside Sam, nudging Sam's shins with feet cold enough that Sam murmurs, "What are you, a chick?" and Dean smacks him upside the head.

But once the jokes die down, Dean adjusts himself so they're spooning and starts pushing his fingers through Sam's hair, thumb catching on tangled pieces. Sam leans into the touch, eyes shifting in and out of focus, and falls asleep.


New Hampshire

They don't sleep. They've been following a demon for three days now, and there's no time to stop except to fill up the Impala with gas and pick up cheap food from diners and convenience stores. There's rarely any words spoken, except for curses and driving directions, and Sam is numb.

When they finally do kill the demon, Sam crumples to the ground and closes his eyes. His head spins, there's blood splattered across his clothes, and he can't breathe until he realizes that he's been holding his breath.

Boots crunch through the grass, and Dean kneels beside Sam, gently tugging him up. There's a pause—a hesitation—and then Sam falls forward into familiarity, grasping at leather and jeans and skin and Dean.

Dean's hand touches the back of Sam's neck, fingers curling tight, and Sam looks up. His brother is bloody, bruised, and beautiful; Sam kisses him frantically, holding onto Dean's collar, and he's fourteen again, except this time, he isn't alone with sin and his right hand.

When he feels the collar stretch in his hands, Sam breaks the kiss and lets go of the collar, stomach twisting painfully, and all he can thinks is shit fuck dammit Dean shit fuck—

Dean is staring, and Sam drops his eyes. He can hear Dean breathe.

"Sam—"

Sam blurts, "I'm sorry," and feels his cheeks heat up. "Shit—"

Dean lifts his hand and Sam flinches, thinking he's going to get hit, but Dean holds Sam's cheek, thumbing the line of Sam's jaw. Sam swallows. "This is okay, right, Dean?"

Dean nods, bumping their foreheads together, and moves closer.

Sam's head continues to spin, but there's a mouth against his and he's shoving a knee between Dean's thighs, eager to feel something, because Sam's always had a need, the need to be touched, and Dean will always be there to make it happen.


Vermont

They get a single room, and it isn't because of their current finances.


DVD commentary.