Page 15

Neither moved as Dean slowly brought himself back to the world of the waking. Along with their close friendship came a closeness on a physical level that Sloane had never questioned. A few people had seen the ease of the contact between the two men and questioned it, but Sloane had always shrugged it off.

It didn’t make a difference to Sloane that Dean was gay. For him, having someone he could feel comfortable enough with just simply touching was nice. His family had always been extremely affectionate growing up, and while Sloane was considered reserved by their standards, he still missed human contact. With Dean, that sort of contact came easily, and neither of them made a fuss over it.

Dean grunted, pushing himself up into a sitting position and stretched. Sloane watched him, noting that he looked more rested than before. He suspected it would take more than an hour’s nap to get Dean back to full force, but he also knew there was no point in mentioning it. As warm and happy as Dean was, the man could be pretty cranky if he thought someone was trying to mother him, never realizing the irony.

“There any chips left?” Dean asked, standing up.

“Half a bag,” Sloane said.

“More than enough.”

When Dean returned, he plopped himself back on the couch, lying on his side again. This time, he didn’t lay his head in Sloane’s lap, but he did curl up against him, open bag of chips in hand as he munched away happily.

“You look like a raccoon,” Sloane observed.

Dean looked up, pausing with the chips between his fingers and halfway to his mouth. “What?”

Sloane snorted, shaking his head. “Continue foraging.”

Dean frowned, popping the chips into his mouth. “Jerk.”

Sloane flopped an arm over him. “Yeah, and you’re stuck with me.”

DEAN

Groaning, Dean fumbled for the buzzing phone he’d set on the table the night before. He’d slept on Sloane’s couch enough times that he could find the insistent device with one swipe of his hand and bring it to his face. With an annoyed huff, he turned the alarm off, wishing he could get a few more winks in before he had to get up.

Still grumbling, he heaved himself off the couch before he convinced himself he could rest his eyes a bit more. No matter how much the military had drilled a sense of urgency and alertness into him in the field, he’d never entirely managed to hold to it in his daily life. The ‘one more minute’ game was one he never won, and Dean knew better than to risk it again.

Stumbling into the kitchen, he went directly to the coffee maker. Flipping the top, he smiled as his eyes rested on the coffee grounds. Only a deeply ingrained habit had driven him to open the appliance in the first place. Sloane had prepared the coffee maker, as he always did, whether Dean was staying with him or Sloane was staying with Dean. The only reason the man hadn’t set it to pre-brew was Sloane hadn’t known when Dean would wake up.

Still smiling, Dean pressed the brew button and let it gurgle away as he went to the fridge. Sometimes, it was easy to forget how well Sloane knew him. Down to the finest detail, Sloane could predict him. He even placed Dean’s favored brand of bottled water at the front, among the ones Sloane typically bought for himself.

His smile turned down a little as he snagged the bottle, cracking it open. It was easy to forget, yet it was the hardest thing for Dean to acknowledge. To see it was to witness just how easily the two of them clicked and how well they could mesh. Change just one little thing, and maybe the two of them?—

Dean shook his head, tipping the bottle and downing the ice-cold contents. Sloane might prefer his water a little warmer than freezing when he woke up, but Dean had always been fond of ice-cold water in the morning. Along with the dose of caffeine, it went a long way toward making him feel human.

Sadly, the water wasn’t enough, and Dean always hated waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. Before he could grow too annoyed, however, a blinking light caught his eye. Dean turned toward it, realizing Sloane had left his phone plugged in on the kitchen counter. Sloane never needed an alarm to get up, something Dean considered inhuman.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he tapped a button on the phone, bringing the screen to life. Sloane had never bothered to put a password on his phone, betting that there wouldn’t be many people willing to get close enough to take his phone, and so far, he’d been right. The messages from Sloane’s sisters and two from his mother were sitting on the screen, though Dean only read the names before turning the screen off again.

Dean supposed it would be all too easy to be jealous of the family Sloane had. The four of them were incredibly close, and for all his bitching about having to text his sisters daily, Sloane did it without hesitation. Dean couldn’t even remember the lasttime his parents bothered to check on him, and then again, he hadn’t attempted to reach out to them either.

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he mused on the strangeness of his childhood. His parents hadn’t abused him, and they made sure all his needs were met, and if he wanted something, so long as it was within reason, he was given it. Where Sloane’s mother had struggled to feed and clothe her three children, Dean’s own and his father had given Dean anything he’d ever wanted.

Yet, there was always something missing. A rift Dean could never explain, and the few times he’d tried to cross the divide, it had been like attempting to mount an expedition through the snowy tundra. Too many unknown landmarks, and the land, while not overtly hostile, offered no comfort. Dean learned a long time ago that his parents simply...were.

“How long you been at that pot?”

Dean stiffened, whirling around with his coffee cup clenched in his grip. Mid-spin, his mind registered the familiar rumble of Sloane’s voice, but he didn’t recover enough to save the coffee from sloshing all over the floor. Dean hissed, dancing back as the hot coffee splashed his bare feet.

“Shit. Sorry,” Dean muttered.

Sloane blinked slowly, eyes on Dean’s face. “You okay?”

Dean shook his scalded foot. “I’m fine, just a little hot coffee, I’ll live.”

Sloane continued to stare, and Dean realized Sloane hadn’t been asking about the coffee. Dean’s fingers renewed their tight grip, knuckles turning white before he forced himself to relax. With difficulty, he turned his gaze away from Sloane’s, not wanting his friend to see something in his eyes. Bad enough that his reaction to such a benign surprise had been too sharp and quick, Dean didn’t want to face his haunted memories.