Camdon Inn - Part 2

[dragonspell]

Part 1 | Master Post | Part 3



Barb Littleton had once been a knockout of a woman. She still was, even pushing 70, still all soft curves and pretty face. Dean’d taken one look at her and the words “I’d hit it” had echoed through his head. Sometimes he even disturbed himself but he’d found that it was best to just roll with these things. So he’d plastered on his most charming grin and didn’t let either Sammy or Mrs. Littleton know exactly what he was thinking. Best for all involved, really.

“So, Mrs. Littleton,” Sam said, putting on his best ‘concerned’ face and adjusting his suit jacket. They were playing FBI agents today which meant they had to break out the damn suits again. Dean kept his hands firmly on his thighs in order to stop himself from tearing at the tie he could swear was choking him. “You say you saw what killed your husband?” How the Hell Sam managed to not let suits bother him, Dean didn’t think he’d ever know.

Mrs. Littleton nodded, dabbing at her eyes before reaching for the tea she’d insisted on making for them. “It was a bear,” she said. “Came right out of the woods and charged him. He didn’t even have a chance.”

Sam glanced meaningfully at Dean and Dean nodded. Great. Another round of good cop/bad cop to play. His favorite. “That wasn’t what you told the police, Mrs. Littleton.”

Mrs. Littleton didn’t glance up, just kept pouring tea. She couldn’t hide, though, the way that her hands were shaking on the kettle. “I was confused,” she said. “Babbling really and, well, Johnny Thompkins just recently became a deputy so he didn’t know how to sort out the panicky ramblings of an old woman from the actual truth of what happened.” And Dean would bet dollars to donuts that that was an absolute line of bull.

“Mrs. Littleton,” Sam said understandingly. “I know this is hard on you. We’re just trying to make sure that we get all the details right, so maybe you could tell us what you told Deputy Thompkins?” ‘Thompkins’ had been the name on the original report-the same report that had mysteriously been sanitized a day later. Thank God for the internet and the whackjob conspiracy nuts it seemed to breed.

“I’ve already told you everything I remember,” Mrs. Littleton said, setting down her teapot. “George went to the woods to chop some firewood, heard a sound and a bear charged him. That’s all I know.”

“You said it was a wolf?” Dean tried.

“Wolves don’t grow that big and from an angle a bear can look like one,” Mrs. Littleton replied automatically, like it’d been rehearsed, delivering the statement to her serving tray and not them.

“Of course,” Sam said. “Mrs. Littleton, did your husband have any enemies?”

She finally glanced at them now that they were on a safer subject. “I don’t think so,” she said and it was right about there that Dean realized that they were going to get nothing. He started to tune her out as she talked some more about her husband and how great a man he had been, complete with his involvement in the church while Sam asked subtle questions that got them absolutely nowhere.

A half hour later, they were back in the Impala and Dean was pulling impatiently at his tie, glad that he could finally get away with taking it off. Damn thing was choking him. “Well that was a big steaming pile of nothing.”

“Hey,” Sam said, “we did manage to confirm that Johnny Thompkins was the original officer. AND that he might know something.”

“AND he’s probably already been carefully coached,” Dean shot back. Dean finally managed to loosen his tie and he pulled it off vengefully.

Sam glanced at him. “She did kind of confirm that she originally saw a wolf, though.”

“So?” Dean muttered distractedly. God, he felt like he could breathe again. He sucked in a big gulp of wonderfully sweet air because whoever had designed ties obviously had had some deep-rooted issues.

“So,” Sam said, raising his eyebrows “that means we’re dealing with a wolf but it’s not a were.”

Dean slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “Oh fuck me.” Back to square freaking one. “I guess we start researching rumors of big wolves again?”

“Guess so,” Sam agreed and Dean swore as he started the car. He backed it out of Mrs. Littleton’s farmhouse driveway, passed the white picket fence and headed out onto the road, heading the opposite direction of the hotel. Sam frowned. “Where are we going?”

“To get something to eat, Sammy.” Trust Sam to forget the essentials. He could research anything, spending hours with his nose in a book but remember to eat? Beyond him. “In case you forgot, the cabin’s empty and we’re already halfway to town anyway.” Like hell was Dean going to interview anymore people or go back to the cabin to dig through musty books and the sludge of the internet on an empty stomach.

“You think with your stomach,” Sam accused and Dean pretended to pout, pushing the debacle with Mrs. Barb Littleton out of his mind. He’d never been particularly good at sulking, anyway.

