Title: Honestly OK
By: geekwriter143
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Warning: incest
Summary: "Night Shifter" post-ep, Dean's sorry for what he's gotten Sam into.


Sam steps soundlessly from the grass to the cracked cement surrounding the motel pool. The pool itself is half-drained and full of mud and leaves. Dean's sitting on the edge of the deep end, in the shadows away from the sulfur-yellow streetlights. He tenses just before Sam sits next to him.

"You're a stealthy bastard," Dean says.

"I was trained by the best."

Dean nods, looks down at the cigarette in his hand. "I, uh..."

"It's not like it was ever really a secret, Dean," Sam tells him. "I've been pretending not to know you smoke for ten years."

"Yeah," says Dean with an exhausted sigh. "I quit once. Tried that gum. It's not the same." He takes a deep drag, exhales a long stream of smoke over his shoulder. "Think cancer'll get me before the Feds do?"

Sam takes the cigarette from him, takes a drag.

"Sammy," Dean says, honestly shocked. "Come on. These things'll kill you."

Sam laughs and hands the cigarette back to Dean. He'd never really smoked, just sometimes when he drank. He gave it up completely when he met Jess, who'd hated even the smell of it. "I was thinking maybe we should lay low for a while."

Dean shrugs and ashes the cigarette into the pool.

"We don't have any hot leads right now. Maybe we can find a cabin somewhere, spend a few months off the grid." He knows it won't happen, but he has to suggest it anyway.

"Maybe," Dean says. He means no, but Sam doesn't argue with him. He takes one final drag, tosses the cigarette into the muddy water. "Fuck, Sam, I'm so sorry."

"Not your fault the FBI has no clue what's really out there."

"You can't go back to Stanford. I never meant to fuck you like that."

"You didn't."

"If I'd just...I don't know. I should have been more careful. I should have known somebody was keeping tabs on me, should have known they'd connect you to me."

"I wasn't ever going to go back to Stanford, Dean."

Dean sighs.

Sam reaches out, touches Dean's face. "Look at me."

Dean looks at him. His eyes are blank, weary.

"I wasn't ever going back. Even if my record was clean and the FBI didn't have me on their list, I wasn't going back."

"You deserve a life."

Sam kisses him gently, strokes Dean's cheekbone with his thumb. "I've got a life," he whispers against Dean's mouth.

It's Dean's turn to laugh, hollow and unamused. "Not much of one."

"I've got what I need."

"I'm so tired," Dean whispers. He rests his forehead against Sam's.

"I know you are." He knows Dean just doesn't mean the 36 hours of straight driving Dean had insisted on until he'd even think about stopping. He'd obviously wanted to get as far away from Wisconsin as possible.

"We could just go," Dean tells him. "Fucking Canada, Mexico, anywhere. We could just leave, never come back."

"Drink margaritas on the beach," Sam says, rubbing his hands up and down Dean's arms. "Hustle tourists at pool and poker."

"Get jobs, even," Dean says. He slides his arms around Sam's waist, presses his face against Sam's neck. "You've worked regular jobs, right? They're not that bad, are they?"

Sam shakes his head. "No, not that bad. We could work at some resort in Cancún--bartending, maybe." Sam worked as a bartender in Palo Alto. He's never mentioned it to Dean, but he knows Dean knows. He'd always known when Dean was just out of sight, watching him, making sure he was all right.

It's just a dream Sam knows Dean won't ever really believe in, but he strokes Dean's back and lays his cheek against the top of Dean's head and just holds him until the chill in the air makes them both start to shiver.

"Come on," Sam says, pulling back. He stands, then offers Dean his hand. "Let's get to bed."

Dean lets Sam help him up, proof of how tired he truly is. He lets Sam lead him back to the room, undress him, tuck him into bed. He doesn't even object when Sam pulls him close and rubs his back in small circles, even though it's suspiciously close to cuddling.

In the morning he'll head to the library and start searching through newspapers for leads, but as he closes his eyes, he simply imagines white sand beaches and turquoise waters, the sun warm on his skin and Sam by his side.