Faith, Love, and Sin - Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Three days after Pastor Jim’s revelation, Father Winchester was still trying to wrap his mind around it. Sam was his brother, the baby he’d saved from the fire? He looked for distraction in his books and research, but wasn’t able to concentrate, and although he had to some degree been looking forward to the diversion of teaching classes, Pastor Jim had insisted on running the lessons for the week. Truthfully, Dean was somewhat relieved he would be spared the stress of trying to teach the boys while Sam’s intense hazel eyes tracked his every move.
He was pulled from his thoughts by the ringing of his phone and he looked down to find his father’s number, again. John had been trying to reach him for days, and Dean could only assume Jim had told his father about the conversation with him and Sam. Dean was not ready to talk to his father yet. Whether it was excuses or apologies, Dean just didn’t want to hear it. His entire life his father had lied about the brother he grieved every day. The brother he now had beside him. The brother who clearly wanted most unbrotherly things from him.
Dean pushed up from his chair and paced the room, his hands scrubbing over the stubble on his face. How could Sam want him that way? Even before they found out about their blood tie, Dean was still a priest and Sam’s teacher. And the worst of it wasn’t that Sam had shown those intentions, but that Father Winchester was actually tempted by them, by Sam.
He shook his head as he began a new round of trips across his floor. He could not think that way. Not now. Sam needed him to be strong, be the responsible older brother looking out for his best interests. Dean renewed his resolve to help Sam heal and find his way back from the path of self-destruction.
* * * * *
Sam seriously considered taking off. He even packed his meager belongings and snuck out of the old farmhouse, but halfway down the driveway he realized what a bad idea that was. They really were in the middle of nowhere, and even if Sam got away and somehow found civilization again, he had nowhere to go. There was no way to run away from this, and Sam knew dropping out of school would do nothing but make his life even more difficult. So he turned back around.
Halfway up the driveway he was met by Pastor Jim. He braced himself for the lecture and punishment he was sure would be the result of getting caught in an obvious run-away attempt. He was surprised when the pastor completely ignored the fact that was carrying his entire life in two duffels and a backpack and instead quietly joined Sam on the walk to the farmhouse.
“Sam, I won’t push, but I want you to know that I am here if you do need someone to listen. You’ve been through more than I can imagine. Most people don’t have to deal with one life-altering lie being revealed to them, let alone a second possibly more shattering revelation.”
Sam didn’t answer, but at least decided to spare the man his caustic retort. It seemed Pastor Jim was honestly trying to be kind and he deserved that small favor. He was not, however, going to be sharing his feelings on the matter, with Pastor Jim or anyone else. He didn’t even have any intentions of examining that dark twisting mess for himself. No, Sam had no need for introspection, he needed only to get through the next year and a half so he could graduate and then begin a life of his own where it didn’t matter who had given birth to him or raised him, where he was responsible for himself.
* * * * *
Sam’s best intentions didn’t last long. His sullen silence lasted a month, despite more attempts from Pastor Jim and several from Father Winchester, he would not, or could not talk about how he felt or even give voice to what he thought about discovering his father and brother were alive. As many teenagers were bound to do when faced with emotions and turmoil that were beyond understanding, Sam began to act out again.
Though he was smart enough to pull straight A’s with little effort, Sam put no energy into his schoolwork, only doing the bare minimum to pass. Father Winchester found it completely exasperating that a student with such potential simply refused to apply himself. He tried to encourage Sam to put more effort in, telling him with the grades he was capable of getting he could get a scholarship, go to college. Sam rolled his eyes, and then leered at Father Winchester as he asked for private tutoring. Dean fixed his face in a stern expression and answered that Pastor Jim would gladly meet with Sam for lessons, though Sam most likely did not need tutoring.
Days in the classroom became a predictable mix of Sam inattentively slouching back in his seat, or trying every dirty trick in the book to fluster Father Winchester in front of the other students. Though Dean knew that unnamed pull of desire toward the young man was still there somewhere deep in his mind, he refused to acknowledge it and pushed it back with reminders of his professional responsibility and his brotherly duty to Sam.
Once Dean discovered that Sam hadn’t died in the fire that killed their mother, he realized that his recurring nightmares of flames and a crying infant were actually his long-repressed memories of saving his little brother from the flames. Slowly a few very fuzzy memories came back to Dean of motel rooms and bottles and curling around his baby brother to sleep at night. It all only served to make Dean that much more protective of the kid and he was determined to be there for Sam. No matter how his younger brother pushed, Dean would not be another person who gave him up.
Even with these best intentions, Father Winchester still found himself lost to moments of weakness. Sam’s lithe young body was enough to invite sinful thoughts, and the teenager knew exactly how to turn Dean’s reluctant mind to temptation. He would wait until Father Winchester’s eyes were on him and stretch his long arms over his head until the hem of his t-shirt rode up, revealing a stripe of tanned skin and the top of a dark trail of hair. When passing Dean in the halls, there never seemed to be enough room for Sam to get past without brushing against him, Sam’s body heat burning Father Winchester through his clothes and his scent invading his senses. And Sam never missed an opportunity to remind Dean of the sinful promise of pleasure that smart mouth held; endlessly licking his lips until they were spit-shiny and biting them until they swelled. Those sweet lips haunted dreams Dean refused to admit to anyone.
* * * * *
In late December, when many of the boys had left to spend the holidays with their families, Sam withdrew into himself again. Dean wanted to be grateful for the reprieve from the endless litany of inappropriate behaviors, but the fact that Sam wasn’t acting out didn’t show a change of heart, it only served to show exactly how upset Sam was. Dean invited Sam to lunch in town, making it clear this was not a date. Sam sullenly picked at his fries and barely answered any questions Dean posed in an attempt to start a conversation.
