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Trace the arteries to find my heart, and promise me that you will do no harm.
Xander sometimes wondered if Dean realized how much he loved him. There was a fine line between what the man showed and what he felt, but Xander knew that it wasn’t the case for him. Dean could love him, and Xander didn’t know if he would know or not. Xander could love someone, and even an emotionally ignorant person would feel and know it. Eve worried about him quite a bit, between his confessions and his actions and everything that he did for others. His mama said it was his “sweetheart side,” and Xander wasn’t always sure how he felt about it, at least in context outside of his mother.
Sometimes, there was a part of Xander that wished he didn’t love him. Even after everything, there were times that he could accept that love as part of him. He knew that he would always love the bastard, no matter what happened, no matter what Dean would do for him. He felt guilt for that; Blake didn’t deserve for his brother to love the man who had killed him. It made him furious, at himself, at Dean, at Christian, at times.
“You’re making me angry, Alexander.”
Fuck.
Xander traced his thumb over the picture of Christian. He was smiling, a big, shit-eating grin over his features. Xander let his thumb rest over that smile, and squinted. Maybe that hadn’t been Dean, but Xander could imagine that it was.
Pathetic.
“Stupid bastard,” Xander muttered. “I hate you.”
Dean looked back at him, eyes crinkled in a familiar motion.
Wet and writhing, I’m supine for you,
“I hate that I love you.”
You sew my sutures up, and I adore you!
“I love you.”
Dean’s expression didn’t change, those eyes still crinkled. Xander put the picture down, and turned to look out the window.
“I don’t know if I could say it to you right now. You hurt me. But I love you. I love your stupid face, I love how you say my name, I love how I can make you crack into a laugh, I love how you cry over me. I love you. Fuck…”
Urgent care is such a dying art…
So promise me that you will do no harm.