Fic: Over Yonder in a Minor Key
Well, I didn't say I was going to stop writing...
Title: Over Yonder In A Minor Key
Pairing: Sam/Dean/OFC, Wincest
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 7,000
Summary: Sam and Dean lay low in Montana. Sam gets a girl. Dean gets a fryolater. The walls are thin and the power goes out a lot.
Notes: Set mid-S2, no spoilers. Title from the Billy Bragg & Wilco song "Way Over Younder In A Minor Key." Thanks to oxoniensis for looking at the early stages of this, to monkiedude for an awesome beta, and to sanyin for beta and cheerleading while this story went through the gestational period of an elephant.
Dean wakes Sam up when they’re twenty miles out from Big Timber. When Sam asks where they are, Dean cheerily replies, “Middle of fucking nowhere, Montana.”
“You think that’s far enough?” Sam asks, rubbing at his face.
“I dunno, Sam. I never blew up half a state before. We may have to drive to Alaska before we’ve got plausible deniability.”
“It wasn’t half the state,” Sam grumbles. “It was just some fields that couldn’t have been that important anyway.”
“I’m pretty sure it was, like, half of Nebraska’s corn harvest,” Dean responds with a grin.
“Whatever,” Sam huffs. “It’s November; it had all been harvested already.” He taps his fingers against the dash for a minute, then says, “So what do you think the FBI will call it? Terrorism?”
“Against corn?” Dean says. “Nah. I’m sure they’ve got a category for really, really big destruction of property, like for explosions at fireworks factories and stuff. We’ll probably get that.”
Dean pulls off onto a dirt road marked by nothing but a faded sign of a black bear with two cubs and hopes this is still Ken Schwartz’s ranch. Otherwise they might really have to start considering Alaska.
“Oh,” Sam breathes as they pull up to the house, and Dean’s surprised it’s taken him this long to recognize his surroundings. But then again, the last time he was here, he was filled with teen angst and not paying much attention to anything other than himself.
It’s still Ken’s ranch, and the man himself comes out yelling, “I have already accepted Jesus Christ as my personal lord and savior, but I hear there are some godless heathens about two hours west of here.” Then he gets a good look at Sam, Dean, and the car and says, “Well, hell. The hell are you two doing here?”
Six years earlier, John Winchester had gotten a call from Caleb about some sheep corpses missing their heads and feet up in Sweet Grass County. By the time the Winchesters had driven halfway across the country, the sheep had stopped dying, but there was an ad in the Big Timber paper asking residents to pray for Ann Marie Schwartz. Locals said Ann Marie had taken sick, and her family thought she was in too bad a state to move. But no one knew anything beyond that.
They staked out the house, heard something like a pack of dogs howling and screams in a language they didn’t know. They knocked on the front door in the morning, and after they convinced Ken Schwartz to put down his shotgun, they spent two days exorcising Ann Marie.
Sam didn’t really participate, even though his Latin was better than Dean’s. He sat out in the living room with the family, keeping Ken from barging in every time he heard Ann Marie crying for her daddy and holding the other Schwartz girl’s hand. Their mother was dead, or gone, Dean didn't remember, but he knew it had been just the three of them for a long time, and the panicking of the non-possessed two gave them almost as much trouble as Ann Marie until Sam became their unofficial guardian.
“Anything you need,” Ken had said when Ann Marie was safely human again, up eating soup and reading Teen People. “Anything you need. Anytime.”
*************************
Ken drives them into Big Timber and along the way they explain their little run-in with the law, and their desire to lay low. He tells them he understands completely, then introduces them to the first person they run into as, "Sam and Dean Winchester."
Despite the fact that Sam looks like he just stepped in dog crap, the lady still takes his hand and says, "Bless you."
Dean gives Ken the eyebrow and gets a shrug in return. "Do you have a different definition of 'lay low' than we do?" Dean asks when the woman has left, after wishing them a good stay.
"You'll have a better time of it if people know who you are, trust me," is all Ken says.
Which turns out to be true. Ken's brother insists on renting them the apartment over his garage for next to nothing, and Suzy at the Roadkill Bar & Café says, "You're hired," as soon as she reads Dean’s name on the (otherwise completely false) application he's just filled out.
Sam goes to work in the local lumberyard, where the crew greets him like an old friend. No one ever says anything specific, but Dean finally figures that the whole town knows at least something about what happened to Ann Marie. He's hoping not all the details because, shit, how much would it suck for her to have to walk down the street and hear people whisper that you're the girl who was possessed by the devil? But they know that Sam and Dean saved Ann Marie's life and don’t seem much inclined to talk about it past that, so Dean stops worrying about it.
Sam, on the other hand, is-shocker-a gigantic pain in the ass about it. Every night for the first two weeks they're there, he tries to convince Dean that someone's going to turn them in to the Feds, until Dean finally declares if he hears the letters "F," "B" and/or "I" out of Sam's mouth again, he'll duct tape Sam's mouth shut. "No one's gonna turn us in Sam," he says. "We're fucking Big Timber folk heroes, in case you hadn't noticed. And anyway, you can't spit around here without the whole town hearing about it. If someone narc'd on us, we'd hear about it long before the Feds got here."
Sam still pisses and moans, but not nearly as much after they find out that the younger Schwartz girl, Tess, works at the local general store, where Sam and Dean get their gas, beer, winter jackets, and take-out sandwiches. She works in a good place; tells them all the best hunting spots. She doesn’t give any outward sign of knowing them, but Dean notices that they always seem to end up with more food than they’ve ordered when she’s behind the deli counter.
Her hair always seems unbrushed, her face falls in a natural frown, and she's got a glint in her eye that makes Dean nervous, so of course Sam likes her. She doesn't look a thing like Ken, who's stocky with a round, red face and blond hair shot through with white. Tess has tanned skin, sharp features, and thick dark hair. Dean wonders if her mother was part Indian.
She and Sam, predictably, hit it off for the second time. Dean remembers now that Tess’s mom died suddenly when she was young, and maybe she and Sam bonded over that or something, because after only a few weeks, she becomes a shadowy presence in the apartment, on the couch or in the kitchen.
“Hey,” he finally says to her the third morning he finds her in the kitchen making herself tea. Dean has no idea where the tea bags came from. Maybe she brought them over. She's wearing sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt, and she must have brought those over too. She’s a regular girl scout.
“Hey,” she replies. “I hear you love the new fryolator at the Roadkill.” She's scratching her scalp unselfconsciously, making a grumpy morning-face.
Dean grins. He’s been threatening to deep-fry everything on the menu since his second day on the job. “Well, I don’t know that I’d go with anything as serious as ‘love,’ but I am definitely deeply infatuated with it.”
That gets a little bit of a smile out of her. “I’m trying to get Sam to take me there, but he says he doesn’t trust anything made by you.”
“Probably wise,” Dean grunts, reaching for the coffee. “Hey, how’s your sister?”
Tess nods a little behind her mug as she says, “She’s good,” as though she’s convincing herself of the statement’s truth. “She’s in Colorado working at a resort. Her boyfriend’s a ski instructor. How clichéd is that?”
Dean laughs, says without thinking, “It’s so normal.”
Tess’s face twists a little and Dean realizes he has offended yet another one of Sam’s girlfriends. He’s not even trying at this point; it’s just second nature.
Sam comes in at that moment, takes one look at Tess and Dean’s faces, and sighs his most put-upon sigh, the one Dean usually only hears after he orders baked beans and onion rings for dinner.
Dean ignores it and says, “Tess here says you two are coming to the diner sometime soon,” then grins bright and fake.
Sam looks at Dean like he’s crazy, and Dean shouldn’t be half as fond of that look as he is. Tess is smiling again too though, which is good.
“Maybe,” is all Sam replies. Then, “You better have made enough coffee for me too, bitch.”
*************************
Dean never sees them cuddle or kiss or, in fact, show any affection at all, but the walls in the apartment are thin and he hears them having sex every time.
He considers giving Sam his privacy for about thirty seconds. Then he goes through every appalling thing he can say to him about it, finally deciding on, “Really, Sammy, you shouldn’t have to beg to get her to suck you off.”
Of course, he says it right as Sam’s taking a drink of orange juice. Sam turns a fascinating shade of purple-red, then doesn’t talk to Dean for two days. It’s totally worth it.
Except on the morning of day three, Sam says, “She likes when I beg for it,” and it’s Dean’s turn to choke on his OJ.
The next morning, Sam sits down as Tess leaves the apartment, rubs his marked-up biceps and says, “She likes to scratch too.”
It was stupid to tease him about it, Dean realizes after two more days of unasked-for revelations. Because he still hears them having sex, and Sam knows he hears them, and now he has way too much information about his little brother’s bedroom habits.
