#dean really just doesn't wanna fuck sammy while he's possessed by an angel

[touchstarvedsam]

Dean’s hiding something from him.

His touches have been scarce, rare. He doesn’t casually touch Sam’s chest when he walks past him sitting down in the library anymore, doesn’t pat him gently on the hair to smooth his bedhead. He’s been distant, no less concerned than he normally is, but distant. He pulls away when Sam moves to lay a head on his shoulder, when Sam reaches for affection.

Sam’s losing him.

He’s been losing him since Dean came back from Purgatory.

Sam doesn’t know what to do.

“You’re hurting, Sam,” Dean would say. “You’re still healing. We can’t do that anymore.” Sam just hangs his head and lets the that doesn’t mean you can’t touch me hang in the air.

Dean just doesn’t want him anymore.

He lies in bed longer now, not having a real reason to want to get up and go out into the library or the war room. He doesn’t even want to go on runs around the grounds. The bunker is still so shiny and new, and Sam still has so much cataloging to do, but he’s not motivated. He has so many areas he can explore, see what interesting things he can find, but he just wants his brother to look at him. Dean can barely look at him anymore.

He’s hurt, but not in the physical way Dean thinks. Dean is hurting him.

“Sam,” Dean calls from outside his bedroom door. It’s almost two in the afternoon and Sam’s still in bed, in pajamas, Netflix on his TV with the “Are you still there?” glaring at him in the dark of his room. He hasn’t been motivated to click ‘yes’ because he doesn’t even think he’s here anymore. Soon, his TV will shut off from inactivity and he’ll be cascaded in darkness.

He doesn’t care.

“Sammy,” Dean tries again, then the sound of the door handle jiggling. It’s locked, he can’t get in. “Sam, if you don’t open this door I’m gonna kick it down and you’ll have no privacy!”

Begrudgingly, Sam rolls out of bed, plaid pajama bottoms hanging low on his hips, hair a mussed up mess, shirt baggy and wrinkled from hours under the covers. He knows he looks a mess. Opens the door to an angry older brother with a tray of food in his hand. Glass of iced tea and a plate of penne pasta with what smells like garlic sauce, garnished with tiny broccoli florets and parmesan cheese. Sam eyes the plate and then his brother curiously.

Dean clears his throat. “Look, man,” he says awkwardly, still not meeting Sam’s eyes. “You haven’t been out to eat and you need to eat to get better, okay? So just--” he gestures with the tray, “Eat.”

“Thanks, Dean.”

Dean gives him a barely there soft smile when Sam takes the tray and goes to close himself back into his room. When Dean goes to bed he’ll sneak the tray back out into the kitchen and wash it, then sneak back to his room. It’s a good plan.

Dean’s palm on his door keeps it open and Sam braces himself for an argument that he thought would come after he was done eating.

“Are you okay, Sam?”

“What? I’m fine.”

“No, I mean, are you okay?”

Sam’s eyes flash the telltale blue that means Ezekiel is taking over, Sam’s posture which had been slack straightens out and Dean rolls his shoulders, ready.

“Sam is doing better, Dean,” Ezekiel says, monotone as ever. “He is healing nicely inside, but hurting elsewhere. And that is something I cannot heal.”

Dean’s heart sinks. “You’ve gotta be kidding me, you didn’t tell me there was anything else wrong with him, man!” He steps closer to his little brother, wanting to reach out but knowing it would be weird with Zeke inside him. “What’s wrong with my little brother? Is he gonna be okay?”

“It is not a physical ache. Mental, psychological. Emotional. He is hurting in here, Dean,” he says gently, pressing Sam’s right palm to his chest. “And you are the only one that can heal him, I am afraid.”

“What does that mean?”

“I can feel everything that he goes through, I can see all his memories, feel what he is yearning. And he yearns for you.” Sam’s face shows no emotion while Ezekiel has the wheel and it hurts Dean more than he thought it would. “He is burning for your affection, Dean. He feels as if you do not want him anymore. It has slowed the rest of the healing process.

“He hungers yet he does not want to eat. He lacks the desire to get out of bed. You have ceased to touch him and it is tearing him apart.”

Dean takes a step back, shocked. “I don’t- I can’t, Zeke. I can’t touch him, not while you’re- and while I--”

“When I give Sam back control, I sink deep into his mind where I cannot see the surface. His moments with you are with you and him alone, I am not a part of that. I come only when you call, and only when I sense distress.”

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, says, “But I don’t deserve him. I’ve been lying to him, I let him be possessed... How can I deserve to touch him when what I’m doing is causing him damage?”

“You saved his life, Dean,” Zeke says, conviction in his voice. “Your brother would not be here right now had you not made the hard decision you made.” He takes a small step towards Dean. “In the eyes of Heaven, you two are soulmates. He needs you.”

Dean gets no warning before his brother’s beautiful hazel eyes flash blue again and Sam’s posture changes. He looks confused for a moment before saying, “I told you I’m fine, Dean.”

“Sammy...”

“Look--”

“Mind if I come in, kiddo? Spend a little time with you?”

Sam’s taken aback but he smiles softly nonetheless, the tension in his eyebrows lifting imperceptibly as he steps aside. “I’d like that.” And if Dean chooses to sit on the bed with Sam, shoulder to shoulder, as Sam eats his lunch, no one but the two of them has to know about it. Eventually he’ll talk to Sam about why he’s been the way he is, but for now he has a lot of lost time to make up for. He has to show his brother all the ways he’s important to him, and if that means breaking the no chick flick rule, well... no one has to know.