“Now, Sammy, you know that isn’t true. I also think with my dick.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows and it was well worth the self-slam to see the look of exasperated disgust on Sam’s face. “You’ll thank me later,” he said, patting Sam’s thigh. Sam just gave a look that had to be worth at least a 6.5 on Dean’s personal Sammy Richter Scale but he apparently didn’t have a retort because he just firmed his jaw and stared out the window.

Miraculously, Sam managed to stay quiet for the rest of the trip into town and Dean drummed his fingers happily against the steering wheel in time with AC/DC. While they were heading into town, too, Dean thought that maybe it would be a good chance to get the lay of the land. Silver Lake was a pitifully small town, with less than a thousand people living in the entire area so hopefully, it wouldn’t be that hard to learn their way around. Small town people could be amazingly closed-mouthed to strangers, much more than big city residents, but there was a plus side: a smaller population meant fewer people for Sam and Dean to make their way through.

Barb Littleton had been a bust, but they still had Deputy Johnny Thompkins, whoever that was, and all the local gossips they could find.

But first, food.

The town proper rose quickly around them, the trees lining the road suddenly stopping and old buildings rising instead, running down the main street. They passed a post office, a hardware store, and a tiny gas station before Dean spotted what looked to be a promising place. Standing back from the road, surrounded by a gravel parking lot, it was a greasy ‘Mom and Pop’ outfit that looked like they wouldn’t have a damn thing even remotely healthy on the menu. Perfect. Sam didn’t say anything about Dean’s choice when they pulled in, but Sam never did. It was always Dad or Dean that chose where to eat because Sam was always well aware that even if he did get the chance to pick, he wouldn’t like whatever place he chose anyway.

In some ways, Dean thought Sam never did grow up from the contrary bitch of a teenager he used to be.

He parked the Impala and smiled at Sam. “Ready?” he asked and Sam grunted, opening the door and sliding out. Dean shrugged and grabbed the keys before following after him.

Bells jingled as they entered the restaurant, announcing them to the entire place and Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as everyone turned to face them. There was just something kind of creepy about small towns, as well-the way that every single person had the ability to blend into one. He let it wash over him, though, because this wasn’t unique to Silver Lake-it was just Smalltown, USA.

There were booths to their left and right, upholstered in red vinyl that looked like it had seen better days, complete with tables that shone brightly in the little bit of sun they got. The floor was carpeted in a dark blue and Dean followed it up to the small bar that sat just off from the center. The few patrons of the place clustered around it and Dean kept his eyes elsewhere, refusing to make eye contact even as, in the back of his mind, he still took note of who was standing there. Two were cops, dressed in brown uniforms and looking at Dean like he’d just broken out of prison. He jerked his head at Sam and they both swung to the right, heading to a booth as far away from the bar as they could easily manage.

Dean slid into the booth easily, already grabbing a menu and spreading it out on the table that rocked unsteadily beneath him. Sam tried to fold himself into the slightly cramped space and Dean grinned to himself, just barely managing not to chuckle when Sam swore softly, his knee having collided with the underside of the table. Sometimes, Dean thought it really wasn’t fair how much taller than him little Sammy had grown, especially when Dean himself was a respectable 6’ 1, but, then again, life really did try its best to occasionally even things out.

Skimming down the menu, Dean saw burgers, burgers, and more burgers with just different variations on toppings and knew that life was awfully damn good. It was better than good. It was awesome. Sam, having gotten out his own copy, wrinkled his nose. It wasn’t that Sam didn’t like a good burger every now then, usually equipped with everything up to and including the kitchen sink, but Dean knew that after spending a few days eating nothing but fast food, Sam usually preferred something a little bit healthier if he actually got a chance to sit down in a restaurant. “Mmm, fried and greasy,” Dean teased. “What are ya thinking about gettin’, Sammy?”

Sam glanced up coolly. “A Caesar salad,” he replied, pointing about half-way down and Dean blinked. He leaned across the table to read Sam’s copy of the menu and frowned, glancing back and forth between his and Sam’s. Then he sat back in the seat and flipped his own menu over. Apparently, Silver Lake’s only eatery liked to hide its healthier choices on the back. Dean couldn’t say he appreciated the deception even if he could understand it. “You should get one, too,” Sam said and Dean snorted.

“Not hardly.” He crossed his arms in front of him, leaning on the table though he narrowed his eyes suspiciously when Sam suddenly flashed his dimples. Glancing up, he saw the waitress approaching and put on his most charming grin as well. Maybe he’d get lucky and he’d get a chance to play a little ‘who does she like best’ with Sam. Dean thought that he had an unfair advantage over Sam in the game, but hey. He wasn’t the one that made Sam play.

