Sex
Warnungen für dieses Kapitel: Enthält Erwähnungen von *gasp* hetero-sex. Allerdins nicht mehr als die Serie auch. ;)
“Are you sure this is a good idea?“ Sam asks when Dean throws his leather jacket on. Sam tries to sound nonchalant, but fails. It might be because he’s a tiny little bit freaked out about the possibility of his brother passing out somewhere. In some shady bar. Alone.
“Hell yes. It’s the damn best idea I’ve had all day.”
Dean had been wired and fidgety ever since they had left the hospital this morning, pacing up and down the small motel room like a caged animal. He is restless by nature and not even having the theoretical opportunity to drive somewhere, makes him feel trapped and uneasy Sam can tell.
It’s not as if Sam is making progress with the research or as if Dean’s restless pacing and bitchy mood is helping the matter.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be on your own right now”, Sam says and wishes he hadn’t. That’s exactly the wrong thing to say to his brother.
“Yeah, and why is that?”
“I mean, with you being …” Sam makes a vague gesture with his hand, searching for a word that describes Dean’s current condition. Sick? Cursed? Out of commission?
“Me being what? Sleepy?” Dean huffs, clearly annoyed, and pops up his collar. “Look, for the activities I have in mind I’d need a bed anyway.”
He leers and waggles his eyebrows, looking incredibly stupid and reckless and so young that Sam feels something strong and hot and fierce unfurling in his stomach.
“TMI, dude.” He sighs and throws his hands up exasperatedly, just to stop himself from hugging his stupid brother. “Fine. Do whatever you like, I don’t care.”
It’s a lie and obviously he’s doing a crappy job at not caring, because Dean’s eyes soften unconsciously.
“I’ll be fine, Sammy. Don’t worry. It’s just around the corner. Only a few beers and if I’m lucky a girl with nice pair of…” he makes some explicit gestures in front of his chest. “…eyes”, he ends, smirking.
Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Just, you know, be careful.”
“I’m always careful.”
You never are, not with yourself, is on the tip of Sam’s tongue, but he swallows it down and nods anyway.
“And no pool hustling!” he yells after Dean’s retreating figure. Dean is reckless enough usually, hustling biker gangs and aggressive college jerks. The last thing he needs is to pass out while he’s about to make a lot of people angry at him. Not when Sam is not there to have his back.
Sighing he sits back down in front of his laptop. Research it is.
It’s kind of frustrating how many myths and curses there are on sleep and how little is actually relevant to their case. It’s all about eternal sleep and hundred years of sleeping and deadly nightmares and stuff that’s not helpful at all. Nobody writes about sudden sleep spells anywhere. He even googles “napccident” out of sheer desperation and feels kind of stupid when (needless to say) nothing comes up.
Approximately two hours later, he’s engrossed in an article about old Indian curses that makes the cursed person sleep for a hundred days when his cell starts to ring. The sound is “You shook me all night long” which means it’s Dean, and his heart skips a beat.
“Dean?” he breathes.
“Help me, please!” It’s a woman’s voice. She sounds young and at the edge of hysterics. “I didn’t do anything, I swear! I didn’t …”
Sam is out of his chair already and fumbling for his jacket, feeling his pulse speed up. “Who’s there?”
“My name’s Lizzie. Oh god, I don’t… Are you Sam?”
“Yes! Yes, I’m Sam. I’m Dean’s brother. Okay, Lizzie calm down.” His heart is jackhammering in his chest. “Calm down and tell me what happened! Where is he? Where are you?”
She tells him a street name and a number and his fingers are shaking as he scribbles them down. “He just … he passed out on me.” She’s nearly sobbing now. “We were fooling around and all of the sudden…. And he won’t wake up. I didn’t do anything to him, I swear. One second he was completely fine and the next…he’s not…he’s still breathing, I swear! He just won’t wake up…”
Adrenalin is pumping through his veins and his fingers are slick with sweat as he reaches for the keys, almost stumbling halfway to the door. “Listen to me - I’ll be right there! Stay with him, ‘till I get there! Got that?”
“Y-yes …” she sounds hesitant as if she’s about to bolt any minute now. And even if she obviously can’t do shit to protect Dean, it’s better than the alternative. Sam feels his stomach churn at the thought of his brother being unconscious and defenseless and alone somewhere.
“Stay with him!” he barks, makes it an order. “Keep trying to wake him. Talk to him, I don’t know – and for heaven’s sake” he rubs his forehead, because he should’ve known something like this would happen, “get him dressed if you can. I’ll be there in ten!”
The Impala makes it in five.
The street belongs to an old block, flickering streetlights and broken cars at the sides.
He’s not checking for a trap or traces of sulfur or anything.
Dean would so kick my ass for that. He puts a gun in the back of his pants. Oh please, let Dean be able to kick his ass.
He doesn’t even know why he’s so afraid all of the sudden. Nothing happened. Dean always, always woke up again. He was always fine. He was always just asleep.
Still he rushes up the stairs, taking several steps at a time. It’s the fourth floor and he hammers at the door, trying to catch his breath.
“It’s Sam!” he yells. “Lizzie!”
A young woman yanks the door open, looking anxious. She’s pretty, in that blonde and busty way Dean prefers, but her eyes look red and swollen and her hair and make-up is a mess.