“Look, I know it sucks. I mean I can’t begin to imagine how you feel, but I get what it’s like to be ditched by Dad. He’s missed more Christmases than he’s attended for my entire life.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “He’s not my Dad. Not really. He’s just the first person to ditch me.” Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Sam cut him off. “I don’t really wanna talk about that. About him. And I don’t give a rat’s ass about Christmas.” Sam dragged a French fry through ketchup and stuffed it in his mouth.
Dean sighed, “Fair enough. What do you want to talk about?”
“Let’s talk about you, Father.”
Against his better judgment, Dean allowed the turn in conversation. “What about me?”
“How about how you make that collar look hotter than sin.” Sam’s lips curved on the last word and he licked salt and grease from his fingers as he watched Dean shift in his seat.
“Sam.” Dean’s tone was full of warning, though he suspected the teenager would ignore it.
“What? I don’t know why you fight this so hard. I’ve seen the way you look at me.”
Dean couldn’t argue with the truth in that statement, so he ignored the accusation. “It’s wrong.”
“Why? Don’t tell me you have some homophobic sermon ready for me, I know you don’t give a shit about whether any of us is gay or not.”
“No, I don’t care. You know that’s not it.”
“Then what?” Dean looked into Sam’s eyes and found them full of honest questioning and not lust.
A heavy sigh pushed from the older man’s full lips. “There’s so many reasons, Sam. I’m an adult, and you’re-“
Sam cut him off, “That’s bullshit. You’re only four years older than me. I’m sixteen, not six, so don’t tell me I’m a child.”
“I’m your teacher. And a priest - I took vows.”
Sam cut in again before he could continue, “I know you well enough by now to know you’re not exactly a by-the-book kind of priest, Dean.”
Dean ignored the shiver that went up his spine at Sam using his first name, and laid out the biggest argument he had. “We’re brothers, Sam.”
It was Sam’s turn to sigh. “No, we’re not. Not really. I know by blood you are my brother, but it’s not like we were raised together. I haven’t known you my entire life, we’re practically strangers.” Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam rushed on. “And anyway, those stupid laws about incest are only around to stop crazy backwoods hicks from having two-headed babies. No matter how hard you try, you’ll never knock me up, Dean.”
Dean smiled in spite of himself at the humor in Sam’s statement, and Sam’s posture relaxed for a moment. “I’m sorry Sam, but I just can’t do that to you. It’s my job as a priest, as your teacher, and as your big brother to protect you. Take care of you. I won’t hurt you like that, even if you can’t understand what it could do to you.” Dean met Sam’s eyes and held a firm gaze.
Sam huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes. He stood and threw his napkin on the table, grabbing his jacket and shoving his arms into it. “Whatever. Let’s just go. Not hungry anymore anyway.” Without waiting for an answer Sam left the restaurant and Dean stopped to pay the check before following him out. They rode back to the school in silence, Sam staring out the passenger window at the passing snowy landscape.
* * * * *
Sam lay on the top bunk over his bed staring at the ceiling. He had managed to avoid Father Winchester since the day they had lunch at the diner in town, but holiday break was over, all the students had returned, and classes were to begin again the next day. He closed his eyes and threw his arms over his face.
There was so much going through his mind that it was hard to grasp a single thought long enough to work it through. He had received several messages from Pastor Jim that John Winchester had called, John’s number scrawled across the bottom of the notes signaling John’s wish for Sam to call him. Sam had no intention of calling that man. Just because he’d donated his DNA didn’t make him a father. A father would never have abandoned him and then stood idly by as he was passed from one rejecting, distant relative to the next.
His thoughts about Father Winchester were even more of a jumble. He wasn’t even sure if he should be thinking of him as his teacher, Father Winchester, or as his brother, Dean. He found it difficult to think of someone he barely knew in the role that only Christian had ever filled. But he could not deny that he felt an unexplainable and deep connection to Dean. He also could not deny that a part of that connection was physical; the older man was gorgeous, probably the most attractive man Sam had ever seen. And brother or not, Sam still wanted him.
All his endeavors to entice Father Winchester had not gotten him very far. It was obvious that the priest was attracted to Sam; despite Dean’s attempts to hide his reactions, Sam had seen the heat in those verdant eyes and on a few occasions the bulge in his black pants. Sam sighed contentedly as the familiar warmth spread beneath his skin at the thought of Father Winchester heated and hard. He allowed himself to indulge in reliving the first time he’d seen Dean, freckled skin damp with only a towel to cover him. His hand rubbed over his growing erection as he remembered the stolen glances of Dean’s ass.
Sam unzipped his jeans and reached into his underwear to wrap his hand around his cock. He stroked the shaft as he thought about the rippled muscles in Father Winchesters back, moaned as his thumb pressed into his slit and he imagined kissing his way down the freckles to the dip at the base of his spine. His hand twisted around the head of his cock and he could feel his orgasm building as he pulled the towel from fantasy-Dean’s waist. Sam brought his other hand down to caress his balls, then stretched his long middle finger back to press into the spot behind. He came on the image of sliding his cock between the wet cheeks of Father Winchester’s incredible ass.
“Fuck,” he cursed to himself. He was going to have to up his game, because he couldn’t live on fantasies much longer.