She was brunette, with her hair pulled back in a pony tail and dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt. Her little black apron wrapped around her waist with the order book hanging out of one pocket being the only real sign of her actually working here. That and the two glasses of water that she sat in front of them. “Hi, I’m Joanie! What can I get ya?” she asked cheerfully, pulling out her book and glancing between the two of them.

Dean upped the wattage on his smile and leaned forward just enough to get her to focus her attention on him. “Well,” he began, “I-”

“Would like the Caesar Salad,” Sam finished, kicking Dean underneath the table. Dean froze, his mouth hanging open in shock while Sam finished up for them both. “We both would, actually. And water’s fine, thanks.” Sam slid his eyes over to Dean’s, effectively ending their order and Joanie nodded before walking off, jotting it down.

Dean returned Sam’s kick and leaned across the table. “What the fuck was that about?” he hissed. Sam had apparently gone nuts if he thought that Dean was going to be eating rabbit food when there was perfectly acceptable red meat in the nearby vicinity.

Sam’s deceptively innocent smile dipped into something a little more evil. “You could stand to lay off the grease for awhile, Dean,” he said. He glanced down at Dean’s side of the table like maybe he could see through it. “We haven’t exactly been getting much exercise lately and, well…” Dean couldn’t stop the instinctive sucking in of his gut even as he scowled at Sam’s smiling face. Oh, it was so on. He opened his mouth to remark that maybe Sam should start watching what he ate to because, well, he’d been having a hard time keeping up lately, hadn’t he? And probably ‘getting up’ too, though, Dean, of course, couldn’t be sure of that. He never even managed to get the first word out.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” a deep voice said and as one Sam and Dean turned towards the stranger that was now standing at the end of the table. Dean raised his eyebrows at the cop that stared back, his shades firmly in place like that made him kind of cool instead of Corey Hart.

“Can we help you, officer?” Dean asked, glad for once to be wearing the monkey suits that they hadn’t changed out of. With his tie off, Dean didn’t quite look the part of the federal agent but he could still pass for an off-duty one or at least a business man and Sam was still every inch of prim and proper. Except for the hair. One of these days, they were going to have to do something about the hair. It was entirely too floofy, curling about Sam’s ears and saying something more like ‘Adorable Party Princess!’ than anything remotely manly.

The cop tipped the brim of his hat a little lower and nodded to the both of them. “Sheriff Jacobson,” he said by way of greeting, more just letting them know his credentials as his voice was short and brisk. “You the guys that stopped in to see Mrs. Littleton today?” the cop asked and Dean sighed internally. The entire town probably already knew who they were because the gossip vines in small towns weren’t just vines-they were damn weeds. “Barb was sayin' how some Fed looking guys were asking her all sorts of questions.”

“Is that a problem?” Sam asked calmly and the officer swung his gaze over to focus on Sam.

“No, sir,” the cop replied shortly. “Just that George Littleton was a good man and Barb’s still grieving for him. We wouldn’t want to stir anything up. He was killed by a bear and it’s been taken care of so I’m kinda wondering why you’re here. I know that we don't need any outside help to solve a bear attack. Don't you boys have anything better to do with your time back in Washington?”

“Oh we were just checking out the beautiful scenery of pure Michigan,” Dean said with a smile, unable to help himself. Something about Jacobson's tone was mixing with his usual disregard for authority and threatening to choke him worse than the tie had been doing. Sam kicked him under the table again and Dean just barely managed not to wince. Ouch, damn it.

“We’re not here to stir anything up, Sheriff,” Sam said, trying to gloss over Dean’s smart ass comment and ease the cop’s glare back down from ‘deathray.’ “Just asking a few questions before we submit the report to our superior. You know how it goes.”

Sheriff Jacobson tilted his head back towards Sam. “I know we didn’t ask for any feds,” he repeated coldly. “There's nothing up here for you and I don’t even know why you’d even be out this way. Little sight-seein'? You boys that bored? Leaves are real pretty, I know.”

“Red tape,” Dean retorted, getting to his feet. He knew that Jacobson wasn't going to back down until they left-that's what this was all about and the little questions were just a cover-up. Damn it, anyway. “It’ll drive you nuts.” Straightening, Dean saw with satisfaction that he had at least five inches on Sheriff Jacobson. The officer took a half step backwards and Dean gave him a fake grin before jerking his head at Sam. “I wasn’t all that hungry anyway,” he said. “Can’t eat when I’ve got work to do.”

When Sam stood up, Sheriff Jacobson took another casual step backward and nodded at the both of them. “Well, you two have a good day, then. Enjoy your little stay in Silver Lake. I hear you’re up at the Camdon.”