He can’t even really look at Tess, even though it’s gotten so cold that he never sees her without at least three layers of clothing on. It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference; she could wear a burka and he’d still know what she sounds like when she comes, the way she drops her voice to say, “Give it to me,” how she moans like she’s dying when Sam fucks her so hard the bed sounds near collapse.
It gets so bad he can’t even blink when he hears the noise in the bedroom start up without picturing her, skin flushed and damp, biting her lip as…it’s usually there that Dean jerks his eyes back open, but sometimes he’s almost asleep when they fuck, and he can’t wake himself up enough before he imagines his brother’s long fingers teasing at her cunt, Sam’s tongue licking over and around her nipples.
Dean’s always prided himself on being able to imagine pretty much any reasonably attractive woman naked and begging for it, but it’s usually him they’re begging. Not Sam. That shit’s not right, and Dean tries to tell his libido that. It sort of works, but he feels guilty jerking off thinking about Sammy’s girl sucking his cock. Like, Sam’s been through enough romance-wise; he deserves better than to have Dean perving on the first girl Sam’s liked in two years who hasn’t had anything to do with the forces of evil.
He just needs to get laid, but he works nights, and by the time he gets off shift, it’s last call and he smells deep fried anyway. He could probably pick someone up even with that handicap, but he’s not sure he’d want to sleep with a girl who found Eau de Greaseball attractive.
Plus, it’s a small town. Becky Long hits on him all the time, would probably even come over for a nooner if he called her, but she’s 19, her dad’s built like a brick shithouse, and not even Dean’s that dumb. So he just sticks her in the spank bank and acts extra grumpy around Sam.
It’ll all be fine, he tells himself. They'll get back on the road when winter breaks and things will go back to normal: Dean getting action, Sam being a monk, and Dean never, ever thinking about his brother naked.
*************************
Sam splits the shoulder seams on two of his flannel shirts and doesn't do anything about it for a week. Dean finally cracks and says, "Just give me the damn shirts, ya fucking slob," and sews them up, muttering, "Didn't think it was even possible for you to get any bigger, Sasquatch. Jesus. You're gonna have to adopt a fucking blue ox if this keeps up."
He looks up to see Sam smiling at him, a weird look in his eye.
"Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it," Dean declares.
Sam snorts and says, "Did you learn to sew clothes or wounds first?"
Dean, not really anxious to hear the sixtieth verse of, Wow, Our Childhood Was Fucked Up, mutters, "Don't remember," as he ties off the thread.
"You always sewed my clothes," Sam says softly. "Even after I knew how to do it."
Dean presses his lips together, just as unenthusiastic about a rare round of nostalgia for their upbringing. It was what it was, and he tries not to think about it. Not about Dad, because it still hurts, and not about Sam, because the Sam he knew then is as good as dead too. The past is useless like that.
"And you did nothing but bitch about it," he grunts. "Except when I left it to you, you went around lookin' like a hobo."
Sam's smile grows wider. "I think you like sewing," he declares. "Sewing, and having a closet to hang your clothes in, and not having to figure out a new coffeemaker every morning."
Dean suddenly gets that this whole conversation has been a set-up. "We're not buying any fucking curtains, Sam," he says. "We're leaving after we get through the winter. That's it."
Sam surprises him by saying, "I know.” He lets that hang for a minute before adding, “It wouldn't fucking kill you to admit that this isn't a terrible way for us to live, though."
Except it might. So Dean's not going to take the chance.
*************************
Everything turns white. The prairies, mountains and sky bleed together until it makes Dean dizzy and unsure which way is down. He’s not used to this much space. Sam laughs at him for taking the car two blocks to the drugstore, but Dean can’t get used to walking, or, more specifically, to chatting with everyone he passes. They all want to know the same damn thing: How is he; how’s the job; how’s Sam. Dean considers just getting the answers printed on a t-shirt.
Sam mocks him for being antisocial, but Dean notices that for all his lectures about blending into the community, Sam never goes out drinking with his coworkers. When Dean asks him why, Sam shrugs and says, “They all think hunting is way cooler than cuttin’ wood. I hate to burst their bubble.” Hunting, of course, is way cooler than cutting wood, but Dean doesn’t want to have that argument. Plus he thinks Sam really just hates being the center of attention.
Dean’s job gets boring, which is kind of novel. He takes to trying to invent new dinner entrees to pass the time. He's surprisingly pleased when Suzy likes his variation on the chicken fried steak batter enough to add it to the menu.
When it's windy or snowy, which is about once a week, the power goes out for the night. There's a wood stove in the living room, so when it happens Sam and Dean fumble in the dark, gather their blankets, and close the bedroom doors.
They sleep head to foot on the living room floor. Dean hates getting kicked and thinks Sam is going to get pneumonia from thinking that it’s more important for his feet to be warm than his head, but Sam insists on the arrangement.
Tess somehow finds out about it, even though Sam swears he didn't tell her. Everyone knows everything round here, but somehow Tess seems to know more everything. Not only does she know who does what, where, and when; she also knows Sweet Grass County inside and out. Dean’s seen her hike off into landscapes with no trails and no landmarks and come back with a smile and two rabbits for dinner. He thinks maybe that's what seemed off about her at first: that such a small girl could be so sure of a place that seems built to swallow her.
She doesn’t actually say anything about their sleeping on the floor, just shows up with two hurricane lamps, thermal sleeping bags, and camping blankets. "It's on the tab," she says when Dean asks how much they owe her. He's not really surprised when he checks at the store the next week and finds they don't have a tab.
*************************
They come into the diner one night right before closing. Tess, eyes alcohol-bright, declares she wants a deep-fried cupcake. Suzy rolls her eyes, but hands Dean the key and tells him he can close up. They grab a bottle of whiskey and squash into the kitchen, Sam wrapping his arms around Tess to keep her from drunkenly knocking into anything.
Dean finds a Devil Dog and asks if that'll work as a cupcake substitute, but by that point Tess has moved on to wanting to deep fry a banana. And a piece of apple pie.
They batter-up and fry all three. The Devil Dog is okay and the banana is disgusting. But the pie (which was in the kitchen because it'd gone stale and Dean was going to eat it rather than throw it out) is deep-fried heaven. Dean is definitely going to suggest adding it to the menu.
Sam goes to piss, and Dean brings the plates over to the sink to rinse. He isn't too surprised when Tess gets up and follows him, but is a little when she wraps an arm around Dean's neck and rests her head on his shoulder. "Hey," he says, bemused.
"Hey," she replies, looking up at him. "Sam really loves you."
Oh, crap, Dean thinks. Feelings.
Tess rolls right on. "I know you two don't do much about it, except going out and getting shot and stabbed and whatever for each other, but come on, that doesn't count."
"Yes it does!" Dean protests. Who is she to judge, anyway?
"Shouldn't," she says, yawning wide, right in Dean's face. "Oughta be another way than bleeding all over each other."
"There isn't," Dean says softly. "Not for us." He's not even sure what he means.
Tess sighs and throws her other arm around Dean's neck. "I don't think I can stand up anymore," she says.
Sam comes back, sees Tess hanging off Dean and laughs. "She’s clingy when she drinks," he says.
"I noticed. Can we go home now?" Dean is suddenly exhausted.
Sam sits in the back seat with Tess cradled across his lap. She's out cold, and Sam plays with her hair; kisses all over her face. Dean watches them in the rear view mirror and feels annoyed. Jesus. This is not the TMI taxi.
"Sam," he says, and Sam's eyes snap up immediately to meet his in the mirror.
"Yeah?" he says, and Dean feels gutpunched to realize he's never heard that tone from his brother without a bedroom wall between them.
"You, uh, you can't wait until we get home?"
"Doesn't matter much, does it? You're just going to listen in anyway," Sam replies. Tess blinks her eyes open and Sam kisses her full on the mouth, eyes still locked with Dean's in the mirror.
Dean presses his lips into a thin line and thinks about kicking every pot and pan in the house at 6am to get back at Sam for this...whatever this is. It's pissing Dean off.
*************************
Tess is at the kitchen table in the morning, poking unhappily at her cereal.
"Good morning!" Dean declares. He's in a great mood. He has the day off, and he didn't get drunk and act like a fucking weirdo last night.
"Sure," she says with a wan smile. "Although I'm thinking that deep-fried banana might have been a really bad idea."
Dean grins. "What the hell were you two drinking?"
"Whiskey. Shots," she says. "It was...one of those nights."
Dean has no idea what she's talking about and isn't sure he wants to know.