* * * * *
Though none of the boys came to the school devoutly religious, many had been raised with some sort of religion and often benefitted from the familiarity of the routine. It also never hurt to provide the boys with any option that might bring them peace or discipline. So every Sunday Father Winchester and Pastor Jim took turns leading a service, and this week the young priest was leading a Catholic Mass and Communion. The boys formed a line up the middle of the aisle, each taking their turn to cross themselves, kneel, and receive the wafer and wine. A few chose to refrain, and Father Winchester never forced anyone, just asked that they wait quietly and respectfully in their seats.
The formality of communion service always made Dean a little tense, but today his muscles were bunched a bit tighter than usual, and the reason was staring him down as he made his way up the queue. Sam’s ever-changing eyes were heated and honed in on every move Father Winchester made as he blessed each young man in front of him. Dean tried to keep his focus on the student in front of him, but his gaze was unerringly pulled to the intensity of Sam’s attention.
It seemed every time he did look at his younger brother, Sam was wearing a new expression of lust. As Father Winchester placed the wafer on Michael’s tongue, his green eyes wandered up to find Sam watching him intently with his bottom lip pinched between white teeth. As soon as Sam realized he had Dean’s attention, his eyes traveled from Dean’s face, down his body slowly and full of such heat Dean swore it caused sweat to bead on his forehead. Two students later, the next look up found hooded eyes staring unapologetically at Father Winchester’s groin as Sam himself seemed to hunch in a failed attempt to hide the fact that he was half-hard. Dean swallowed a lump trying to bring saliva back to his mouth as he blessed Jonathon and sent him back to his seat.
Father Winchester refused to look up from the faces in front of him after that, though he knew with each student he sent back to his seat, he was closer to having Sam kneel in front of him. Dean managed to get through the rest of the students without looking at Sam again, but his heart raced as he realized there was no one else left but his brother in the line. He looked up and right into hazel eyes with pupils blown wide and felt the breath leave his lungs. Sam had waited until last, so everyone else was back in their seats and there was no one left to witness Father Winchester’s torment as Sam knelt in front of him.
The young man looked down as he knelt and crossed himself, and Dean watched as Sam raised his head slowly, licking his lips as his chin reached groin level. At the small sound of Father Winchester’s intake of breath, Sam looked up through his lashes at the priest. His slick pink tongue traced out slowly over teeth and lip and curled slightly on the sides and though Father Winchester knew the boy’s wicked intent, he could not stop the image of his own dick making a path through the moist heat of that muscle right into Sam’s mouth. His blood heated and coursed straight for his cock so quickly he felt light-headed.
When Dean froze, failing to place the wafer on Sam’s tongue, the young man raised an eyebrow and said, “Well, Father, aren’t you going to give it to me?” He paused, grinning lasciviously and then added. “The wafer?” Dean had to bite the inside of his mouth to hold back the moan that wanted to escape his mouth and he was grateful for the communion robe that concealed his rock-hard cock.
He stumbled out a blessing as he placed the thin wafer on Sam’s waiting tongue, and before he could pull back Sam closed his mouth and wrapped that hot wet tongue around Father Winchester’s finger. Dean was stunned, and in the moment it took his brain to tell his finger to pull out of the boy’s mouth, Sam suckled it, causing a curse to slip from the priest’s mouth under his breath as he fought to stop himself from spraying the inside of his robe with his release.
That crooked smirk of a grin appeared on Sam’s mouth as he stood and returned to his seat in the front pew. He made no attempt to hide the erection that bulged behind his fly, and Father Winchester closed his eyes as he attempted to gather his thoughts back to coherency. He was infinitely grateful they had done communion at the end of the service this week, and he dismissed the students and quickly made his way to the small office behind the church’s main sanctuary.
He closed and locked the door behind him, throwing open his robe and pulling his aching prick from his boxer briefs. A part of his brain not completely lost to the raging want and need coursing through him knew this was sinfully wrong, but he could not stop himself. He wrapped his hand around the steel hard length and stroked himself quick and dirty. The spectacle Sam had presented burned into the back of his eyelids and it only took a few strokes before his orgasm overtook him and he collapsed to his knees trying to catch his breath.
Father Winchester pulled tissues from the box on the desk and swiped at the mess on his hands and the floor in front of him. He tossed the used tissues into the bin and dropped his head into his hands. Dean could not remember the last time he’d felt so lost.
* * * * *
John rubbed his bleary eyes and then forced them to refocus on the road in front of him. After six weeks of unanswered calls to Dean’s cell and unreturned messages to Sam through Pastor Jim, John had realized if he wanted to speak to either of his sons, he would need to do so in person. It was another five weeks before he could get away from the hunt which led to another which led to another before the leads to Mary’s killer hit yet another dead end.
Now it was nearly March and he was crossing the border into Minnesota for the final leg of the journey to Blue Earth. The familiar mix of excitement at nearing his son and the dread of a possible negative reaction curled in his gut and made his throat itch for a shot of Jack. This time the apprehension of the reaction of not just one son but two was strong enough that a good part of him wished he’d found one more lead to buy just a little more time. As he turned up the long driveway, John shook his head at how ridiculous he was being. He’d faced werewolves and demons, surely he could face his two boys.
He put the truck into park and turned off the engine, but his feet weren’t ready for the last few steps of this journey yet, so he sat in the cab of his truck and stared through the darkness at Pastor Jim’s church.
Jim looked out the window of his kitchen at the driveway between his small house and the church. He saw John Winchester’s old black truck parked there and the tense figure of the man sitting behind the wheel. He wasn’t surprised that John had shown up unannounced, he was just disappointed that it had taken so many weeks of failed phone calls before he finally attempted to reach out to his sons another way. Jim picked up the phone and dialed Dean’s number.