“Great meeting you,” Dean replied, baring his teeth in a smile. Sam nodded at the sheriff and subtly pushed at Dean’s elbow, trying to stop him from baiting the sheriff further. Dean let Sam push him away, turning and heading back towards the entrance door.

Behind them, Dean heard a furiously hissed, “What the fuck was that about Pete? Those were my customers!”

“Now Joanie-” and the bells drowned out the rest.

Dean stalked over to the car, long strides quickly eating up the distance between him and the Impala. “Fucking Napoleon,” Dean muttered as he opened the door to the Impala. Sam blinked at him and Dean rolled his eyes again, flopping inside the car. “They’re so short they have to get into pissing contests with every tall guy they can find.” He slammed the door behind him.

Sam was quieter as he got in, a bit more thoughtful as he slid into his seat. “I think there’s more to it than just that,” he said. “He doesn’t want us on his turf.”

“Well no shit,” Dean said to the steering wheel. “But he is short.”

Sam rolled his eyes and decided to spell out what they both already knew. “The question is why he doesn’t want us on his turf: is it just territory issues or is he hiding something? Judging by the way the police report was doctored, I’d go with the latter, Dean.”

Trust Sam to completely miss the point in his effort to prove his superior intellect. Of course Jacobson was hiding something-hostile sheriffs usually were. They just didn't know if it had anything to do with the case or was just the sheriff getting paid to cover up the mayor's latest indiscretion. They wouldn't have a clue, either, until they looked into it more. Dean turned to stare at Sam, raising his eyebrows in a 'serious' look. “But. He is short,” he repeated.

Sam sighed. “Yeah. He’s short.” But Dean could finally see a hint of a smile playing around the corners of Sam’s mouth.

Dean beamed and Sam blinked, confused. “So what d’ya say we eat in tonight, Sammy?” He started the car and started backing out of the parking space. In the rearview mirror, he could still see the back of Joanie’s head while she continued to chew out Sheriff Pete Jacobson. “A little quality time with your older brother? I could cook. We could do a little research-you like research.”

Sam slanted him a look. “You want to cook,” he said and it wasn’t a question, more like a disbelieving statement.

Dean faked a hurt glance. “You don’t like my cooking?”

Sam rolled his eyes again-those eyes were going to roll right out of Sam’s head if he wasn’t careful-and glanced in the passenger side mirror, no doubt checking out the same scene Dean was. “Dean, you hate cooking.”

“Correction,” Dean said, putting the Impala into drive and finally pulling out of the parking lot back onto the road. They had actual roads in town, instead of just a glorified two-track. Dean had been surprised. “I don’t like cooking when there’s a perfectly acceptable restaurant nearby,” he finished and Sam quirked a smile.

“Okay,” Sam said, ducking his head to hide the fact that he was laughing. “But we should probably follow up on a few of these leads first.”

Sam had a point but that didn’t mean Dean had to like it. He sighed. “Great.”

Sam shrugged. “So I’m thinking that if the sheriff is down at the local diner…”

“…That we should hit the station while he’s gone,” Dean finished and Sam nodded. “Sounds good to me.” Dean hung a left, heading towards where he thought he remembered the station being when they’d first gone through town. It was a squat, solid brown building just after the house with the convention of lawn gnomes in the front yard.

There was another thing Dean didn’t understand: people who insisted on having twenty million of those tacky little fuckers in their yard, gardening and doing all types of cutesy shit. One, it was way too fucking much and two, Dean would bet a thousand bucks that if one of these middle-aged housewives with the lawn gnome obsession ever met a real gnome, she wouldn’t be wanting to put them in her garden. Especially not after they tried to put her in the garden, instead. Gnomes had a thing for burying crap and usually the more alive it was, the better.

After a few minutes of not spotting the pointy-hatted bastards, though, Dean had to face the fact that maybe, possibly, he’d made a wrong turn somewhere. Sam was full-on looking him, eyebrows raised but Dean wasn’t going to admit to anything. He was going to keep driving until he found it, damn it. He turned right, pulling onto another street.

Dean slammed on the brakes as a teenager darted out in front of the car. The brakes squealed and the Impala swerved but it stopped just in front of the kid who smacked the hood, staring at Dean with black-rimmed eyes ringed. “Fuck…” Dean breathed. The kid just blinked at them, apparently now that he had almost died, finally realizing that he was in the middle of a street. All the peroxide in the kid’s hair to get it to that platinum blond color must have scrambled his damn brains. “You should watch we’re you’re fu-”

Sam gripped Dean’s arm, cutting him off and the kid flittered away like fucking Bambi, dodging around a few parked cars and disappearing behind the nearest building. Dean shook Sam off. “Did you just fucking see that? Kid ran out in front of me!”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, but, Dean, look!” He pointed out the window towards the street corner and Dean swore.