"I know you guys are leaving in a couple months," she sighs. "Do me a favor and promise me..." She pauses, and Dean's ready for it, to hear from one more person that it's up to him to take care of Sam, protect him, save him. Instead she says, "Just promise to listen to him, you know? If he wants to talk. Even though, whatever, he's as stubborn as you, and I honestly don't know how you two ever have conversations about anything." She rolls her eyes.
Dean's completely lost. "Tess, are you still drunk?"
She laughs sharply and says, "No, just kind of sick of hearing all the things Sam should be saying to you."
Dean's speechless, so pissed off that he doesn't even know where to start. It's not that he doesn't know that Sam keeps things from him, but for some reason, the idea of Sam telling his secrets to someone else, some girl he barely knows, makes Dean want to punch things. And then for her to say that it's Dean's fault that Sam's an emo pain in the ass? Who the fuck does she think she is? Except, apparently, someone Sam trusts more than he trusts Dean. Fuck.
Then Sam comes out looking even greener around the gills than Tess, and the conversation is blessedly over.
*************************
They get a blizzard the last week of April, as Dean's putting together a mental list of the stuff they can fit in the Impala's trunk when they leave.
Sam knows what Dean's thinking, has seen the we're leaving look on both Dad and Dean's faces often enough to recognize it. He's quiet, but not sullen, doesn't bitch at all, and Dean's annoyed to realize that he misses the kid's damn whining.
Dean’s alone most of the time now, with Sam spending almost all of his free time helping Ken and Tess ready the ranch for Spring. Dean hates how useless he feels every night as he washes just one plate.
And he will never, ever admit this to anyone, but he misses hearing them through the wall. Not the sex so much as the warm sounds of their voices as they chat themselves to sleep, the lilt of Tess's laughter and Sam's answering chuckle. He has trouble sleeping in the silence.
The snow comes on quick in the afternoon, a surprise even though they knew the storm was on its way. Suzy closes the diner and sends Dean home. He buys a case of beer and a frozen pizza on the way back and prepares for a long, dark evening.
He's shocked to find Sam and Tess at the apartment, sitting in front of an already roaring fire. They look like they got caught in the first wave of hard snow and have been warming up since, their hair wet and cheeks red. Sam's in a white t-shirt, flannel pajama bottoms, and slippers that resemble gigantic potatoes. Tess is swimming in one of Sam's sweatshirts and has on red long-johns. She looks like an off-duty Christmas elf.
There are three bags of groceries on the kitchen counter. Dean smothers a smile and says, "What the hell is this?"
"Sam keeps bitching that it's warmer here in a storm than in my extremely well-insulated bedroom," Tess says. "So I decided to call his bluff."
"Huh," Dean says, peering into the shopping bags. Hot dogs, chips, graham crackers, chocolate, marshmallows, and tequila. This was gonna be his kind of party. "I got beer."
"Cool," Sam says. "I have cards."
They spend a couple of hours eating junk and cheating like hell at all the games they play, until the power goes out.
Tess lights the hurricane lamps, and Sam stokes the fire while Dean lays out the sleeping bags to warm up. The three of them end up sprawled out across the nest of blankets and bags, basking in the glow of the fire.
Dean's lazily finishing his warm beer when Sam says, "We could play a drinking game with the tequila."
"Or we could just drink the tequila," Tess responds. Dean knew he liked her.
The bottle is half gone and Dean's lying on his back, letting the fire's heat wash over his face and feeling at peace with the world when Tess decides to take off her shirt. It takes her a minute, because, seriously, it's huge on her. Dean feels like he's watching it happen in slow-motion.
Her bra is black lace, old and stretched at the edges. Her chest is peppered with freckles. She sits up on her knees and turns towards the stove. Dean sees, for the first time, the tattoo that covers her back. It's the Virgin Mary, arms outstretched, stepping on the head of the serpent. Dean leans closer, sees a pentacle and other protective symbols inked like embroidery on Mary's robes.
Tess looks over her shoulder and smiles. "It's a work in progress," she says. "Go ahead, look."
She kneels back, and Dean is inches from her, so close he can feel the heat of her skin on his lips; can smell her, salt and cinnamon. He licks his lips and breathes out involuntarily, hears her gasp in kind.
Dean looks up, sees her looking down at him, eyes bright and dark, lips parted. Sam's directly to his left, and Dean can feel him staring, but doesn't look over before leaning forward that last inch and licking up Tess's tattoo from Mary's bare feet to her crown of stars. By the time he gets to the flesh at the nape of Tess's neck, he can feel her heavy breaths. And when he catches her skin between his teeth, her shudder rolls right into him.
He stays there, licking and breathing her in. It feels like years, decades, since he's had this, and he's so desperate for it he feels tears pricking at the edges of his eyes. But.
Dean turns, meets Sam's eyes, ready for the worst. Sam's expression is tight, but not with anger. It takes Dean a moment to register that Sam's look is want, need, something he's never seen in his brother, except maybe once in a rear view mirror.
"Touch her," Sam says, evenly but barely above a whisper. "Please."
Dean turns to Tess, to ask her if it's all right, but she's unhooked her bra, and Dean's mind goes blank at the sight of her tight, brown nipples. He grabs her hips, pulls her until she's laid out before him and yanks off her panties and ridiculous long underwear with shaking hands.
She hitches up on her elbows and looks right at him as she lets her legs fall open. Dean's dizzy, mouth watering and cock straining. He pulls his shirt off, then rocks forward and presses his face to her breast, bites and sucks and licks until she's moaning and clutching at him with both hands.
He undoes his pants as he mouths his way down her body but otherwise ignores his aching dick. He wants to taste her pussy so badly that he doesn't even fucking care about his cock right now.
Dean shoves Tess's legs open as wide as they'll go. When he reaches her cunt, he just breathes on her, wet and heavy, and spreads her open with both hands. Her moans are muffled, and Dean doesn't look up, can't deal with seeing Sam's fingers or tongue or cock in her mouth. Instead he circles her opening with two fingers, gathers the wetness there and spreads it over the thin skin of her cunt until it's shining. He licks his lips, tentatively brushes his thumb over her clit.
Tess shudders and Dean can't resist any more, reaches out and touches the tip of his tongue to her pussy. He tastes her, light flicks of his tongue, and when she tries to roll her hips, Dean pins her to the floor and really goes to work, flattening his tongue and licking every bit of her slick flesh.
She's making noise again, and Dean risks a glance up, sees Sam's long fingers rolling her nipples, and groans right up against her. Dean presses his face as close as he can, slides and curls his tongue into her. Without stopping, he crawls to his knees and pulls her up until she's got her knees hooked over his shoulders and he's tongue-fucking her as deep as he can.
He takes his hands off her hips and runs them all over her sides and stomach before moving them in, replacing his tongue with two fingers and sucking the swollen flesh around her clit between his lips, flicking his tongue against her until she shudders, bucks and keens, raking her nails down his arm. He ignores the pain and keeps going, curls his fingers in her and wrings another orgasm out of her before finally coming up for air.
He keeps his eyes shut tight, doesn't want to look at Tess or at Sam. He feels her slide off him, and by the time he's caught his breath, she's back, her tongue on his neck, licking him clean of her.
He finally opens his eyes when she kisses his lips, gentle and sweet. She looks at him and whispers, "Tell him to come here." And Dean finally forces himself to look at his brother, who's still kneeling where he was when all of this started. Sam's shirt is gone but he's still in his pants, huge hand cupped loosely in his lap, hiding his erection. He looks wrecked, desperate and unsure, and he can't meet Dean's gaze.
"C'mere," Dean croaks as Tess reaches back and takes Sam's hand in hers. She tugs and he jerks forward, shuffles, still looking down, until his chest is pressed to Tess's back. She looks over her shoulder and kisses him, deep and needy.
Dean watches Sam's tongue slide between her lips and feels his dick jerk against Tess's belly. She leans into Dean, and Sam leans with her until Dean has to take hold of her waist to keep from tipping over. His fingers brush Sam's belly, and his cock jerks again at the sound of Sam’s moan.
Then, even as Sam sucks on Tess's mouth, Dean feels his brother's hands on him, stroking his sides, fingers slipping into the loose waistband of his jeans.
Oh god, this is so fucked up, but he's so hard it hurts, and he needs. He can't say it, can barely even think it, but he needs. "Tess," he whispers, because this is so unfair to her. He has to tell her.
Except she knows. She knew. And now she's moving, biting along his collar bone and slipping out from between them, leaving Dean cold and defenseless. Sam's hands are back at his waist, dipping into the front of his jeans, stopping at the elastic of his briefs. Sam's still not looking at him, and Dean doesn't know what to do. He turns to Tess, trying not to look as panicked as he feels. He can't do this. He can't.
"Yeah, I know," she breathes, pushing her hair off of her face. "Here," she leans forward and pokes at Sam's hands until he moves them. "Let's try this."
