I really need an Alec icon...
So that Sam/Alec thing I'm writing, here's more (still unbeta'd):
part I
You traded stories, but never the whole picture. Alec kept his secrets close to his chest, just like Dean did, and you couldn’t begrudge him of it. At first he didn’t believe you, making noises and faces at your tales of ghost-hunting, corpse-burning, demon-exorcising adventures. But eventually, when the nostalgic, smiling clamor in your voice settled into a dull, low hum, when you were getting close to the end, he kept quiet and his face became somber. You couldn’t say it – Dean was dead, and you couldn’t say it to Alec’s face because it was like saying it to Dean, and you couldn’t do that.
Alec knew the ending, even though you didn’t tell it. He was good at reading people, he’d said as much, and he could read the lines of your slumped shoulders and quaking lips. He reached over and his hand hovered near your arm. He didn’t touch you after all, and you wanted so badly to collapse into him just then, to feel him solid against you, to have someone else hold you up, just for a while.
“You make my life sound easy,” Alec said, but he was smiling. Your chest hurt because everything about it reminded you of Dean.
“I think I should go.” You pushed up from the floor and stood with wobbly knees. It was well past midnight. You didn’t think you could take anymore of this, looking at him and seeing Dean and hearing Dean when he spoke. It was like getting stabbed in the gut, or slowly carving out your own heart.
Alec shot up just as quick and reached out a hand, holding you by the elbow as you swayed. “Whoa, okay. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“No, really, I should –”
It was hard to persuade Alec otherwise, and in that regard he was like Dean as well. There were so many similarities you were starting to lose track.
“Here,” he said and guided you to a ratty yellow sofa against the far wall. He pushed you down and you sunk into such thin cushions you could feel the outlines of the coiled springs underneath. “Long day, you should just relax a bit. Crash here if you like.” He opened his hands, palms up, and waited for you to say yes.
You did, but only because it took more effort to get up than you could manage. The streets weren’t safe at night, Alec pointed out, and it didn’t take long before you were dozing off, slumped against the arm of the sofa with your head tipped back and your neck, for the first time in a long while, bared.
You found out Alec liked eating dry cereal and flicking it into unsuspecting, open mouths while you were sleeping. When you almost choked, he offered you a giant cup of coffee and the whole box of honeyed O’s. You wound up sitting there on the couch with Alec next to you, your knees bumping as he talked. You passed the cereal back and forth and it was almost nice.
“So Sam, whaddya say we go down to the market and see if we can lift a couple of steaks? I’m starving.”
“Steaks?” You didn’t know beef was so readily available here.
Alec looked over at you and cracked a smile. “Good fucking beef, you just gotta know where to look.”
You brought the steaks back to Alec’s apartment, all the way up ten floors which you were still getting used to, and still feeling exerted afterwards, and from somewhere Alec had procured a bottle of red wine, the bottle so dusty his fingerprints imprinted all over the dark glass.
“Special occasion,” he said by way of explanation and wagged his eyebrows. You could feel the laughter bubbling up inside, but only a smile made it to the surface. Alec looked miffed by the lackluster response, but he plopped two plastic cups down and poured in each a generous amount. Then he clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Dig in.”
You hadn’t had steak in years. It was good, a nice band of pink in the middle, tender and juicy enough that it melted on your tongue. Alec made lewd noises as he chewed and you couldn’t help it, you dropped your fork and your knife went clattering onto the table, it reminded you so much of Dean, the way he’d blissfully enjoyed a good meal. Even if it hadn’t been good – like the time you cooked a casserole and you’d screwed it up, of all things you thought you’d be safe from screwing up – and Dean had made those noises and silly faces and rolled his eyes as he forced slimy forkful after forkful into his mouth. You couldn’t help it. You remembered and it hurt, and Alec wasn’t Dean but you wanted him to be, so badly.
You downed your wine in one swallow, slamming the cup down too hard against the table and crumpling a little in your hand. Alec reached over and touched your wrist. His face was etched with worry.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
You shook your head and counted seconds. You weren’t going to lose it, not now.
“It’s me.” Alec said. His face was unreadable. He waited for you to say something or argue it, but you didn’t. “I look like Dean,” he said and his eyes fell to the half-eaten steak before him. “I’m really fucking sorry, Sam.”
He didn’t have anything to be sorry about. You were the one with the memories, and just because Dean haunted you every step of the way, and you took it like punishment, you took it willingly, Alec was just a genetically engineered superhuman who happened to be Dean’s twin. You had followed him home.
So you sucked it up, blinking back the wetness in your eyes. You knew for certain you found him for a reason. And you told Alec as much, turning over your hand and grabbing his, holding on tight for one brief second, and you were sure he gave you an odd look as you let go.