“Oh, son of a bitch…” Jacobson was standing there, glancing around like he’d lost something. “How the Hell did he beat us here?”

Sam gave him a flat look. “Well it’s not like we actually knew where we were going.”

“Of course I knew where I was going-!”

“Dean, we’ve been driving around in circles!” Oh, hell no. They hadn’t actually made one circle and Sam knew it!

“Are you saying you want to drive, Sam? Is that it? Is this your girly passive-aggressive shit again? ‘You never let me drive so I’m going to cry until you do?’”

“What?” Sam’s jaw dropped. “No! I’m just saying that it’s possible for Jacobson to have-you know what? Whatever.” Dean nodded. Yeah, that was right. Sam better fucking drop it. “Dean, what if it’s us he’s looking for?”

Dean glanced back over at the sheriff who’d started walking down the street towards-fucking A-the police station. “Then I’d say that he’s blind as a bat and we don’t have anything to worry about. We were right in front of him and, in case you haven’t noticed, Sam, the car’s not exactly one you’d miss.” Sam didn’t need to be dissing the Impala like that.

“It’s a possibility.”

“It’s also a possibility,” Dean stated, moving the car forward again, “that he was looking to arrest that kid for jaywalking.” Sam’s lips thinned. “Anyway, obviously the police station is out.” Judging by Jacobson's little performance back in the diner, he wouldn't let them have anything at the station. “Where to now?” Sam didn’t answer so Dean glanced over him. “Oh come on. You’re not going to throw a fit over this, are you?”

Sam rolled his eyes like he wasn’t sitting over there planning on peeing on Dean’s bed later. “Johnny Thompkins was our best shot. Maybe we should head back and talk to Brian.”

“The inn-keeper? Oh, hell no.” Dean just had visions of Brian actually offering that sponge bath-rolled up sleeves and all. “I don’t think I could take watching him hit on you again. We’ll save him for tomorrow. Maybe I won’t be so traumatized, then.”

Sam grinned, quick and sudden. “You mean you just don’t want Brian to stare at your ass in that suit.”

Dean glared at Sam. “Yeah, well maybe you should stop staring at my ass. You’re the one that noticed it.” Dean made another right, heading back to the main street of Silver Lake. “Screw it. We’re going to go get something to eat. I’m hungry.”

“At the diner?”

“No,” Dean said, shooting Sam another dirty look. “I’d said I’d cook, didn’t I? Unless you want to eat mice and dust, Sammy, that means we’ve got to do some shopping.”

And that meant the local grocery store. Dean made another turn, pulling on to the main drag. They could spend the rest of the night researching the Big Bad Wolf and then maybe tomorrow brave Brian’s grabby hands before coming back into town to rile up Sheriff Jacobson a little bit more by asking some more questions. Dean briefly debated if he was just going to throw some sandwiches together or try to go all out but he knew already that he was definitely going to try for something a little bit more highbrow than just hot dogs and macaroni and cheese. It’d be worth it for the look on Sam’s face.

Again, it really wasn’t that Dean couldn’t cook. Or even that he particularly hated it. It was just more that he never really had the time and fuck, why even bother when for a few bucks more you could have someone go through all the hassle for you? Plus, there was always the chance of being able to tumble the waitress if she was cute. That was a much better way to spend time than cooking.

They pulled into the parking lot of what was creatively called “The General Store” and headed inside. Dean refused to grab a cart-1, he wasn’t that old and 2, he absolutely could not let himself be seen pushing one-but, luckily, Sam, like the girl Dean’d always known he was, had a fetish for shopping and so didn’t mind pushing the cart. Dean walked a good two feet in front of him, pretending like he didn’t know who the crazy man stalking him with the shopping cart was even as he secretly threw items into the basket. Sam, for his part, was a pretty good sport about the whole thing-didn’t even make the comments on Dean’s choices that Dean was expecting.

