Title: Better Than Real
Author: [livejournal.com profile] kellifer_fic
Rating: PG
Category: SPN/Die Hard 4.0 Crossover, Sam/Matt Farrell
Word Count: 1,680
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no offense, no money.

“I heard you were in jail.”

“I heard you were dead.”

Sam and Matt took a few seconds to stare at each other before they both broke out into identical grins. Sam scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck and stared at his shoes. “That rumour wasn’t exactly wrong,” Sam started but Matt put a hand up in a please stop gesture.

“The less I know about….” Matt flicked a hand in a gesture Sam wasn’t sure was supposed to indicate but probably encompassed everything he’d ever dealt with in life. “The better, y’know?”

“Sure,” Sam nodded. Matt’s ask-no-question position was refreshing to Sam, not to mention handy. He never had to try and come up with any reason why he needed the kind of work he did done. Matt would simply ask the specifics he needed, You gotta stop naming yourselves after old music dudes… then again, I guess no one actually alive would know who the hell you were talking about, and would come up with the goods. Sometimes he had to outsource as he called it if Sam needed something special but it was a comfort having a single point of contact that he trusted.

The reason he trusted Matt? Well, that was another story altogether.

Sam had taken over the collection and creation of their myriad fake ids without much complaint from Dean. He’d felt compelled to do so because he was having trouble passing as Agent Trixie D-Cup which had been the last FBI identification that he’d allowed Dean to get him. Dean had thought it hilarious and worth the eight hundred dollars getting a useless ID cost them.

Apparently for the look on Sam’s face Dean would have paid three times that.

Sam also liked doing something useful that helped them. Dean was responsible for most of their ready cash and the credit cards because Sam had come a long way towards joining the Winchester band wagon but he still had a little trouble bilking strangers out of hard earned cash.

Sam was well aware that he ate because of Dean.

“Earth to Samuel.” Matt was snapping fingers in front of Sam’s face and he grinned and stepped into Matt’s apartment, different than the one Matt’d had only two months previous. There was a… thing, Matt had said cryptically when he’d text’d Sam a heads up on the change in locale.

“I got something special,” Sam began, not really sure if Matt was going to be able to help him out or not.

Hope sprung eternal.

000


It was nice to have a break and Matt was always happy to have Sam stay but…

“Dude, I spend freakin’ hours vacuuming after every time you come over. Is the salt on all the windows an OCD thing?”

“Spirits and most demons can’t cross a salt line,” Sam stated in a matter-of-fact tone. He was curled in Matt’s large leather recliner that Matt knew was insanely comfortable despite the packing tape that was holding it together.

“Why do you tell me this stuff?” Matt complained, rubbing a finger over the salt in the chipped window pane with a thumb. “Now I’m going to have to start doing it to sleep at night.”

“That’s why,” Sam said, face firmly hidden by his book.

000


So, the sex was kind of accidental.

Not accidental in the way that it would’ve been with Dean, who would feasibly trip and fall over a woman and end up sleeping with her because he could. No, Sam had said something that Matt had misconstrued and they’d both ended up blushing and laughing but deciding what the hell, since there’d already been a misunderstanding…

Matt was lean and dark featured with a wide, generous mouth. He did have the geek-tan, too many days inside in front of a computer and too little outside in the actual sunlight but Sam would marvel at the difference when he watched their skin move together, pale against golden, and find it compelling.

“You been working out?” Sam asked, running a hand up under Matt’s shirt, fingers playing over his ribs.

“I’ve got a friend on the force now,” Matt murmured, laptop on his knee, not pausing in his work even though Sam was making his skin break out into gooseflesh. They’d done hard and fast and then an encore of slow and languid and Matt seemed to simply accept the fact that Sam was touch-starved and would run his hands over him without necessarily meaning it to lead anywhere else.

“What has a Star Wars geek got to do with you putting on muscle?” Sam asked with a puzzled frown and Matt paused only long enough to smack him in the forehead.

“A friend on the force. Not with the force,” Matt huffed, moments later seeming to grin despite himself. “He wanted me to start learning to look after myself. I may have collectable action figures but I’m not delusional.” He flicked a hand towards a corner and a weight set Sam hadn’t noticed.