Dean was sure he’d heard the familiar growl of John’s truck outside, and when the caller ID on his phone revealed Pastor Jim’s number, he knew before he picked up what the old man would say. He pushed the button to answer and brought the phone to his ear.
“Dean, your father’s here. Go up to the farmhouse and get Sam. We’ll meet you back here in my kitchen.”
Dean drew a reluctant breath, but before he could speak, Pastor Jim added, “I know, son. You’re both still working through all this, and you’ve every right to your time and space. But maybe John just needs to hear that.” Jim paused. “And he may have made mistakes, but he does love you, Dean. In his way.”
There was silence on the line and then Dean said, “I’ll get Sam. Give us a few minutes.” Dean hung up and watched out the window, waiting until John had gone inside the house before heading up the hill to the farmhouse. He found Sam in the kitchen, doing dishes from the evening’s meal. He grabbed a towel and joined Sam at the sink.
Sam glanced sideways when he felt the heat of another body next to him. It was Father Winchester. He smiled to himself.
“What are you doing here?” Sam asked as he rinsed a plate and handed it over.
Dean took the plate. “I’m here to bring you down to Pastor Jim’s house.”
Sam’s movements halted for a moment. He wasn’t sure why he’d be called to the Pastor’s house, but he couldn’t imagine any good reason. “Why?”
Dean took a moment to weigh the decision of withholding the truth from his little brother. “Dad’s here. Just showed up, is my guess.”
Sam shoved his hands back into the dishwater. “I have nothing to say to him.”
“Then don’t say anything. Sam, I don’t really want to talk to him either. I’m not exactly ready to hug the guy and make nice yet. Pastor Jim made a good point though; maybe we just need to tell him that. To his face, that we’re not ready. That he needs to back off until we are.”
Sam breathed in sharply through his nose. “Fine. Let’s go.”
Fifteen minutes later Jim was looking at three silent Winchesters at his table. He looked from John to Dean to Sam, each man more stubborn than the last and he knew they were going to need a push. “John, I don’t suppose you drove all this way for my coffee.”
John raised an eyebrow. “No, Jim. I came to see my boys. Seems phone calls weren’t the way to go.”
Sam pushed back from the table; he sat back in his chair folding his arms and rolling his eyes as he huffed out an angry breath.
Dean spoke up, “I don’t think they were. In fact, I think maybe you should have been here months ago to tell us yourself.”
John took a breath to stop his initial defensive response, “You’re right. I should have told you myself. But I couldn’t get here sooner, and Jim didn’t think you should have to wait.”
“Really?!” Sam stood from his chair. “You couldn’t find time in the last sixteen years to drop by? Maybe after the first family you dumped me with gave up? Or the second? Or maybe when the fourth sent me away? At the very least maybe you could have mentioned it when you picked me up yourself, drove me halfway across the country and dumped me again?”
“Sam-“ Jim stepped in to put a calming hand on the boy’s shoulder, but Sam immediately shook it off.
“No! I’m done.” He looked down at John. “I didn’t need you for the first 16 years of my life, I don’t need you now.” Sam turned from the table and walked out the kitchen door. Dean immediately stood and followed his brother out, calling after him.
Sam’s long legs had carried him halfway down the driveway before Dean caught up to him. When Sam didn’t stop, Dean wrapped a hand around his wrist and planted his feet. Sam spun and Dean was met with hazel eyes wet and about to spill over into tears. “Just leave me alone, Father. Please.”
“Ok, Sammy.” Dean answered. “But, when you’re ready to talk, I’m here for you. For whatever.”
Sam hadn’t heard that nickname since Christian. A few people had tried to use it, but it never felt right, in fact it irritated the crap out of him. Somehow, coming out of Dean’s mouth, it felt right. So instead of correcting him, Sam answered only with a small nod and then Dean let him go to return to the farmhouse.
Dean turned to find John standing in the doorway. “I wish you hadn’t let him go.”
“He’s not ready for this and it’s time somebody put him first.”
“You don’t think I put him first?” John asked, unable to stop his voice from rising. “His needs? Your needs? Before mine.”
“No. No, I don’t. What comes first to you, what’s always come first, is the Hunt. I think you did the thing that was best for Sam but kept you in the quest for revenge.” Dean paused. Over the years he’d had plenty of time to think about John’s shortcomings, and though he’d gone through his own anger about John’s lack of parenting skills, he’d never voiced any of it. “I made my peace with what a crap excuse for a dad you’ve been years ago. But I had Jim. Sam…Sam had nobody. That kid’s been shoved from one person to the next his whole life. Just go back to your hunt. I’ll take of Sammy.”
Dean had seen a lot of John Winchester’s expressions over the years, but the one he wore now was new, and though he was wholly unfamiliar with it, he recognized the pain etched across the gruff countenance. Dean sighed and scrubbed his hand down his face. “Look, I’m not saying never, Dad. But not now. Clearly Sam is not ready and…and I don’t think I am either. Just…just give us some time. Some space. You owe it to us - to him - to let him work through this in his own time. Jim and I will be here for him. You go.”
John dropped his head, staring at the ground near Dean’s feet. When he looked up he nodded at his eldest, “Alright, Son. If time is what you need, I can give you that. You call me when you’re ready…or if either of you boys needs anything.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
John walked past Dean to his truck, clapping a hand on Dean’s shoulder as he passed. He had his hand on the door handle when Dean’s voice stopped him. “You drove all this way. Spend the night with Jim, get some rest.” John nodded in relief, grabbed his bag out of the back, and went back into Jim’s house.