She wrestles Dean out of his jeans, pushing him onto his back and straddling him. Tess looks at Dean with a mix of fondness and the glint in her eye he remembers from the first day he saw her. "Stay. Calm," she says.
Then she twists to the side, puts her hands on Sam's hips and begins whispering in his ear. He presses his face into her neck and doesn't fight as she pushes his pajamas down.
Dean doesn't look away, keeping it together only because he really doesn't want to be the one to freak out. Sam is...Sam is huge, which, in all honesty, is maybe the least surprising thing about this evening. His dick is rosy and gleaming at the tip, and all sorts of words that Dean should in no way be associating with his brother.
Tess keeps one hand on Sam's side and splays the other across Dean's chest. "Sit up, okay?" she says.
He realizes that Tess is giving them an out, telling them what to do like this. In the morning he can say, "That's some fucked up shit your girl's into, Sammy," punch Sam on the shoulder, and go on with his life. If he wants to.
Then Sam touches him, hot, soft skin pressing against his back until Dean can feel the fluttering of Sam's stomach muscles and the pounding of his heart. He's vaguely aware that Tess is kissing and licking at his stomach, but he's way more focused on Sam's breath on his temple, Sam's hands at his sides.
He groans and jerks when Tess's mouth closes over his cock. He watches like it’s happening to someone else as Sam's hands drift down to keep his hips from fucking up into Tess's mouth.
"Jesus," he whispers at the same time Sam finally finds his voice and says, "Dean," all hesitant, like there's any way Dean's forgotten he's there, rubbing his dick urgently against the small of Dean's back
Dean doesn't care what else Sam has to say, just turns and catches Sam's lower lip between his teeth, licking and sucking the moans right out of his brother's mouth.
Sam’s kisses are smothering. Dean doesn't mind, really doesn't mind when he feels Tess pull one of Sam's hands down to wrap around Dean's dick. He arches, gasps as Sam's calloused hand strokes him, sends sparks shooting through Dean's body.
“Yeah,” Sam mutters darkly into Dean’s neck. “Like that.”
"Fuck," he grunts. "Sam, fuck."
He feels more than hears Sam’s laugh. "Is that a request or what?" he drawls, shoving Dean down and flipping him onto his back.
Dean's eyes fly open to see Sam looming over him, eyes dark and brow furrowed, hesitation gone. He stamps one hand down right next to Dean's head and grins ferally. In his other hand, he holds his thick, red cock, pumping it until it leaks.
Dean watches Sam smear the head of his cock with the liquid, his own dick twitching hard against his stomach. "Sam," he groans, "Please."
"Mmmm," Sam replies, staring Dean in the eye as he angles his dick down and runs the slick head up the underside of Dean's cock. Dean gasps, arches up as Sam pushes down, and loses his breath at Sam’s weight on him. Sam grabs Dean’s hips, shoving and rutting. The shocking pleasure of Sam’s dick sliding along his own has Dean coming in moments, gasping with each pulse that smears between their bodies and slicks Sam's cock fucking against his.
Sam's whimpering, noises that sound like pain, and Dean instinctively wraps his arms around Sam's back, whispers in his ear. "Come on, come on," he murmurs. "Come on. Me, Sam. Come on me."
Sam buries his face his Dean's neck, comes with a sharp cry, shaking like he’s going to fall apart. He stays on top of Dean, breathing hard as he comes down.
Dean turns his head away, heart pounding. He needs...space. Mentally and physically; fuckin' A, Sam's crushing him.
Delicate fingers wave into Dean's line of sight followed by Tess's face, smiling tentatively. “He’s asleep,” she whispers. “It happens sometimes,” she continues quickly when Dean gapes. “When he’s been drinking or it’s particularly...intense.”
“I knocked him out?” Dean says disbelievingly.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Tess replies as she picks up a blanket and drapes it over Sam, begins gently pushing him off of Dean. “It’s not all that unusual in guys.”
“No, but it is embarrassing,” Dean says, sliding in the other direction from the way Tess is moving Sam and thinking that even if they never speak of this again, he’ll find a way to mock the hell out of Sam for passing out on him.
They get Sam situated without waking him up. Tess hops up and sprints to the bathroom. Dean watches her ass bounce, vaguely wondering what she’s doing. She returns with a wet cloth and slaps Dean in the belly with it.
Dean laughs and takes the hint, wiping the stickiness off of his stomach and thighs.
Dean can’t take his eyes off of Sam, even when Tess nuzzles against him and wraps them in a blanket. He feels a little better when he manages a glance over and sees that Tess is staring at Sam just as intently.
It’s not that he didn’t know that his brother is stupidly attractive, it’s just that this is the first time he’s ever let himself think about it. Sam’s lips are soft and slightly parted. He's still sweaty and flushed, bits of too-long hair stuck to his forehead, but he looks as peaceful as Dean’s ever seen him.
Dean doesn’t know if it’s the booze, the fire, or the post-orgasmic high, but he feels okay. Like, he feels pretty much the same way he’s always felt about Sam, not that that’s ever exactly been a model of normality. And he doesn’t want to jump out a window or anything, even though he kind of feels like he should.
“You look confused,” Tess says.
“This is so fucked up,” he replies. “How...don’t you think this is fucked up?”
The corner of Tess’s mouth curves up. “Hey man, I once watched some thing in my sister’s body shoot my dog. Inappropriate sex gets pushed down the list after something like that, you know?”
Yeah, okay. Dean figures she’s got a point.
Sam snuffles in his sleep and rubs his face, but doesn’t wake up. “You think he’s gonna want to talk about this?” Dean says without thinking, and is a little surprised when Tess laughs again.
“I don’t know what you think, but Sam’s as big an idiot as you,” she says. “I’d lay real money that you two do nothing but grunt and avoid eye contact for the next three days.”
“I’m okay with that,” Dean yawns. “Sleep?”
“Yeah,” Tess says, yawning too. “Which side do you want?”
Dean’s confused about what she means until Tess takes the blanket wrapped around the two of them and begins to drape it over Sam. Oh, hell no. No cuddling. No way.
But Tess has wrapped herself around Sam from the back, one hand under her head and the other resting on his hip, looking already most of the way asleep, and Dean realizes he’s going to freeze his ass off with no blankets to keep off the chill.
He sighs and edges towards Sam, pulling at the edges of the blankets. Sam scrunches his face and opens his eyes. “Mmurr,” he says.
“Lemme in,” Dean mutters, blushing like he hasn’t already had sex with Sam, for god’s sake.
Sam sighs loudly but holds up the blankets and straightens out his legs to give Dean more room to settle. They end up with their knees and feet touching, and Dean can feel the heat radiating off of Sam, but it totally isn’t cuddling. Not cuddling is Dean’s last coherent thought as Sam’s even breathing lulls him to sleep.
*************************
They don’t spend three days grunting and avoiding eye contact; they spend five. But Dean doesn’t flinch when Sam puts his hand on Dean’s hip while reaching around him for the coffee, nor does he grumble when Sam gets him in a headlock and pulls him over to Sam’s side of the couch. But he yanks Sam’s hair to get him back for it and can’t deny that Sam’s yelp hits him square in the gut.
They leave the sleeping bags and blankets on the floor, curling up together each night and usually just sleeping. Dean has to admit it’s nicer to wake up to Sam’s morning breath than Sam’s feet in his face. The weirdest thing for Dean about the times when they don’t sleep is how slowly Sam insists on going. Sam calls it foreplay; Dean calls it being a pain in the ass, which usually pisses Sam off and gets things going faster, so that’s all right.
Tess helps them pack, taking most of their stuff. There’s a minor crisis when Dean realizes he won’t be able to fit the coffee maker in the car and nearly begins hyperventilating. He regains his equilibrium when Sam points out that it’s the coffee maker or the knives.
She stays with them the last few nights, and per her orders, Dean pretends not to see her crying each evening. She and Sam stay in his bedroom and Dean in his, but there’s 100% more talking through the wall when Tess and Sam fuck, and they even get her to laugh a few times, which makes Dean smile into his pillow.
It’s cold but clear on the day they leave, and Tess hands Dean a small package wrapped in brown paper. “It’ll fit under the seat, Sam checked,” she says as Dean unwraps the portable coffee maker. “You can charge it with the car’s lighter, too.”
Dean presses his lips together, because, really, she’s done enough crying for the three of them, and gives her a rib-crunching hug.
He and Sam don’t talk for a few hours after hitting the road. When Dean finally decides to break the silence, the only thing he can think to say is, “You gonna miss her?” which, wow, stupid question.
“Yeah,” Sam sighs, stretching and sprawling until he’s got a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “But I think I’d miss this more.”