“Where is he?” Sam demands.
“B-bedroom.” She hiccups a little. “I did read about people having heart attacks during sex, but I never thought… He is so young and…”
He dashes off without hearing her out.
Dean lays on his stomach, loose limbed and silent, one hand dangling over the edge of the bed. He’s naked except his black boxer shorts and a blanket thrown hastily over his lower body.
Sam crouches down next to him, reaching for his neck, counting seconds in his head and murmuring ‘please, please, please’ under his breath.
Dean’s face is slack and peaceful, pressed into the pillow, and he looks merely sleeping.
He is merely sleeping, Sam determines after feeling the faint but steady flutter of his pulse. Sam releases a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding and feels his shoulders sagging. Thank God, he thinks.
“Is he…is he going to be okay?” Lizzie asks from the door, her voice quavering. “Shouldn’t we call a doctor?”
“He’ll be fine”, Sam answers without looking up.
“What is it? Is it some kind of disease?”
He almost laughs at that, because no, Dean isn’t sick, he’s friggin’ ‘Sleeping Beauty’ and Sam obviously isn’t the damn prince, because he can’t do jackshit to wake him up.
He stares at his brother, who never sleeps next to strangers, who never even rests without making sure there’s someone there to have his back. Even with Sam or Dad in the same room Dean was always alert, was always on guard and ready to be awake at the slightest sound.
It makes his stomach clench to see Dean like that. Unguarded, unprotected. Fragile, somehow. Needing Sam to be there, to look out for him. To protect him.
And maybe that’s the reason why this whole thing freaks him out so much. It’s so … not Dean.
“It’s okay”, Sam says, his voice sounding hoarse. “I’ll take care of him. He’s going to be fine.”
“All right.” He can feel her hesitating in the doorway.
“Really, he’s fine”, he says, turning away from Dean and for the first time he really looks at her, notices her as a person and not just an obstacle on his way to his big brother.
“Thank you for calling me”, he adds, feeling genuinely grateful that she did. A sudden thought occurs to him and he asks: “How did you know to call me anyway?”
“He put his cell on the nightstand.”
She smiles a little and wipes her puffy, red eyes. She looks really upset about the whole thing and Sam starts to feel a little bit bad about yelling at her. It wasn’t her fault to begin with. And she seems to be genuinely worried about Dean.
“He told me…he said if something happened, I should call ‘Sam’. I just assumed…oh, I don’t know what I thought. I should’ve asked what he meant, but we were really…occupied at the time.” She blushes.
“Oh okay. I get it.” Sam blushes, too. He can’t really help it. At the same time he feels a rush of warm affection as he watches Dean’s back rise and fall.
He hears Lizzie’s soft footsteps as she leaves and gives them some privacy, for which he is eternally grateful. This is going to be embarrassing enough as it is, without her being there.
“Dean.” Carefully he lays his hand on Deans back. “Dean, wake up, man.”
The skin under his fingers feels warm and soft and alive. For a second nothing happens and he starts to get nervous. What if Lizzie was right? She couldn’t wake him up either. What if this time is the time when Dean won’t wake up again? What if…
“Dean!” he says louder, more forcefully, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.
Dean makes a soft, sleepy noise and blinks confusedly.
“…Sam?” he murmurs.
“Yeah, it’s me.” Sweet relief is surging through his veins. “I’ve got you. It’s fine”, he adds soothingly, because Dean startles all of the sudden.
“I…what…?” He blinks and slowly he looks down at himself. “Dude”, he says. “What happened? Why am I naked?”
“You’re wearing boxers?” Sam supplies helpfully, feeling giddy and all kinds of grateful all of a sudden.
Dean looks around startled. Then he sniffs tentatively and promptly makes a face. “It smells like sex in here and I’m naked with you in bed. That’s so wrong on so many levels!”
Sam can’t help it, he laughs. He pats Dean’s back. “Don’t worry, I promise I’ll still respect you in the morning.”
“Sam! Don’t even joke about it …! Dude, gross.” He groans and buries his face in his hands. “It was a napccident, right?” he finally asks, sounding mutedly.
Sam nods, instantly sobering up. “Looks like it.”
“Oh, fucking great. Awesome. Nothing new then.”
Sam feels his heart clench a little at his brother’s miserable voice. “Seriously, though”, he asks. “Are you all right, dude? Not feeling weird? Dizzy? Sick?”
Dean shakes his head and starts to get up. He stops mid-motion, squints and seems to think for a moment.
“Wait a minute. There was a girl…” he finally says, sounding embarrassed and worried and confused all at the same time. “Uhm…Lizzie? Is she…? Is she all right? Did she…? Did I…?” he makes a vague gesture with his hand.
“Lizzie. Yes, she’s fine. She’s good. She called me”, Sam assures him. “And yes, I’m afraid to say it, but I think you might have missed the… climax of your acquaintance.”
“Oh God…” Groaning Dean buries his head in the pillow. “No way. Kill me, Sam, kill me now!”
Nachwort: So, jetzt brauche ich erstmal ne kleine Pause um meine Wichtel-FF zu schreiben. Danach widme ich mich aber auch wieder dieser FF. =)