Chapter 5
Three days after Pastor Jim’s revelation, Father Winchester was still trying to wrap his mind around it. Sam was his brother, the baby he’d saved from the fire? He looked for distraction in his books and research, but wasn’t able to concentrate, and although he had to some degree been looking forward to the diversion of teaching classes, Pastor Jim had insisted on running the lessons for the week. Truthfully, Dean was somewhat relieved he would be spared the stress of trying to teach the boys while Sam’s intense hazel eyes tracked his every move.
He was pulled from his thoughts by the ringing of his phone and he looked down to find his father’s number, again. John had been trying to reach him for days, and Dean could only assume Jim had told his father about the conversation with him and Sam. Dean was not ready to talk to his father yet. Whether it was excuses or apologies, Dean just didn’t want to hear it. His entire life his father had lied about the brother he grieved every day. The brother he now had beside him. The brother who clearly wanted most unbrotherly things from him.
Dean pushed up from his chair and paced the room, his hands scrubbing over the stubble on his face. How could Sam want him that way? Even before they found out about their blood tie, Dean was still a priest and Sam’s teacher. And the worst of it wasn’t that Sam had shown those intentions, but that Father Winchester was actually tempted by them, by Sam.
He shook his head as he began a new round of trips across his floor. He could not think that way. Not now. Sam needed him to be strong, be the responsible older brother looking out for his best interests. Dean renewed his resolve to help Sam heal and find his way back from the path of self-destruction.
* * * * *
Sam seriously considered taking off. He even packed his meager belongings and snuck out of the old farmhouse, but halfway down the driveway he realized what a bad idea that was. They really were in the middle of nowhere, and even if Sam got away and somehow found civilization again, he had nowhere to go. There was no way to run away from this, and Sam knew dropping out of school would do nothing but make his life even more difficult. So he turned back around.
Halfway up the driveway he was met by Pastor Jim. He braced himself for the lecture and punishment he was sure would be the result of getting caught in an obvious run-away attempt. He was surprised when the pastor completely ignored the fact that was carrying his entire life in two duffels and a backpack and instead quietly joined Sam on the walk to the farmhouse.
“Sam, I won’t push, but I want you to know that I am here if you do need someone to listen. You’ve been through more than I can imagine. Most people don’t have to deal with one life-altering lie being revealed to them, let alone a second possibly more shattering revelation.”
Sam didn’t answer, but at least decided to spare the man his caustic retort. It seemed Pastor Jim was honestly trying to be kind and he deserved that small favor. He was not, however, going to be sharing his feelings on the matter, with Pastor Jim or anyone else. He didn’t even have any intentions of examining that dark twisting mess for himself. No, Sam had no need for introspection, he needed only to get through the next year and a half so he could graduate and then begin a life of his own where it didn’t matter who had given birth to him or raised him, where he was responsible for himself.
* * * * *
Sam’s best intentions didn’t last long. His sullen silence lasted a month, despite more attempts from Pastor Jim and several from Father Winchester, he would not, or could not talk about how he felt or even give voice to what he thought about discovering his father and brother were alive. As many teenagers were bound to do when faced with emotions and turmoil that were beyond understanding, Sam began to act out again.
Though he was smart enough to pull straight A’s with little effort, Sam put no energy into his schoolwork, only doing the bare minimum to pass. Father Winchester found it completely exasperating that a student with such potential simply refused to apply himself. He tried to encourage Sam to put more effort in, telling him with the grades he was capable of getting he could get a scholarship, go to college. Sam rolled his eyes, and then leered at Father Winchester as he asked for private tutoring. Dean fixed his face in a stern expression and answered that Pastor Jim would gladly meet with Sam for lessons, though Sam most likely did not need tutoring.
Days in the classroom became a predictable mix of Sam inattentively slouching back in his seat, or trying every dirty trick in the book to fluster Father Winchester in front of the other students. Though Dean knew that unnamed pull of desire toward the young man was still there somewhere deep in his mind, he refused to acknowledge it and pushed it back with reminders of his professional responsibility and his brotherly duty to Sam.
Once Dean discovered that Sam hadn’t died in the fire that killed their mother, he realized that his recurring nightmares of flames and a crying infant were actually his long-repressed memories of saving his little brother from the flames. Slowly a few very fuzzy memories came back to Dean of motel rooms and bottles and curling around his baby brother to sleep at night. It all only served to make Dean that much more protective of the kid and he was determined to be there for Sam. No matter how his younger brother pushed, Dean would not be another person who gave him up.
Even with these best intentions, Father Winchester still found himself lost to moments of weakness. Sam’s lithe young body was enough to invite sinful thoughts, and the teenager knew exactly how to turn Dean’s reluctant mind to temptation. He would wait until Father Winchester’s eyes were on him and stretch his long arms over his head until the hem of his t-shirt rode up, revealing a stripe of tanned skin and the top of a dark trail of hair. When passing Dean in the halls, there never seemed to be enough room for Sam to get past without brushing against him, Sam’s body heat burning Father Winchester through his clothes and his scent invading his senses. And Sam never missed an opportunity to remind Dean of the sinful promise of pleasure that smart mouth held; endlessly licking his lips until they were spit-shiny and biting them until they swelled. Those sweet lips haunted dreams Dean refused to admit to anyone.
* * * * *
In late December, when many of the boys had left to spend the holidays with their families, Sam withdrew into himself again. Dean wanted to be grateful for the reprieve from the endless litany of inappropriate behaviors, but the fact that Sam wasn’t acting out didn’t show a change of heart, it only served to show exactly how upset Sam was. Dean invited Sam to lunch in town, making it clear this was not a date. Sam sullenly picked at his fries and barely answered any questions Dean posed in an attempt to start a conversation.