Dean smiles and drives a little faster.
Title: Over Yonder In A Minor Key
Pairing: Sam/Dean/OFC, Wincest
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 7,000
Summary: Sam and Dean lay low in Montana. Sam gets a girl. Dean gets a fryolater. The walls are thin and the power goes out a lot.
Notes: Set mid-S2, no spoilers. Title from the Billy Bragg & Wilco song "Way Over Younder In A Minor Key." Thanks to oxoniensis for looking at the early stages of this, to monkiedude for an awesome beta, and to sanyin for beta and cheerleading while this story went through the gestational period of an elephant.
Dean wakes Sam up when they’re twenty miles out from Big Timber. When Sam asks where they are, Dean cheerily replies, “Middle of fucking nowhere, Montana.”
“You think that’s far enough?” Sam asks, rubbing at his face.
“I dunno, Sam. I never blew up half a state before. We may have to drive to Alaska before we’ve got plausible deniability.”
“It wasn’t half the state,” Sam grumbles. “It was just some fields that couldn’t have been that important anyway.”
“I’m pretty sure it was, like, half of Nebraska’s corn harvest,” Dean responds with a grin.
“Whatever,” Sam huffs. “It’s November; it had all been harvested already.” He taps his fingers against the dash for a minute, then says, “So what do you think the FBI will call it? Terrorism?”
“Against corn?” Dean says. “Nah. I’m sure they’ve got a category for really, really big destruction of property, like for explosions at fireworks factories and stuff. We’ll probably get that.”
Dean pulls off onto a dirt road marked by nothing but a faded sign of a black bear with two cubs and hopes this is still Ken Schwartz’s ranch. Otherwise they might really have to start considering Alaska.
“Oh,” Sam breathes as they pull up to the house, and Dean’s surprised it’s taken him this long to recognize his surroundings. But then again, the last time he was here, he was filled with teen angst and not paying much attention to anything other than himself.
It’s still Ken’s ranch, and the man himself comes out yelling, “I have already accepted Jesus Christ as my personal lord and savior, but I hear there are some godless heathens about two hours west of here.” Then he gets a good look at Sam, Dean, and the car and says, “Well, hell. The hell are you two doing here?”
Six years earlier, John Winchester had gotten a call from Caleb about some sheep corpses missing their heads and feet up in Sweet Grass County. By the time the Winchesters had driven halfway across the country, the sheep had stopped dying, but there was an ad in the Big Timber paper asking residents to pray for Ann Marie Schwartz. Locals said Ann Marie had taken sick, and her family thought she was in too bad a state to move. But no one knew anything beyond that.
They staked out the house, heard something like a pack of dogs howling and screams in a language they didn’t know. They knocked on the front door in the morning, and after they convinced Ken Schwartz to put down his shotgun, they spent two days exorcising Ann Marie.
Sam didn’t really participate, even though his Latin was better than Dean’s. He sat out in the living room with the family, keeping Ken from barging in every time he heard Ann Marie crying for her daddy and holding the other Schwartz girl’s hand. Their mother was dead, or gone, Dean didn't remember, but he knew it had been just the three of them for a long time, and the panicking of the non-possessed two gave them almost as much trouble as Ann Marie until Sam became their unofficial guardian.
“Anything you need,” Ken had said when Ann Marie was safely human again, up eating soup and reading Teen People. “Anything you need. Anytime.”
*************************
Ken drives them into Big Timber and along the way they explain their little run-in with the law, and their desire to lay low. He tells them he understands completely, then introduces them to the first person they run into as, "Sam and Dean Winchester."
Despite the fact that Sam looks like he just stepped in dog crap, the lady still takes his hand and says, "Bless you."
Dean gives Ken the eyebrow and gets a shrug in return. "Do you have a different definition of 'lay low' than we do?" Dean asks when the woman has left, after wishing them a good stay.
"You'll have a better time of it if people know who you are, trust me," is all Ken says.
Which turns out to be true. Ken's brother insists on renting them the apartment over his garage for next to nothing, and Suzy at the Roadkill Bar & Café says, "You're hired," as soon as she reads Dean’s name on the (otherwise completely false) application he's just filled out.
Sam goes to work in the local lumberyard, where the crew greets him like an old friend. No one ever says anything specific, but Dean finally figures that the whole town knows at least something about what happened to Ann Marie. He's hoping not all the details because, shit, how much would it suck for her to have to walk down the street and hear people whisper that you're the girl who was possessed by the devil? But they know that Sam and Dean saved Ann Marie's life and don’t seem much inclined to talk about it past that, so Dean stops worrying about it.
Sam, on the other hand, is-shocker-a gigantic pain in the ass about it. Every night for the first two weeks they're there, he tries to convince Dean that someone's going to turn them in to the Feds, until Dean finally declares if he hears the letters "F," "B" and/or "I" out of Sam's mouth again, he'll duct tape Sam's mouth shut. "No one's gonna turn us in Sam," he says. "We're fucking Big Timber folk heroes, in case you hadn't noticed. And anyway, you can't spit around here without the whole town hearing about it. If someone narc'd on us, we'd hear about it long before the Feds got here."
Sam still pisses and moans, but not nearly as much after they find out that the younger Schwartz girl, Tess, works at the local general store, where Sam and Dean get their gas, beer, winter jackets, and take-out sandwiches. She works in a good place; tells them all the best hunting spots. She doesn’t give any outward sign of knowing them, but Dean notices that they always seem to end up with more food than they’ve ordered when she’s behind the deli counter.
Her hair always seems unbrushed, her face falls in a natural frown, and she's got a glint in her eye that makes Dean nervous, so of course Sam likes her. She doesn't look a thing like Ken, who's stocky with a round, red face and blond hair shot through with white. Tess has tanned skin, sharp features, and thick dark hair. Dean wonders if her mother was part Indian.
She and Sam, predictably, hit it off for the second time. Dean remembers now that Tess’s mom died suddenly when she was young, and maybe she and Sam bonded over that or something, because after only a few weeks, she becomes a shadowy presence in the apartment, on the couch or in the kitchen.
“Hey,” he finally says to her the third morning he finds her in the kitchen making herself tea. Dean has no idea where the tea bags came from. Maybe she brought them over. She's wearing sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt, and she must have brought those over too. She’s a regular girl scout.
“Hey,” she replies. “I hear you love the new fryolator at the Roadkill.” She's scratching her scalp unselfconsciously, making a grumpy morning-face.
Dean grins. He’s been threatening to deep-fry everything on the menu since his second day on the job. “Well, I don’t know that I’d go with anything as serious as ‘love,’ but I am definitely deeply infatuated with it.”
That gets a little bit of a smile out of her. “I’m trying to get Sam to take me there, but he says he doesn’t trust anything made by you.”
“Probably wise,” Dean grunts, reaching for the coffee. “Hey, how’s your sister?”
Tess nods a little behind her mug as she says, “She’s good,” as though she’s convincing herself of the statement’s truth. “She’s in Colorado working at a resort. Her boyfriend’s a ski instructor. How clichéd is that?”
Dean laughs, says without thinking, “It’s so normal.”
Tess’s face twists a little and Dean realizes he has offended yet another one of Sam’s girlfriends. He’s not even trying at this point; it’s just second nature.
Sam comes in at that moment, takes one look at Tess and Dean’s faces, and sighs his most put-upon sigh, the one Dean usually only hears after he orders baked beans and onion rings for dinner.
Dean ignores it and says, “Tess here says you two are coming to the diner sometime soon,” then grins bright and fake.
Sam looks at Dean like he’s crazy, and Dean shouldn’t be half as fond of that look as he is. Tess is smiling again too though, which is good.
“Maybe,” is all Sam replies. Then, “You better have made enough coffee for me too, bitch.”
*************************
Dean never sees them cuddle or kiss or, in fact, show any affection at all, but the walls in the apartment are thin and he hears them having sex every time.
He considers giving Sam his privacy for about thirty seconds. Then he goes through every appalling thing he can say to him about it, finally deciding on, “Really, Sammy, you shouldn’t have to beg to get her to suck you off.”
Of course, he says it right as Sam’s taking a drink of orange juice. Sam turns a fascinating shade of purple-red, then doesn’t talk to Dean for two days. It’s totally worth it.
Except on the morning of day three, Sam says, “She likes when I beg for it,” and it’s Dean’s turn to choke on his OJ.
The next morning, Sam sits down as Tess leaves the apartment, rubs his marked-up biceps and says, “She likes to scratch too.”
It was stupid to tease him about it, Dean realizes after two more days of unasked-for revelations. Because he still hears them having sex, and Sam knows he hears them, and now he has way too much information about his little brother’s bedroom habits.