Sam only raised an eyebrow a few times in the store. He’d started off with pointing out that Dean might actually want to pick up some healthy food for once instead of just chips and junk food but ended up following Dean around as Dean picked up random ingredients. Nothing fancy but yeah, Dean wasn’t ten anymore. He could cook Sammy something better than just spaghetti-o’s. Hell, maybe he’d even cook Sam that vegetarian lasagna that the freak was so incredibly fond of. For the life of him, Dean would never be able to understand Sam’s utter love of what should be considered a truly borked recipe but food was food and really, who was he to judge? The only reason Sam only got it once a blue moon wasn’t because of Dean’s general disdain for it but rather the time it took to put together. Hunters usually didn’t operate on that kind of schedule and again: who had time to cook?

The store itself was tiny, with only seven aisles, though it certainly tried to pack the whole world onto its overstuffed shelves. Each aisle was narrow, with just barely enough room for two carts to push beside each other if you didn’t mind bumping something off the shelf. Every time they turned a corner, Dean hoped that no one would be in the aisle or, if there was, that said person would hurry up.

Luckily for them, it took them until aisle 5 to actually find anyone. Dean was looking at the different brands of spaghetti sauce, wondering what the damn difference was when he heard Sam say, “Oh, excuse me,” and the scuffle of the cart being scooted over. Dean turned and damn near fell over onto his ass.

The girl was gorgeous in that small-town, girl next-door kind of way, with long brown hair waving past her shoulders, a leather jacket, and a gray turtleneck that he had to say brought out the best in her boobs. Dean grinned. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she said back, adding a small smile of her own.

“So-”

“No,” the girl said and Dean blinked, surprised.

“What?”

“Whatever you were going to ask,” she explained flatly, the smile gone, “the answer’s no.”

Dean ducked his head, staring at the floor ‘cause that was just harsh. He hadn't even said anything. “I was just-”

“You’re the feds,” she said, interrupting him again.

“I-uh…” Yeah, Dean had nothing for that. That was what they were playing.

“And you talked to Mrs. Littleton, today. I don’t know why you insist on dragging her through that again-her husband’s dead! She needs time to heal.”

Sam-the bastard-was giggling at the floor while Dean was busy crashing and burning. He gaped like a fish for a few moments while the girl turned on her nicely-shod heel and stalked away. Dean shook himself before grabbing a random can of sauce off the shelf and dropping it into the cart. “It’s not funny, Sam,” Dean muttered, still wondering where exactly he'd gone so wrong during that little exchange.

“Oh I think it’s hilarious,” Sam said and laughed even harder. “You just failed miserably-she shot you down good.”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad this is all amusing to you.” Dean grabbed a hold of the cart, dragging it behind him. “Get a move on Sam, we don’t got all day.”

The dumbshit was still laughing when they went through the register and Dean rolled his eyes, exasperated as he held open the door for a blond-haired kid in a jean jacket as they walked out. Sam threw his few bags of food into the backseat of the Impala and Dean leaned up against her side, smiling.

“You’re not James Dean,” Sam said and Dean threw him a smile over his shoulder.

“Why do you got to be so mean, Sammy?”

“Because otherwise your ego wouldn’t fit in the car,” Sam replied, opening the Impala’s front passenger door. “Can we go back to the cabin now?”

Dean waved a hand because, yeah, they did have a job to do and all but sometimes it was just worth it to see the bitchy look on Sam’s face. He had some doozies. “Yeah, sure, just gotta go take a leak first.” Sam didn’t disappoint, rolling his eyes and sinking into the Impala with a sigh. Dean laughed, heading back into the store, in a good mood for once because, hey, just because their locale sucked didn’t mean they had to be depressed.

The cashier smiled at him as he passed by on the way to the restroom and Dean smiled back. She was pretty with her hair back in braids though she hardly looked old enough to be running a register. Whistling tunelessly to himself, Dean pushed open the bathroom door, holding it briefly for a kid looking like Billy Idol in a jean jacket, permanently stuck in the 80s, to catch it before planting himself in front of a urinal and unzipping his jeans. He nearly moaned as he finally let loose ‘cause it was just that good but he remembered at the last second that he wasn’t exactly alone. He didn’t need to be spooking the poor kid that had followed in.

He chuckled to himself, mentally imaging the scenario even as he called himself a freak.

His head slammed against the wall, his body shoved off balance and pushed over. The floor rushed up to meet Dean with open arms, the tile jarring his shoulder as he tried an abortive, last minute roll only to find that the sudden weight on his back wouldn’t let him. Confused and panicked, Dean writhed against the floor, trying to throw off his unknown attacker. A cruel, mocking chuckle was all he got, followed by another bash of his head against the floor. Dean groaned, his body going slack as he was rolled over. He blinked dazedly up at spiky blond hair and a jean jacket on a kid that couldn’t have been older than 19.