“Look, I know it sucks. I mean I can’t begin to imagine how you feel, but I get what it’s like to be ditched by Dad. He’s missed more Christmases than he’s attended for my entire life.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “He’s not my Dad. Not really. He’s just the first person to ditch me.” Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Sam cut him off. “I don’t really wanna talk about that. About him. And I don’t give a rat’s ass about Christmas.” Sam dragged a French fry through ketchup and stuffed it in his mouth.
Dean sighed, “Fair enough. What do you want to talk about?”
“Let’s talk about you, Father.”
Against his better judgment, Dean allowed the turn in conversation. “What about me?”
“How about how you make that collar look hotter than sin.” Sam’s lips curved on the last word and he licked salt and grease from his fingers as he watched Dean shift in his seat.
“Sam.” Dean’s tone was full of warning, though he suspected the teenager would ignore it.
“What? I don’t know why you fight this so hard. I’ve seen the way you look at me.”
Dean couldn’t argue with the truth in that statement, so he ignored the accusation. “It’s wrong.”
“Why? Don’t tell me you have some homophobic sermon ready for me, I know you don’t give a shit about whether any of us is gay or not.”
“No, I don’t care. You know that’s not it.”
“Then what?” Dean looked into Sam’s eyes and found them full of honest questioning and not lust.
A heavy sigh pushed from the older man’s full lips. “There’s so many reasons, Sam. I’m an adult, and you’re-“
Sam cut him off, “That’s bullshit. You’re only four years older than me. I’m sixteen, not six, so don’t tell me I’m a child.”
“I’m your teacher. And a priest - I took vows.”
Sam cut in again before he could continue, “I know you well enough by now to know you’re not exactly a by-the-book kind of priest, Dean.”
Dean ignored the shiver that went up his spine at Sam using his first name, and laid out the biggest argument he had. “We’re brothers, Sam.”
It was Sam’s turn to sigh. “No, we’re not. Not really. I know by blood you are my brother, but it’s not like we were raised together. I haven’t known you my entire life, we’re practically strangers.” Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam rushed on. “And anyway, those stupid laws about incest are only around to stop crazy backwoods hicks from having two-headed babies. No matter how hard you try, you’ll never knock me up, Dean.”
Dean smiled in spite of himself at the humor in Sam’s statement, and Sam’s posture relaxed for a moment. “I’m sorry Sam, but I just can’t do that to you. It’s my job as a priest, as your teacher, and as your big brother to protect you. Take care of you. I won’t hurt you like that, even if you can’t understand what it could do to you.” Dean met Sam’s eyes and held a firm gaze.
Sam huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes. He stood and threw his napkin on the table, grabbing his jacket and shoving his arms into it. “Whatever. Let’s just go. Not hungry anymore anyway.” Without waiting for an answer Sam left the restaurant and Dean stopped to pay the check before following him out. They rode back to the school in silence, Sam staring out the passenger window at the passing snowy landscape.
* * * * *
Sam lay on the top bunk over his bed staring at the ceiling. He had managed to avoid Father Winchester since the day they had lunch at the diner in town, but holiday break was over, all the students had returned, and classes were to begin again the next day. He closed his eyes and threw his arms over his face.
There was so much going through his mind that it was hard to grasp a single thought long enough to work it through. He had received several messages from Pastor Jim that John Winchester had called, John’s number scrawled across the bottom of the notes signaling John’s wish for Sam to call him. Sam had no intention of calling that man. Just because he’d donated his DNA didn’t make him a father. A father would never have abandoned him and then stood idly by as he was passed from one rejecting, distant relative to the next.
His thoughts about Father Winchester were even more of a jumble. He wasn’t even sure if he should be thinking of him as his teacher, Father Winchester, or as his brother, Dean. He found it difficult to think of someone he barely knew in the role that only Christian had ever filled. But he could not deny that he felt an unexplainable and deep connection to Dean. He also could not deny that a part of that connection was physical; the older man was gorgeous, probably the most attractive man Sam had ever seen. And brother or not, Sam still wanted him.
All his endeavors to entice Father Winchester had not gotten him very far. It was obvious that the priest was attracted to Sam; despite Dean’s attempts to hide his reactions, Sam had seen the heat in those verdant eyes and on a few occasions the bulge in his black pants. Sam sighed contentedly as the familiar warmth spread beneath his skin at the thought of Father Winchester heated and hard. He allowed himself to indulge in reliving the first time he’d seen Dean, freckled skin damp with only a towel to cover him. His hand rubbed over his growing erection as he remembered the stolen glances of Dean’s ass.
Sam unzipped his jeans and reached into his underwear to wrap his hand around his cock. He stroked the shaft as he thought about the rippled muscles in Father Winchesters back, moaned as his thumb pressed into his slit and he imagined kissing his way down the freckles to the dip at the base of his spine. His hand twisted around the head of his cock and he could feel his orgasm building as he pulled the towel from fantasy-Dean’s waist. Sam brought his other hand down to caress his balls, then stretched his long middle finger back to press into the spot behind. He came on the image of sliding his cock between the wet cheeks of Father Winchester’s incredible ass.
“Fuck,” he cursed to himself. He was going to have to up his game, because he couldn’t live on fantasies much longer.