He can’t even really look at Tess, even though it’s gotten so cold that he never sees her without at least three layers of clothing on. It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference; she could wear a burka and he’d still know what she sounds like when she comes, the way she drops her voice to say, “Give it to me,” how she moans like she’s dying when Sam fucks her so hard the bed sounds near collapse.
It gets so bad he can’t even blink when he hears the noise in the bedroom start up without picturing her, skin flushed and damp, biting her lip as…it’s usually there that Dean jerks his eyes back open, but sometimes he’s almost asleep when they fuck, and he can’t wake himself up enough before he imagines his brother’s long fingers teasing at her cunt, Sam’s tongue licking over and around her nipples.
Dean’s always prided himself on being able to imagine pretty much any reasonably attractive woman naked and begging for it, but it’s usually him they’re begging. Not Sam. That shit’s not right, and Dean tries to tell his libido that. It sort of works, but he feels guilty jerking off thinking about Sammy’s girl sucking his cock. Like, Sam’s been through enough romance-wise; he deserves better than to have Dean perving on the first girl Sam’s liked in two years who hasn’t had anything to do with the forces of evil.
He just needs to get laid, but he works nights, and by the time he gets off shift, it’s last call and he smells deep fried anyway. He could probably pick someone up even with that handicap, but he’s not sure he’d want to sleep with a girl who found Eau de Greaseball attractive.
Plus, it’s a small town. Becky Long hits on him all the time, would probably even come over for a nooner if he called her, but she’s 19, her dad’s built like a brick shithouse, and not even Dean’s that dumb. So he just sticks her in the spank bank and acts extra grumpy around Sam.
It’ll all be fine, he tells himself. They'll get back on the road when winter breaks and things will go back to normal: Dean getting action, Sam being a monk, and Dean never, ever thinking about his brother naked.
*************************
Sam splits the shoulder seams on two of his flannel shirts and doesn't do anything about it for a week. Dean finally cracks and says, "Just give me the damn shirts, ya fucking slob," and sews them up, muttering, "Didn't think it was even possible for you to get any bigger, Sasquatch. Jesus. You're gonna have to adopt a fucking blue ox if this keeps up."
He looks up to see Sam smiling at him, a weird look in his eye.
"Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it," Dean declares.
Sam snorts and says, "Did you learn to sew clothes or wounds first?"
Dean, not really anxious to hear the sixtieth verse of, Wow, Our Childhood Was Fucked Up, mutters, "Don't remember," as he ties off the thread.
"You always sewed my clothes," Sam says softly. "Even after I knew how to do it."
Dean presses his lips together, just as unenthusiastic about a rare round of nostalgia for their upbringing. It was what it was, and he tries not to think about it. Not about Dad, because it still hurts, and not about Sam, because the Sam he knew then is as good as dead too. The past is useless like that.
"And you did nothing but bitch about it," he grunts. "Except when I left it to you, you went around lookin' like a hobo."
Sam's smile grows wider. "I think you like sewing," he declares. "Sewing, and having a closet to hang your clothes in, and not having to figure out a new coffeemaker every morning."
Dean suddenly gets that this whole conversation has been a set-up. "We're not buying any fucking curtains, Sam," he says. "We're leaving after we get through the winter. That's it."
Sam surprises him by saying, "I know.” He lets that hang for a minute before adding, “It wouldn't fucking kill you to admit that this isn't a terrible way for us to live, though."
Except it might. So Dean's not going to take the chance.
*************************
Everything turns white. The prairies, mountains and sky bleed together until it makes Dean dizzy and unsure which way is down. He’s not used to this much space. Sam laughs at him for taking the car two blocks to the drugstore, but Dean can’t get used to walking, or, more specifically, to chatting with everyone he passes. They all want to know the same damn thing: How is he; how’s the job; how’s Sam. Dean considers just getting the answers printed on a t-shirt.
Sam mocks him for being antisocial, but Dean notices that for all his lectures about blending into the community, Sam never goes out drinking with his coworkers. When Dean asks him why, Sam shrugs and says, “They all think hunting is way cooler than cuttin’ wood. I hate to burst their bubble.” Hunting, of course, is way cooler than cutting wood, but Dean doesn’t want to have that argument. Plus he thinks Sam really just hates being the center of attention.
Dean’s job gets boring, which is kind of novel. He takes to trying to invent new dinner entrees to pass the time. He's surprisingly pleased when Suzy likes his variation on the chicken fried steak batter enough to add it to the menu.
When it's windy or snowy, which is about once a week, the power goes out for the night. There's a wood stove in the living room, so when it happens Sam and Dean fumble in the dark, gather their blankets, and close the bedroom doors.
They sleep head to foot on the living room floor. Dean hates getting kicked and thinks Sam is going to get pneumonia from thinking that it’s more important for his feet to be warm than his head, but Sam insists on the arrangement.
Tess somehow finds out about it, even though Sam swears he didn't tell her. Everyone knows everything round here, but somehow Tess seems to know more everything. Not only does she know who does what, where, and when; she also knows Sweet Grass County inside and out. Dean’s seen her hike off into landscapes with no trails and no landmarks and come back with a smile and two rabbits for dinner. He thinks maybe that's what seemed off about her at first: that such a small girl could be so sure of a place that seems built to swallow her.
She doesn’t actually say anything about their sleeping on the floor, just shows up with two hurricane lamps, thermal sleeping bags, and camping blankets. "It's on the tab," she says when Dean asks how much they owe her. He's not really surprised when he checks at the store the next week and finds they don't have a tab.
*************************
They come into the diner one night right before closing. Tess, eyes alcohol-bright, declares she wants a deep-fried cupcake. Suzy rolls her eyes, but hands Dean the key and tells him he can close up. They grab a bottle of whiskey and squash into the kitchen, Sam wrapping his arms around Tess to keep her from drunkenly knocking into anything.
Dean finds a Devil Dog and asks if that'll work as a cupcake substitute, but by that point Tess has moved on to wanting to deep fry a banana. And a piece of apple pie.
They batter-up and fry all three. The Devil Dog is okay and the banana is disgusting. But the pie (which was in the kitchen because it'd gone stale and Dean was going to eat it rather than throw it out) is deep-fried heaven. Dean is definitely going to suggest adding it to the menu.
Sam goes to piss, and Dean brings the plates over to the sink to rinse. He isn't too surprised when Tess gets up and follows him, but is a little when she wraps an arm around Dean's neck and rests her head on his shoulder. "Hey," he says, bemused.
"Hey," she replies, looking up at him. "Sam really loves you."
Oh, crap, Dean thinks. Feelings.
Tess rolls right on. "I know you two don't do much about it, except going out and getting shot and stabbed and whatever for each other, but come on, that doesn't count."
"Yes it does!" Dean protests. Who is she to judge, anyway?
"Shouldn't," she says, yawning wide, right in Dean's face. "Oughta be another way than bleeding all over each other."
"There isn't," Dean says softly. "Not for us." He's not even sure what he means.
Tess sighs and throws her other arm around Dean's neck. "I don't think I can stand up anymore," she says.
Sam comes back, sees Tess hanging off Dean and laughs. "She’s clingy when she drinks," he says.
"I noticed. Can we go home now?" Dean is suddenly exhausted.
Sam sits in the back seat with Tess cradled across his lap. She's out cold, and Sam plays with her hair; kisses all over her face. Dean watches them in the rear view mirror and feels annoyed. Jesus. This is not the TMI taxi.
"Sam," he says, and Sam's eyes snap up immediately to meet his in the mirror.
"Yeah?" he says, and Dean feels gutpunched to realize he's never heard that tone from his brother without a bedroom wall between them.
"You, uh, you can't wait until we get home?"
"Doesn't matter much, does it? You're just going to listen in anyway," Sam replies. Tess blinks her eyes open and Sam kisses her full on the mouth, eyes still locked with Dean's in the mirror.
Dean presses his lips into a thin line and thinks about kicking every pot and pan in the house at 6am to get back at Sam for this...whatever this is. It's pissing Dean off.
*************************
Tess is at the kitchen table in the morning, poking unhappily at her cereal.
"Good morning!" Dean declares. He's in a great mood. He has the day off, and he didn't get drunk and act like a fucking weirdo last night.
"Sure," she says with a wan smile. "Although I'm thinking that deep-fried banana might have been a really bad idea."
Dean grins. "What the hell were you two drinking?"
"Whiskey. Shots," she says. "It was...one of those nights."
Dean has no idea what she's talking about and isn't sure he wants to know.
"I know you guys are leaving in a couple months," she sighs. "Do me a favor and promise me..." She pauses, and Dean's ready for it, to hear from one more person that it's up to him to take care of Sam, protect him, save him. Instead she says, "Just promise to listen to him, you know? If he wants to talk. Even though, whatever, he's as stubborn as you, and I honestly don't know how you two ever have conversations about anything." She rolls her eyes.