“You’re not expecting this friend to drop in at any time in the near future are you?” Sam asked, starting to get up from the bed. Matt reached out and snagged Sam’s arm, tugging him back.

“He’s not the drop-in type,” Matt said. “Well, not unless someone’s shooting at me.”

Matt smothered Sam’s look of alarm with a kiss, right after carefully setting his laptop on his side table.

000


“No… yes… tomorrow, I swear.”

Matt looked up from his monitor with a raised eyebrow and Sam rolled his eyes, mouthing Dean. He changed his cell phone from his right to his left ear as he listened and Matt was amused to see Sam nodding every now and again. He could faintly hear Dean’s tinny voice from across the room so that indicated yelling.

“I’m not!” Sam exclaimed and then dropped onto the corner of Matt’s bed, crossing his arms, cell phone pinned between chin and shoulder by a painful looking neck tilt. He was scowling and looked so much like a petulant teenager that Matt had to hide his smile behind his hand.

It seemed no matter how old he got, Sam would always be fifteen to his brother.

“No you’re a jerk!” Sam snapped and then dropped the phone into his hand, hanging it up and tossing it onto Matt’s bed. He scrubbed his hands over his face for a second and then looked at Matt and smiled wryly, the expression looking pained and tired. “Dean says hey.”

“He doesn’t know what you’re doing here, does he?” Matt prodded gently. He usually wouldn’t pry but he got the feeling sometimes that Sam was a talker and had to physically restrain himself from unloading. Matt wondered if he should be worried about the fact that Sam unloading wasn’t a daunting prospect at all.

In fact, he found himself wanting Sam to maybe start telling him things.

“He wouldn’t like it,” Sam said, looking so glum that Matt relinquished his place at his desk to cross to him, dropping to his haunches in front of Sam and resting his fists on Sam’s knees.

“He wouldn’t like you wiping his FBI file?” Matt asked, incredulous. It was a hell of a thing to do. It was extremely difficult but not outside the realm of possibility for someone like Matt. He’d cut down on the illegal stuff since meeting John McClane, but couldn’t seem to say no to Sam.

In any case, he still had a few brownie points with the feds, enough that if he got caught doing something like he was doing, they wouldn’t necessarily throw away the key.

“He’d probably think it was a waste of time,” Sam grumbled. “There’s a guy with a hard-on for us so they’re not just going to forget. I just… I thought it might be easier if we didn’t have every cop and fed in the country on the look out.”

“I’m wiping everything I can,” Matt reassured. “Neither of you will exist in the system when I’m done.”

“Really?” Sam asked but his expression was a little tight. Matt could understand. From what he’d been able to piece together, Sam had actually been on his way to having a bright future when the wheels fell off. Getting rid of all trace of them meant getting rid of all trace of them.

“Hey, trust me, okay?” Matt said with a smile, uncurling his hands and running his fingers up Sam’s inseam. “When the authorities finally catch on that you’re both the good guys I’ll be able to reinstate everything.”

“Okay,” Sam said and Matt only wished he could tell the brother he’d never met just how much Sam was sacrificing.

000


Sam watched Matt sleep.

Not in a strictly romantic way, more envious. Matt slept flat on his back, arms thrown wide and face open. He’d twitch and his legs would peddle like a dreaming puppy sometimes, but mostly he was dead to the world. Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever slept like that. Sam could have marched a brass band through the living room and Matt wouldn’t have even turned over.

The slightest noise had Sam on edge and staring.

Matt would sometimes catch him at it, slitting open eyes and then making a joke about Sam getting all mooney, but he’d also fold Sam back into himself. He’d wrap legs and arms around him even though Sam was the bigger of the two like a Velcro monkey. He’d palm Sam’s shoulders and the back of his skull and let lips brush over Sam’s cheeks and eyes.

He’d be soothing and Sam wasn’t even sure Matt was truly aware that he was doing it.

“This can’t go anywhere,” Sam would say and Matt would grin in the darkness.

“Oh really?” he’d ask, Sam suspected deliberately misunderstanding and his hand would wander down, fingers scratching through the hair just below Sam’s navel.

Sam would always leave in the pre-dawn light and never when Matt was awake.

He’d never been able to say goodbye to anyone he actually cared about and he wasn’t about to start.
.

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