* * * * *
Though none of the boys came to the school devoutly religious, many had been raised with some sort of religion and often benefitted from the familiarity of the routine. It also never hurt to provide the boys with any option that might bring them peace or discipline. So every Sunday Father Winchester and Pastor Jim took turns leading a service, and this week the young priest was leading a Catholic Mass and Communion. The boys formed a line up the middle of the aisle, each taking their turn to cross themselves, kneel, and receive the wafer and wine. A few chose to refrain, and Father Winchester never forced anyone, just asked that they wait quietly and respectfully in their seats.
The formality of communion service always made Dean a little tense, but today his muscles were bunched a bit tighter than usual, and the reason was staring him down as he made his way up the queue. Sam’s ever-changing eyes were heated and honed in on every move Father Winchester made as he blessed each young man in front of him. Dean tried to keep his focus on the student in front of him, but his gaze was unerringly pulled to the intensity of Sam’s attention.
It seemed every time he did look at his younger brother, Sam was wearing a new expression of lust. As Father Winchester placed the wafer on Michael’s tongue, his green eyes wandered up to find Sam watching him intently with his bottom lip pinched between white teeth. As soon as Sam realized he had Dean’s attention, his eyes traveled from Dean’s face, down his body slowly and full of such heat Dean swore it caused sweat to bead on his forehead. Two students later, the next look up found hooded eyes staring unapologetically at Father Winchester’s groin as Sam himself seemed to hunch in a failed attempt to hide the fact that he was half-hard. Dean swallowed a lump trying to bring saliva back to his mouth as he blessed Jonathon and sent him back to his seat.
Father Winchester refused to look up from the faces in front of him after that, though he knew with each student he sent back to his seat, he was closer to having Sam kneel in front of him. Dean managed to get through the rest of the students without looking at Sam again, but his heart raced as he realized there was no one else left but his brother in the line. He looked up and right into hazel eyes with pupils blown wide and felt the breath leave his lungs. Sam had waited until last, so everyone else was back in their seats and there was no one left to witness Father Winchester’s torment as Sam knelt in front of him.
The young man looked down as he knelt and crossed himself, and Dean watched as Sam raised his head slowly, licking his lips as his chin reached groin level. At the small sound of Father Winchester’s intake of breath, Sam looked up through his lashes at the priest. His slick pink tongue traced out slowly over teeth and lip and curled slightly on the sides and though Father Winchester knew the boy’s wicked intent, he could not stop the image of his own dick making a path through the moist heat of that muscle right into Sam’s mouth. His blood heated and coursed straight for his cock so quickly he felt light-headed.
When Dean froze, failing to place the wafer on Sam’s tongue, the young man raised an eyebrow and said, “Well, Father, aren’t you going to give it to me?” He paused, grinning lasciviously and then added. “The wafer?” Dean had to bite the inside of his mouth to hold back the moan that wanted to escape his mouth and he was grateful for the communion robe that concealed his rock-hard cock.
He stumbled out a blessing as he placed the thin wafer on Sam’s waiting tongue, and before he could pull back Sam closed his mouth and wrapped that hot wet tongue around Father Winchester’s finger. Dean was stunned, and in the moment it took his brain to tell his finger to pull out of the boy’s mouth, Sam suckled it, causing a curse to slip from the priest’s mouth under his breath as he fought to stop himself from spraying the inside of his robe with his release.
That crooked smirk of a grin appeared on Sam’s mouth as he stood and returned to his seat in the front pew. He made no attempt to hide the erection that bulged behind his fly, and Father Winchester closed his eyes as he attempted to gather his thoughts back to coherency. He was infinitely grateful they had done communion at the end of the service this week, and he dismissed the students and quickly made his way to the small office behind the church’s main sanctuary.
He closed and locked the door behind him, throwing open his robe and pulling his aching prick from his boxer briefs. A part of his brain not completely lost to the raging want and need coursing through him knew this was sinfully wrong, but he could not stop himself. He wrapped his hand around the steel hard length and stroked himself quick and dirty. The spectacle Sam had presented burned into the back of his eyelids and it only took a few strokes before his orgasm overtook him and he collapsed to his knees trying to catch his breath.
Father Winchester pulled tissues from the box on the desk and swiped at the mess on his hands and the floor in front of him. He tossed the used tissues into the bin and dropped his head into his hands. Dean could not remember the last time he’d felt so lost.
* * * * *
John rubbed his bleary eyes and then forced them to refocus on the road in front of him. After six weeks of unanswered calls to Dean’s cell and unreturned messages to Sam through Pastor Jim, John had realized if he wanted to speak to either of his sons, he would need to do so in person. It was another five weeks before he could get away from the hunt which led to another which led to another before the leads to Mary’s killer hit yet another dead end.
Now it was nearly March and he was crossing the border into Minnesota for the final leg of the journey to Blue Earth. The familiar mix of excitement at nearing his son and the dread of a possible negative reaction curled in his gut and made his throat itch for a shot of Jack. This time the apprehension of the reaction of not just one son but two was strong enough that a good part of him wished he’d found one more lead to buy just a little more time. As he turned up the long driveway, John shook his head at how ridiculous he was being. He’d faced werewolves and demons, surely he could face his two boys.
He put the truck into park and turned off the engine, but his feet weren’t ready for the last few steps of this journey yet, so he sat in the cab of his truck and stared through the darkness at Pastor Jim’s church.
Jim looked out the window of his kitchen at the driveway between his small house and the church. He saw John Winchester’s old black truck parked there and the tense figure of the man sitting behind the wheel. He wasn’t surprised that John had shown up unannounced, he was just disappointed that it had taken so many weeks of failed phone calls before he finally attempted to reach out to his sons another way. Jim picked up the phone and dialed Dean’s number.