What the fuck? Dean tried to get his mouth to work, to say the words, but all that came out with a mumbled “Wha-un-k…”

“Shh…” the kid said with a smile, placing a finger over Dean’s lips. Dean blinked again. “You’ve got a very pretty face,” the kid continued and right about there, Dean started losing interest. His head lolled to the side, mind trying to check out because, Jesus, if he was going to get raped on the dirty floor of a public restroom by a kid just barely out of puberty, he shouldn’t be expected to stick around, right? The kid apparently had other plans, though, and shook Dean. “Nu-uh,” he said. “No, you need to be awake for this…” He smacked Dean lightly on the cheek before cupping Dean’s face and forcing him to meet the kid’s black-rimmed eyes. When he spoke again, his voice sounded different. Echo-y. Dean frowned, trying to piece it all together in his scrambled brain as the kid stared into his goddamned soul for crying out loud.

“You’ve been looking where you shouldn’t have been. Should have left it alone. Shouldn't have even come here, just like those girls,” the kid told him, deep and smooth and impossibly older than he looked. “So I'm going to give you a little present. Dean. Just like I gave them.” With that, the kid was suddenly kissing him, all eager, soft lips and presumptuous demanding tongue sliding into Dean’s mouth. Dean choked, bucking up, instinctively trying to fight back against the unwelcome invader. He grunted and shoved at the kid but he had all the strength of a wet noodle and was just about as effective as one. The kid bore down on Dean’s hips, rubbing against Dean’s exposed dick and making him, despite his reluctance, stand up and salute.

Dean’s lips tingled when he was finally released, a soft burn beneath the skin and he stared at the smiling face above him even as his tongue flickered at the ache over and over. He couldn’t stop himself, not when each twinge was answered in his dick. All he knew was that he wanted more. With a whimper, Dean tried to sit up, tried to wrap his arms around the angel above him but he was gently pushed back down. “How about,” the boy whispered, slowly pushing himself up, “you go show your brother a good time? Somewhere safe. Quiet. Somewhere where no one will disturb you, hmm? Somewhere were you can be all alone.”

Dean nodded. He understood. He had to find Sam. Had to find Sam and go somewhere safe and quiet. His entire body still screamed but instead of burning for the angel’s touch, it wanted Sam’s. Sam, Sam, Sam.

Dean shoved himself onto his knees, awkwardly jolting to his feet and the angel laughed, helping him up. “You’re a mess,” he said, smoothing Dean’s hair. Dean nodded and tried to kiss him again. The boy pulled away, laughing, dropping a quick finger on Dean’s lips that made him moan, made his hips jerk. “None of that. Save it for your brother, remember? Remember, Dean?”

Dean nodded again. Yeah. “Sammy…”

“There you go,” the angel praised, “that’s a good boy,” and Dean’s body heated. He was a good boy-he was. The angel ran a hand over Dean’s forehead, wiping away sweat and blood and pain. “That’s better,” he said, tucking Dean back into his pants like he was a child and zipping him up. “Good as new. Now off you go.” He turned Dean around, shoving at his shoulders and Dean haltingly plodded to the door. Yeah. He had to go find Sammy. There was a peeling laugh behind him, but Dean didn’t turn around. He had to go find Sammy.

He could smell Sam-close but yet too far away-too, too, too far away-and he blindly followed it. Had to go find Sammy.

“Sir, are you okay?” a voice asked, a hand hovering at his elbow like it wanted to touch but wasn’t sure what would be allowed.

“’m fine,” Dean mumbled, veering away and heading towards the sliding doors where Sam’s smell was getting stronger. It was cinnamon and pepper and burnt chocolate-spicy and bitter but still sweet and underneath it was just a smell of home. A smell of promises and love and unyielding acceptance. It was perfect and he had to have more.

“Sir?” the voice asked again but Dean ignored it, wobbling outside. The Impala, smelling of safety and reassurance, was parked to the right and Dean went to it, not stopping until his shins hit the front fender and he bent over the hood.

“Dean?” Sam’s perfect voice asked over the creak of the Impala’s door and Dean whimpered. Sammy. Sammy was here. So close. So damn close…

With a lurch, Dean shoved himself off the car, throwing himself towards Sam. “Dean!” Long, strong arms wrap around Dean, pulling him against solid chest and into direct contact with the overwhelming scent of Sam. “What happened?” Sam demanded but Dean didn’t have the words to answer. He shook his head, nuzzling against Sam’s chest. Sam was wearing too many clothes. He had to-safe. He had to find someplace safe. Dean wrenched himself away, digging into his pocket for the keys. He had to find someplace quiet.

