When Dean was little, he would crawl into Sam’s crib at night. I’d wake up every morning and he’d be sitting there, stubby arms wrapped around Sam’s body just the way they were on the night Mary died, and I felt sometimes as though, if I had made a sudden noise, he would jump out of the crib and sprint from the room with his brother still clutched to his chest.
This didn’t change much as the boys grew up. I’d roll over to check the clock in the early hours of the morning, and he’d be sitting up, legs crossed, one hand set lightly on Sam’s chest, and his eyes slightly unfocused where they seemed to be directed at Sam’s mouth. He couldn’t sleep when Sam was quiet; he slept like a baby when Sam tossed and turned or snored at night.
Now, it’s the first time I’ve seen them together in over four years, and when we get a single room for the night I don’t even blink, unused to the fact that my boys are grown. Dean, graciously, claimed the couch as Sam and I spread our things over the queens earlier in the evening, and I passed out on my bed before we had much chance for catching up.
It’s three in the morning now, if Red Roof Inn keeps their clocks in check, and I’m suddenly awake. In the blinding darkness, I blink and try to see what’s happening, when my eyes fall on the strip of moonlight that cups Dean’s cheek. He’s not on the pull-out, and has instead pulled a chair up to the top of Sam’s bed. His legs are crossed beneath him, like they always used to be, and one of his hands is resting over Sam’s heart.
It’s cold in my windpipe, and I’m both disgusted by and morbidly curious about what’s going on. It sends chills through me that Dean is still so dependent, so weak, but he’s kept to what I taught him: keep your secrets in the dark. It’s comforting, but my heart still hurts.
Sam snuffles suddenly, long fingers of one hand rising to bat at the weight on his chest, but when they come into contact with Dean’s skin, he seems to calm, and his palm lies flat over Dean’s as he slips into sleep again. Dean closes his eyes, breathes in, and goes back to the pull-out.
[x]
![youoklittlebrother:
When Dean was little, he would crawl into Sam’s crib at night. I’d wake up every morning and he’d be sitting there, stubby arms wrapped around Sam’s body just the way they were on the night Mary died, and I felt sometimes as though, if I had made a sudden noise, he would jump out of the crib and sprint from the room with his brother still clutched to his chest.
This didn’t change much as the boys grew up. I’d roll over to check the clock in the early hours of the morning, and he’d be sitting up, legs crossed, one hand set lightly on Sam’s chest, and his eyes slightly unfocused where they seemed to be directed at Sam’s mouth. He couldn’t sleep when Sam was quiet; he slept like a baby when Sam tossed and turned or snored at night.
Now, it’s the first time I’ve seen them together in over four years, and when we get a single room for the night I don’t even blink, unused to the fact that my boys are grown. Dean, graciously, claimed the couch as Sam and I spread our things over the queens earlier in the evening, and I passed out on my bed before we had much chance for catching up.
It’s three in the morning now, if Red Roof Inn keeps their clocks in check, and I’m suddenly awake. In the blinding darkness, I blink and try to see what’s happening, when my eyes fall on the strip of moonlight that cups Dean’s cheek. He’s not on the pull-out, and has instead pulled a chair up to the top of Sam’s bed. His legs are crossed beneath him, like they always used to be, and one of his hands is resting over Sam’s heart.
It’s cold in my windpipe, and I’m both disgusted by and morbidly curious about what’s going on. It sends chills through me that Dean is still so dependent, so weak, but he’s kept to what I taught him: keep your secrets in the dark. It’s comforting, but my heart still hurts.
Sam snuffles suddenly, long fingers of one hand rising to bat at the weight on his chest, but when they come into contact with Dean’s skin, he seems to calm, and his palm lies flat over Dean’s as he slips into sleep again. Dean closes his eyes, breathes in, and goes back to the pull-out.
[x]](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m086zzXvNc1r55u8ro1_1280.png)