Dean's completely lost. "Tess, are you still drunk?"
She laughs sharply and says, "No, just kind of sick of hearing all the things Sam should be saying to you."
Dean's speechless, so pissed off that he doesn't even know where to start. It's not that he doesn't know that Sam keeps things from him, but for some reason, the idea of Sam telling his secrets to someone else, some girl he barely knows, makes Dean want to punch things. And then for her to say that it's Dean's fault that Sam's an emo pain in the ass? Who the fuck does she think she is? Except, apparently, someone Sam trusts more than he trusts Dean. Fuck.
Then Sam comes out looking even greener around the gills than Tess, and the conversation is blessedly over.
*************************
They get a blizzard the last week of April, as Dean's putting together a mental list of the stuff they can fit in the Impala's trunk when they leave.
Sam knows what Dean's thinking, has seen the we're leaving look on both Dad and Dean's faces often enough to recognize it. He's quiet, but not sullen, doesn't bitch at all, and Dean's annoyed to realize that he misses the kid's damn whining.
Dean’s alone most of the time now, with Sam spending almost all of his free time helping Ken and Tess ready the ranch for Spring. Dean hates how useless he feels every night as he washes just one plate.
And he will never, ever admit this to anyone, but he misses hearing them through the wall. Not the sex so much as the warm sounds of their voices as they chat themselves to sleep, the lilt of Tess's laughter and Sam's answering chuckle. He has trouble sleeping in the silence.
The snow comes on quick in the afternoon, a surprise even though they knew the storm was on its way. Suzy closes the diner and sends Dean home. He buys a case of beer and a frozen pizza on the way back and prepares for a long, dark evening.
He's shocked to find Sam and Tess at the apartment, sitting in front of an already roaring fire. They look like they got caught in the first wave of hard snow and have been warming up since, their hair wet and cheeks red. Sam's in a white t-shirt, flannel pajama bottoms, and slippers that resemble gigantic potatoes. Tess is swimming in one of Sam's sweatshirts and has on red long-johns. She looks like an off-duty Christmas elf.
There are three bags of groceries on the kitchen counter. Dean smothers a smile and says, "What the hell is this?"
"Sam keeps bitching that it's warmer here in a storm than in my extremely well-insulated bedroom," Tess says. "So I decided to call his bluff."
"Huh," Dean says, peering into the shopping bags. Hot dogs, chips, graham crackers, chocolate, marshmallows, and tequila. This was gonna be his kind of party. "I got beer."
"Cool," Sam says. "I have cards."
They spend a couple of hours eating junk and cheating like hell at all the games they play, until the power goes out.
Tess lights the hurricane lamps, and Sam stokes the fire while Dean lays out the sleeping bags to warm up. The three of them end up sprawled out across the nest of blankets and bags, basking in the glow of the fire.
Dean's lazily finishing his warm beer when Sam says, "We could play a drinking game with the tequila."
"Or we could just drink the tequila," Tess responds. Dean knew he liked her.
The bottle is half gone and Dean's lying on his back, letting the fire's heat wash over his face and feeling at peace with the world when Tess decides to take off her shirt. It takes her a minute, because, seriously, it's huge on her. Dean feels like he's watching it happen in slow-motion.
Her bra is black lace, old and stretched at the edges. Her chest is peppered with freckles. She sits up on her knees and turns towards the stove. Dean sees, for the first time, the tattoo that covers her back. It's the Virgin Mary, arms outstretched, stepping on the head of the serpent. Dean leans closer, sees a pentacle and other protective symbols inked like embroidery on Mary's robes.
Tess looks over her shoulder and smiles. "It's a work in progress," she says. "Go ahead, look."
She kneels back, and Dean is inches from her, so close he can feel the heat of her skin on his lips; can smell her, salt and cinnamon. He licks his lips and breathes out involuntarily, hears her gasp in kind.
Dean looks up, sees her looking down at him, eyes bright and dark, lips parted. Sam's directly to his left, and Dean can feel him staring, but doesn't look over before leaning forward that last inch and licking up Tess's tattoo from Mary's bare feet to her crown of stars. By the time he gets to the flesh at the nape of Tess's neck, he can feel her heavy breaths. And when he catches her skin between his teeth, her shudder rolls right into him.
He stays there, licking and breathing her in. It feels like years, decades, since he's had this, and he's so desperate for it he feels tears pricking at the edges of his eyes. But.
Dean turns, meets Sam's eyes, ready for the worst. Sam's expression is tight, but not with anger. It takes Dean a moment to register that Sam's look is want, need, something he's never seen in his brother, except maybe once in a rear view mirror.
"Touch her," Sam says, evenly but barely above a whisper. "Please."
Dean turns to Tess, to ask her if it's all right, but she's unhooked her bra, and Dean's mind goes blank at the sight of her tight, brown nipples. He grabs her hips, pulls her until she's laid out before him and yanks off her panties and ridiculous long underwear with shaking hands.
She hitches up on her elbows and looks right at him as she lets her legs fall open. Dean's dizzy, mouth watering and cock straining. He pulls his shirt off, then rocks forward and presses his face to her breast, bites and sucks and licks until she's moaning and clutching at him with both hands.
He undoes his pants as he mouths his way down her body but otherwise ignores his aching dick. He wants to taste her pussy so badly that he doesn't even fucking care about his cock right now.
Dean shoves Tess's legs open as wide as they'll go. When he reaches her cunt, he just breathes on her, wet and heavy, and spreads her open with both hands. Her moans are muffled, and Dean doesn't look up, can't deal with seeing Sam's fingers or tongue or cock in her mouth. Instead he circles her opening with two fingers, gathers the wetness there and spreads it over the thin skin of her cunt until it's shining. He licks his lips, tentatively brushes his thumb over her clit.
Tess shudders and Dean can't resist any more, reaches out and touches the tip of his tongue to her pussy. He tastes her, light flicks of his tongue, and when she tries to roll her hips, Dean pins her to the floor and really goes to work, flattening his tongue and licking every bit of her slick flesh.
She's making noise again, and Dean risks a glance up, sees Sam's long fingers rolling her nipples, and groans right up against her. Dean presses his face as close as he can, slides and curls his tongue into her. Without stopping, he crawls to his knees and pulls her up until she's got her knees hooked over his shoulders and he's tongue-fucking her as deep as he can.
He takes his hands off her hips and runs them all over her sides and stomach before moving them in, replacing his tongue with two fingers and sucking the swollen flesh around her clit between his lips, flicking his tongue against her until she shudders, bucks and keens, raking her nails down his arm. He ignores the pain and keeps going, curls his fingers in her and wrings another orgasm out of her before finally coming up for air.
He keeps his eyes shut tight, doesn't want to look at Tess or at Sam. He feels her slide off him, and by the time he's caught his breath, she's back, her tongue on his neck, licking him clean of her.
He finally opens his eyes when she kisses his lips, gentle and sweet. She looks at him and whispers, "Tell him to come here." And Dean finally forces himself to look at his brother, who's still kneeling where he was when all of this started. Sam's shirt is gone but he's still in his pants, huge hand cupped loosely in his lap, hiding his erection. He looks wrecked, desperate and unsure, and he can't meet Dean's gaze.
"C'mere," Dean croaks as Tess reaches back and takes Sam's hand in hers. She tugs and he jerks forward, shuffles, still looking down, until his chest is pressed to Tess's back. She looks over her shoulder and kisses him, deep and needy.
Dean watches Sam's tongue slide between her lips and feels his dick jerk against Tess's belly. She leans into Dean, and Sam leans with her until Dean has to take hold of her waist to keep from tipping over. His fingers brush Sam's belly, and his cock jerks again at the sound of Sam’s moan.
Then, even as Sam sucks on Tess's mouth, Dean feels his brother's hands on him, stroking his sides, fingers slipping into the loose waistband of his jeans.
Oh god, this is so fucked up, but he's so hard it hurts, and he needs. He can't say it, can barely even think it, but he needs. "Tess," he whispers, because this is so unfair to her. He has to tell her.
Except she knows. She knew. And now she's moving, biting along his collar bone and slipping out from between them, leaving Dean cold and defenseless. Sam's hands are back at his waist, dipping into the front of his jeans, stopping at the elastic of his briefs. Sam's still not looking at him, and Dean doesn't know what to do. He turns to Tess, trying not to look as panicked as he feels. He can't do this. He can't.
"Yeah, I know," she breathes, pushing her hair off of her face. "Here," she leans forward and pokes at Sam's hands until he moves them. "Let's try this."