Dean was sure he’d heard the familiar growl of John’s truck outside, and when the caller ID on his phone revealed Pastor Jim’s number, he knew before he picked up what the old man would say. He pushed the button to answer and brought the phone to his ear.
“Dean, your father’s here. Go up to the farmhouse and get Sam. We’ll meet you back here in my kitchen.”
Dean drew a reluctant breath, but before he could speak, Pastor Jim added, “I know, son. You’re both still working through all this, and you’ve every right to your time and space. But maybe John just needs to hear that.” Jim paused. “And he may have made mistakes, but he does love you, Dean. In his way.”
There was silence on the line and then Dean said, “I’ll get Sam. Give us a few minutes.” Dean hung up and watched out the window, waiting until John had gone inside the house before heading up the hill to the farmhouse. He found Sam in the kitchen, doing dishes from the evening’s meal. He grabbed a towel and joined Sam at the sink.
Sam glanced sideways when he felt the heat of another body next to him. It was Father Winchester. He smiled to himself.
“What are you doing here?” Sam asked as he rinsed a plate and handed it over.
Dean took the plate. “I’m here to bring you down to Pastor Jim’s house.”
Sam’s movements halted for a moment. He wasn’t sure why he’d be called to the Pastor’s house, but he couldn’t imagine any good reason. “Why?”
Dean took a moment to weigh the decision of withholding the truth from his little brother. “Dad’s here. Just showed up, is my guess.”
Sam shoved his hands back into the dishwater. “I have nothing to say to him.”
“Then don’t say anything. Sam, I don’t really want to talk to him either. I’m not exactly ready to hug the guy and make nice yet. Pastor Jim made a good point though; maybe we just need to tell him that. To his face, that we’re not ready. That he needs to back off until we are.”
Sam breathed in sharply through his nose. “Fine. Let’s go.”
Fifteen minutes later Jim was looking at three silent Winchesters at his table. He looked from John to Dean to Sam, each man more stubborn than the last and he knew they were going to need a push. “John, I don’t suppose you drove all this way for my coffee.”
John raised an eyebrow. “No, Jim. I came to see my boys. Seems phone calls weren’t the way to go.”
Sam pushed back from the table; he sat back in his chair folding his arms and rolling his eyes as he huffed out an angry breath.
Dean spoke up, “I don’t think they were. In fact, I think maybe you should have been here months ago to tell us yourself.”
John took a breath to stop his initial defensive response, “You’re right. I should have told you myself. But I couldn’t get here sooner, and Jim didn’t think you should have to wait.”
“Really?!” Sam stood from his chair. “You couldn’t find time in the last sixteen years to drop by? Maybe after the first family you dumped me with gave up? Or the second? Or maybe when the fourth sent me away? At the very least maybe you could have mentioned it when you picked me up yourself, drove me halfway across the country and dumped me again?”
“Sam-“ Jim stepped in to put a calming hand on the boy’s shoulder, but Sam immediately shook it off.
“No! I’m done.” He looked down at John. “I didn’t need you for the first 16 years of my life, I don’t need you now.” Sam turned from the table and walked out the kitchen door. Dean immediately stood and followed his brother out, calling after him.
Sam’s long legs had carried him halfway down the driveway before Dean caught up to him. When Sam didn’t stop, Dean wrapped a hand around his wrist and planted his feet. Sam spun and Dean was met with hazel eyes wet and about to spill over into tears. “Just leave me alone, Father. Please.”
“Ok, Sammy.” Dean answered. “But, when you’re ready to talk, I’m here for you. For whatever.”
Sam hadn’t heard that nickname since Christian. A few people had tried to use it, but it never felt right, in fact it irritated the crap out of him. Somehow, coming out of Dean’s mouth, it felt right. So instead of correcting him, Sam answered only with a small nod and then Dean let him go to return to the farmhouse.
Dean turned to find John standing in the doorway. “I wish you hadn’t let him go.”
“He’s not ready for this and it’s time somebody put him first.”
“You don’t think I put him first?” John asked, unable to stop his voice from rising. “His needs? Your needs? Before mine.”
“No. No, I don’t. What comes first to you, what’s always come first, is the Hunt. I think you did the thing that was best for Sam but kept you in the quest for revenge.” Dean paused. Over the years he’d had plenty of time to think about John’s shortcomings, and though he’d gone through his own anger about John’s lack of parenting skills, he’d never voiced any of it. “I made my peace with what a crap excuse for a dad you’ve been years ago. But I had Jim. Sam…Sam had nobody. That kid’s been shoved from one person to the next his whole life. Just go back to your hunt. I’ll take of Sammy.”
Dean had seen a lot of John Winchester’s expressions over the years, but the one he wore now was new, and though he was wholly unfamiliar with it, he recognized the pain etched across the gruff countenance. Dean sighed and scrubbed his hand down his face. “Look, I’m not saying never, Dad. But not now. Clearly Sam is not ready and…and I don’t think I am either. Just…just give us some time. Some space. You owe it to us - to him - to let him work through this in his own time. Jim and I will be here for him. You go.”
John dropped his head, staring at the ground near Dean’s feet. When he looked up he nodded at his eldest, “Alright, Son. If time is what you need, I can give you that. You call me when you’re ready…or if either of you boys needs anything.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
John walked past Dean to his truck, clapping a hand on Dean’s shoulder as he passed. He had his hand on the door handle when Dean’s voice stopped him. “You drove all this way. Spend the night with Jim, get some rest.” John nodded in relief, grabbed his bag out of the back, and went back into Jim’s house.
Chapter 5