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Dean checked the address one more time, then shook his head and pulled into the right side of a shared duplex driveway. A mid-90's model minivan took up the other half. There was a plastic garden playset thing in the left front yard too, but the windows on that part of the house were dark, and there was no one around.
He tried to shut the driver's door quietly, but Sam was awake by the time Dean opened his door, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. Sam swung his right foot onto the ground easily enough and then grabbed Dean's arm hard as he got the rest of the way out. Dean kept a hand on him until he got his cane firmly planted on the ground and let go of Dean, holding himself up. Dean clapped him twice on the shoulder and went to get their things out of the trunk. He swung both duffels over his shoulders and passed Sam on the way to the door. He was on the stoop, trying to find the new key on his ring, when Sam caught back up with him.
"The ad leaves something to be desired in the not-lying-out-your-ass department," Dean said. He unlocked the door, then glanced behind himself at the residential neighborhood. Duplexes stretched down both directions of the street. He could hear the ocean but he certainly couldn't see it. "This is the shittiest beach view ever."
"I think it actually said beach access," Sam said, following him inside. Dean found and flipped a light switch and they checked out the living room before going further inside. There was a mismatched sofa and love seat opposite an entertainment center with a small, bulky TV. Beyond that was a dining table surrounded by four chairs, and then the kitchen. Dean was willing to bet the bathroom was nautical-themed, but otherwise the house looked interchangeable with any furnished place they'd ever rented.
Dean left their bags in the bedrooms (two, and at least that was as advertised) and checked that the water worked in the bathroom (covered in seashells). When he came back through the front of the house, meaning to get their groceries (a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, some store-brand Gatorade, a case of ramen, and a twelve-pack of beer), he found Sam standing beside the couch. He was staring down at it with his head cocked, and Dean shook his head.
"Sit," he said. "It's beat up, but it'll probably hold you."
Sam shook his head. "I dunno if I want to wake up enough to sit." Even though they'd only turned on the one light switch, Sam's eyes were still mostly closed. "I don't want to have to wake up and move again."
"Dumb-ass," Dean said. It came out sort of light and affectionate, and he rolled his eyes at himself while he crossed the room. His instinct was to grab Sam by the scruff of the neck and pull him, push him, whatever, towards the bedrooms. But he couldn't do that until Sam was healed up better: a few more weeks at the very least. Instead, he put his thumb on one side of Sam's chin and two fingers on the other, using his grip to angle Sam's face up and away from the couch. Sam raised both eyebrows at Dean when their gazes passed but he looked down the hallway when Dean pointed him there.
"If you're that wiped, get in bed," Dean said. He let go of Sam and stepped around him. "I'll be there in a while."
He headed outside without looking back. The place had about as much beach access as Bobby's house did, unless you counted a fine layer of sand underfoot at all times. (Dean did not.) The air was warm and moist, though; it smelled salty, like Dean's room had once when he was sick enough that Mom set up a humidifier by his bed. Sam at least had the good luck to get hurt by the coast, so Dean had bundled him into the car after he'd been released from the PT rehab facility and drove him away. If they had to stay in one place for a while, might as well do it beachside.
Down the block, a couple of kids played basketball with a hoop hanging down over a driveway. Two women walked a chihuahua on the far side of the street, and somewhere, someone was barbecuing. The sound of the water, just a few blocks away, rushed along under everything else. Dean grabbed their groceries out of the trunk, glanced in the windows to double-check they hadn't left any weapons in plain sight, and went back inside.
Sam was brushing his teeth when Dean turned off the lights in the rest of the house. His eyes were closed and he was leaning against the wall while he did it, but he'd also dug his toothbrush and the toothpaste out of his bag by himself.
Between the two of them they got Sam out of his clothes, and checked on his bandages (fine for the night), and laid him out across the bed. Dean listened to Sam mess with his phone while he stripped out of his jeans and tee shirt, and then while he handled his own business in the bathroom. Their aliases this time around had been brothers, and that's how they'd acted the whole time Sam was in the hospital. Dean wasn't sure which room he should walk into when he turned out the bathroom light, if he should share the queen bed with Sam or if he should make for one of the bunk beds down the hall.
He hesitated with his hand on the switch until Sam finally called, "Dude, c'mon, what's taking you?" He shut the light right off after that, mostly to make sure Sam couldn't see him grinning.
Sam took up the entire mattress, above the sheets. It was the slow month between spring break and the start of the summer season, and they didn't need to either turn on the A/C or bother with pulling up the covers. Dean cracked the window above the bed, letting in the breeze and the sound of the waves. He put his knife under his pillow and then poked Sam in the side. He moved over grudgingly, making the least possible amount of room for Dean to fit next to him.
"Scoot, man." Dean nudged Sam's shoulder with his own. Sam grumbled but moved further. Dean followed until he had enough room to lie flat on his back, then rolled onto his side to face Sam.
He hadn't closed the blinds and enough light filtered in that he could see Sam's eyes were closed. He was awake though, if only just barely; he wasn't breathing deeply enough to be all the way out yet. Dean slid one hand over Sam's arm and across his chest, moving slowly over skin he hadn't touched for weeks without having a hospital gown in the way. Sam's breathing stuttered further. He opened his eyes and turned his face to Dean's, leaning towards him as much as he could without moving his leg.
"Hey there," Sam said. He blinked, long enough that it might actually be considered closing his eyes again, but then looked back at Dean and smiled wide enough to dimple his cheeks. "I missed having you here."
"What're you talking about, man," Dean said, not raising his voice enough to really make it a question. "I was with you the whole time."
"But not like —" Sam paused and then gave up on the words. He clapped his hand on top of Dean's instead, pressing their fingers against his heartbeat. "You weren't right here."
"You took your next pill already, didn't you?" Dean asked.
Sam just grinned, the loose easy smile Dean hadn't seen in a while, and Dean leaned in press his own mouth against it. They'd kissed some in the hospital, but there had been nurses and techs in and out of the room all the time at first, those first days when Dean had really needed to breathe in Sam's breath just to make sure it was still coming. The staff left them alone more as Sam started to improve, but by then Dean was used to sneaking kisses when he could, and to ignoring the pull of Sam's mouth more often than not.
Now, though. Now he had Sam breathing against his face for whole stretches of minutes at a time. He had Sam's heart beating unsteadily under his hand, speeding faster and faster as they kept kissing; he had Sam's palm starting to sweat on top of his hand, Sam's fingers twitching on top of his own. Sam's cheeks scratched against his, and instead of being almost annoyed at this like usual, it made Dean smile into Sam's mouth.
Sam pulled away after a moment but didn't go far. He pressed his forehead against Dean's and exhaled. Dean kissed him again, just smacking their lips together, and then rolled onto his belly. He'd gone down the same heavy-pain-killers-and-heavier-injury road as Sam was right now. Even if they were newly out of the hospital, spending their first night back together in a bed big enough for the both of them, Dean wasn't fool enough to think any more would happen than already had. He kept his hand over Sam's heart and tucked his other arm under the pillow. He touched the handle of his knife, just making sure it was where it should be, and then closed his eyes. Sam sighed before putting his other hand on top of Dean's as well. His heart slowed under their fingers until its pace matched the quiet, constant roar of the ocean, out of sight but not far away at all.