She wrestles Dean out of his jeans, pushing him onto his back and straddling him. Tess looks at Dean with a mix of fondness and the glint in her eye he remembers from the first day he saw her. "Stay. Calm," she says.
Then she twists to the side, puts her hands on Sam's hips and begins whispering in his ear. He presses his face into her neck and doesn't fight as she pushes his pajamas down.
Dean doesn't look away, keeping it together only because he really doesn't want to be the one to freak out. Sam is...Sam is huge, which, in all honesty, is maybe the least surprising thing about this evening. His dick is rosy and gleaming at the tip, and all sorts of words that Dean should in no way be associating with his brother.
Tess keeps one hand on Sam's side and splays the other across Dean's chest. "Sit up, okay?" she says.
He realizes that Tess is giving them an out, telling them what to do like this. In the morning he can say, "That's some fucked up shit your girl's into, Sammy," punch Sam on the shoulder, and go on with his life. If he wants to.
Then Sam touches him, hot, soft skin pressing against his back until Dean can feel the fluttering of Sam's stomach muscles and the pounding of his heart. He's vaguely aware that Tess is kissing and licking at his stomach, but he's way more focused on Sam's breath on his temple, Sam's hands at his sides.
He groans and jerks when Tess's mouth closes over his cock. He watches like it’s happening to someone else as Sam's hands drift down to keep his hips from fucking up into Tess's mouth.
"Jesus," he whispers at the same time Sam finally finds his voice and says, "Dean," all hesitant, like there's any way Dean's forgotten he's there, rubbing his dick urgently against the small of Dean's back
Dean doesn't care what else Sam has to say, just turns and catches Sam's lower lip between his teeth, licking and sucking the moans right out of his brother's mouth.
Sam’s kisses are smothering. Dean doesn't mind, really doesn't mind when he feels Tess pull one of Sam's hands down to wrap around Dean's dick. He arches, gasps as Sam's calloused hand strokes him, sends sparks shooting through Dean's body.
“Yeah,” Sam mutters darkly into Dean’s neck. “Like that.”
"Fuck," he grunts. "Sam, fuck."
He feels more than hears Sam’s laugh. "Is that a request or what?" he drawls, shoving Dean down and flipping him onto his back.
Dean's eyes fly open to see Sam looming over him, eyes dark and brow furrowed, hesitation gone. He stamps one hand down right next to Dean's head and grins ferally. In his other hand, he holds his thick, red cock, pumping it until it leaks.
Dean watches Sam smear the head of his cock with the liquid, his own dick twitching hard against his stomach. "Sam," he groans, "Please."
"Mmmm," Sam replies, staring Dean in the eye as he angles his dick down and runs the slick head up the underside of Dean's cock. Dean gasps, arches up as Sam pushes down, and loses his breath at Sam’s weight on him. Sam grabs Dean’s hips, shoving and rutting. The shocking pleasure of Sam’s dick sliding along his own has Dean coming in moments, gasping with each pulse that smears between their bodies and slicks Sam's cock fucking against his.
Sam's whimpering, noises that sound like pain, and Dean instinctively wraps his arms around Sam's back, whispers in his ear. "Come on, come on," he murmurs. "Come on. Me, Sam. Come on me."
Sam buries his face his Dean's neck, comes with a sharp cry, shaking like he’s going to fall apart. He stays on top of Dean, breathing hard as he comes down.
Dean turns his head away, heart pounding. He needs...space. Mentally and physically; fuckin' A, Sam's crushing him.
Delicate fingers wave into Dean's line of sight followed by Tess's face, smiling tentatively. “He’s asleep,” she whispers. “It happens sometimes,” she continues quickly when Dean gapes. “When he’s been drinking or it’s particularly...intense.”
“I knocked him out?” Dean says disbelievingly.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Tess replies as she picks up a blanket and drapes it over Sam, begins gently pushing him off of Dean. “It’s not all that unusual in guys.”
“No, but it is embarrassing,” Dean says, sliding in the other direction from the way Tess is moving Sam and thinking that even if they never speak of this again, he’ll find a way to mock the hell out of Sam for passing out on him.
They get Sam situated without waking him up. Tess hops up and sprints to the bathroom. Dean watches her ass bounce, vaguely wondering what she’s doing. She returns with a wet cloth and slaps Dean in the belly with it.
Dean laughs and takes the hint, wiping the stickiness off of his stomach and thighs.
Dean can’t take his eyes off of Sam, even when Tess nuzzles against him and wraps them in a blanket. He feels a little better when he manages a glance over and sees that Tess is staring at Sam just as intently.
It’s not that he didn’t know that his brother is stupidly attractive, it’s just that this is the first time he’s ever let himself think about it. Sam’s lips are soft and slightly parted. He's still sweaty and flushed, bits of too-long hair stuck to his forehead, but he looks as peaceful as Dean’s ever seen him.
Dean doesn’t know if it’s the booze, the fire, or the post-orgasmic high, but he feels okay. Like, he feels pretty much the same way he’s always felt about Sam, not that that’s ever exactly been a model of normality. And he doesn’t want to jump out a window or anything, even though he kind of feels like he should.
“You look confused,” Tess says.
“This is so fucked up,” he replies. “How...don’t you think this is fucked up?”
The corner of Tess’s mouth curves up. “Hey man, I once watched some thing in my sister’s body shoot my dog. Inappropriate sex gets pushed down the list after something like that, you know?”
Yeah, okay. Dean figures she’s got a point.
Sam snuffles in his sleep and rubs his face, but doesn’t wake up. “You think he’s gonna want to talk about this?” Dean says without thinking, and is a little surprised when Tess laughs again.
“I don’t know what you think, but Sam’s as big an idiot as you,” she says. “I’d lay real money that you two do nothing but grunt and avoid eye contact for the next three days.”
“I’m okay with that,” Dean yawns. “Sleep?”
“Yeah,” Tess says, yawning too. “Which side do you want?”
Dean’s confused about what she means until Tess takes the blanket wrapped around the two of them and begins to drape it over Sam. Oh, hell no. No cuddling. No way.
But Tess has wrapped herself around Sam from the back, one hand under her head and the other resting on his hip, looking already most of the way asleep, and Dean realizes he’s going to freeze his ass off with no blankets to keep off the chill.
He sighs and edges towards Sam, pulling at the edges of the blankets. Sam scrunches his face and opens his eyes. “Mmurr,” he says.
“Lemme in,” Dean mutters, blushing like he hasn’t already had sex with Sam, for god’s sake.
Sam sighs loudly but holds up the blankets and straightens out his legs to give Dean more room to settle. They end up with their knees and feet touching, and Dean can feel the heat radiating off of Sam, but it totally isn’t cuddling. Not cuddling is Dean’s last coherent thought as Sam’s even breathing lulls him to sleep.
*************************
They don’t spend three days grunting and avoiding eye contact; they spend five. But Dean doesn’t flinch when Sam puts his hand on Dean’s hip while reaching around him for the coffee, nor does he grumble when Sam gets him in a headlock and pulls him over to Sam’s side of the couch. But he yanks Sam’s hair to get him back for it and can’t deny that Sam’s yelp hits him square in the gut.
They leave the sleeping bags and blankets on the floor, curling up together each night and usually just sleeping. Dean has to admit it’s nicer to wake up to Sam’s morning breath than Sam’s feet in his face. The weirdest thing for Dean about the times when they don’t sleep is how slowly Sam insists on going. Sam calls it foreplay; Dean calls it being a pain in the ass, which usually pisses Sam off and gets things going faster, so that’s all right.
Tess helps them pack, taking most of their stuff. There’s a minor crisis when Dean realizes he won’t be able to fit the coffee maker in the car and nearly begins hyperventilating. He regains his equilibrium when Sam points out that it’s the coffee maker or the knives.
She stays with them the last few nights, and per her orders, Dean pretends not to see her crying each evening. She and Sam stay in his bedroom and Dean in his, but there’s 100% more talking through the wall when Tess and Sam fuck, and they even get her to laugh a few times, which makes Dean smile into his pillow.
It’s cold but clear on the day they leave, and Tess hands Dean a small package wrapped in brown paper. “It’ll fit under the seat, Sam checked,” she says as Dean unwraps the portable coffee maker. “You can charge it with the car’s lighter, too.”
Dean presses his lips together, because, really, she’s done enough crying for the three of them, and gives her a rib-crunching hug.
He and Sam don’t talk for a few hours after hitting the road. When Dean finally decides to break the silence, the only thing he can think to say is, “You gonna miss her?” which, wow, stupid question.
“Yeah,” Sam sighs, stretching and sprawling until he’s got a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “But I think I’d miss this more.”
Dean smiles and drives a little faster.