You picked up your fork and your knife and ate the best damn steak you’d ever had. For Dean, and for yourself, because you’ve been hungry for so long.
part III
part I
You traded stories, but never the whole picture. Alec kept his secrets close to his chest, just like Dean did, and you couldn’t begrudge him of it. At first he didn’t believe you, making noises and faces at your tales of ghost-hunting, corpse-burning, demon-exorcising adventures. But eventually, when the nostalgic, smiling clamor in your voice settled into a dull, low hum, when you were getting close to the end, he kept quiet and his face became somber. You couldn’t say it – Dean was dead, and you couldn’t say it to Alec’s face because it was like saying it to Dean, and you couldn’t do that.
Alec knew the ending, even though you didn’t tell it. He was good at reading people, he’d said as much, and he could read the lines of your slumped shoulders and quaking lips. He reached over and his hand hovered near your arm. He didn’t touch you after all, and you wanted so badly to collapse into him just then, to feel him solid against you, to have someone else hold you up, just for a while.
“You make my life sound easy,” Alec said, but he was smiling. Your chest hurt because everything about it reminded you of Dean.
“I think I should go.” You pushed up from the floor and stood with wobbly knees. It was well past midnight. You didn’t think you could take anymore of this, looking at him and seeing Dean and hearing Dean when he spoke. It was like getting stabbed in the gut, or slowly carving out your own heart.
Alec shot up just as quick and reached out a hand, holding you by the elbow as you swayed. “Whoa, okay. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“No, really, I should –”
It was hard to persuade Alec otherwise, and in that regard he was like Dean as well. There were so many similarities you were starting to lose track.
“Here,” he said and guided you to a ratty yellow sofa against the far wall. He pushed you down and you sunk into such thin cushions you could feel the outlines of the coiled springs underneath. “Long day, you should just relax a bit. Crash here if you like.” He opened his hands, palms up, and waited for you to say yes.
You did, but only because it took more effort to get up than you could manage. The streets weren’t safe at night, Alec pointed out, and it didn’t take long before you were dozing off, slumped against the arm of the sofa with your head tipped back and your neck, for the first time in a long while, bared.
You found out Alec liked eating dry cereal and flicking it into unsuspecting, open mouths while you were sleeping. When you almost choked, he offered you a giant cup of coffee and the whole box of honeyed O’s. You wound up sitting there on the couch with Alec next to you, your knees bumping as he talked. You passed the cereal back and forth and it was almost nice.
“So Sam, whaddya say we go down to the market and see if we can lift a couple of steaks? I’m starving.”
“Steaks?” You didn’t know beef was so readily available here.
Alec looked over at you and cracked a smile. “Good fucking beef, you just gotta know where to look.”
You brought the steaks back to Alec’s apartment, all the way up ten floors which you were still getting used to, and still feeling exerted afterwards, and from somewhere Alec had procured a bottle of red wine, the bottle so dusty his fingerprints imprinted all over the dark glass.
“Special occasion,” he said by way of explanation and wagged his eyebrows. You could feel the laughter bubbling up inside, but only a smile made it to the surface. Alec looked miffed by the lackluster response, but he plopped two plastic cups down and poured in each a generous amount. Then he clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Dig in.”
You hadn’t had steak in years. It was good, a nice band of pink in the middle, tender and juicy enough that it melted on your tongue. Alec made lewd noises as he chewed and you couldn’t help it, you dropped your fork and your knife went clattering onto the table, it reminded you so much of Dean, the way he’d blissfully enjoyed a good meal. Even if it hadn’t been good – like the time you cooked a casserole and you’d screwed it up, of all things you thought you’d be safe from screwing up – and Dean had made those noises and silly faces and rolled his eyes as he forced slimy forkful after forkful into his mouth. You couldn’t help it. You remembered and it hurt, and Alec wasn’t Dean but you wanted him to be, so badly.
You downed your wine in one swallow, slamming the cup down too hard against the table and crumpling a little in your hand. Alec reached over and touched your wrist. His face was etched with worry.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
You shook your head and counted seconds. You weren’t going to lose it, not now.
“It’s me.” Alec said. His face was unreadable. He waited for you to say something or argue it, but you didn’t. “I look like Dean,” he said and his eyes fell to the half-eaten steak before him. “I’m really fucking sorry, Sam.”
He didn’t have anything to be sorry about. You were the one with the memories, and just because Dean haunted you every step of the way, and you took it like punishment, you took it willingly, Alec was just a genetically engineered superhuman who happened to be Dean’s twin. You had followed him home.
So you sucked it up, blinking back the wetness in your eyes. You knew for certain you found him for a reason. And you told Alec as much, turning over your hand and grabbing his, holding on tight for one brief second, and you were sure he gave you an odd look as you let go.
You picked up your fork and your knife and ate the best damn steak you’d ever had. For Dean, and for yourself, because you’ve been hungry for so long.
part III