“Dean,” Sam said, the concern in his voice making Dean’s chest squeeze tight. Sam’s hands clenched tight on Dean’s upper arms and his knees wanted to buckle.

It’s okay, Sammy, Dean wanted to say. Everything’s fine. But first he had to find someplace safe. His tongue seemed stuck in his mouth, though, heavy and useless and the world was passing by in a dull haze. “Home?” he tried hopefully.

“Dean, what’s wrong? What just happened?” Sam shook him, making Dean hiss. The world was spinning way too fast.

Nothing’s wrong, Sammy. We’re fine. Dad’ll be home soon. “Home…”

Sam swallowed and Dean just barely managed to keep himself from pitching forward into Sam’s arms again, just barely stopped from burying his nose in Sam’s broad chest, from reaching up to grab Sam’s face and bring him down for a taste. Just a taste. He wanted to see if Sam tasted like he smelled-if he tasted just as good. Dean rocked forward, his willpower breaking. He needed to find someplace quiet soon. He couldn’t wait. He had to share the angel’s gift with Sam soon. His lips felt ready to burst they were tingling so much. He licked them again, groaning when an answering zing pulsed through his dick.

Sam glanced to the left and to the right, checking for what Dean didn’t know, before snatching the keys from Dean. “Let’s get out of here,” Sam said, pushing Dean towards the Impala.

Dean nodded, fully on board with that and tried to wrap himself around Sam. Sam felt so good next to him-solid, comforting warmth-just as good as he smelled. Sam pushed him away, dumping Dean into the Impala’s seat and ignoring Dean’s whimper. He stared at him, jaw working and Dean tried to push himself up, to get close to Sam again, to wipe the worry out of Sam’s eyes and replace it with something warmer. “’M fine, Sammy…” he said and Sam barked a harsh laugh.

“Sure you are.”

Dean frowned, confused again and he felt his throat close up when the door to the Impala slammed shut, trapping him inside the car and separating him from Sam. He threw himself against the door, trying to shove it open but not quite remembering how. He had to find Sammy!

“Dean! Dean!” A hand shook his shoulder and Dean whipped around to stare at Sam’s big brown eyes as Sam entered the Impala from the other side. That was right. The Impala had two doors, didn’t it? Maybe more.

Dean licked his lips again and flung himself across the seat to cling to Sam’s side. “Sammy…” He wrapped his arms around Sam’s shoulders, rocking his body against Sam. Sam was everything Dean ever needed. He was the only thing Dean ever needed. He was perfect and safe and home. Love and acceptance and warmth. They just needed to find someplace safe and quiet and Dean would be able to show Sam how good he was. His body was humming, low and insistent and Dean whimpered, burying his face against Sam’s jacket.

“It’s okay,” Sam said and Dean wanted to smooth the anger and the worry out of his voice. Sam was here; they were fine; didn’t Sam know that? “Everything’s going to be fine.” Of course it was. Sammy was here. They were heading home. “I’ll take care of you.” Sam did that just by breathing.

Sam’s voice continued on, whispering reassurances to Dean and Dean got lost in the haze of pleasure they wrapped him in. He drifted in and out of the pure Sam-ness that surrounded him, even as the thrum of his body grew more and more insistent. The Impala echoed underneath him, rumbling to match the tingle in his nerves and Dean really hoped that they were close to somewhere safe.

A hand shook Dean out of his fugue and Dean realized that the Impala was stopped, through the engine was still running. He blinked up at Sam’s sad, puppy dog eyes, reaching a hand to smooth back his hair. Sam caught the hand, breath shuddering as the smell of burnt spice filled the Impala’s interior. Dean moaned, knowing what he had to do and he leaned up to kiss Sam.

The Impala’s door opened with a scream and Sam jumped out, leaving Dean to fall onto the seat that Sam had just been sitting in. He groaned, pushing himself to his knees on the leather, staring at Sam. “Sammy…”

Sam’s jaw clenched and he reached down to yank Dean out of the car, just barely letting Dean get his feet underneath him before dragging him towards the cabin that Dean distantly remembered that they were staying in. Perfect. Safe and quiet. No one would disturb them.

Sam was amazing.

The door of the cabin closed behind Dean, Sam locking it before he turned around. “Don’t worry, Dean-” he started but that was all he got out. They were someplace safe and quiet and Dean was about to explode.

Dean launched himself at Sam, the haze of his mind clearing to focus with pinpoint accuracy on Sam, Sam, Sammy. Sam stumbled as Dean slammed into him, banging back against the door. “Dean-” Dean sealed his lips over Sam’s, finally pressing the aching tingle of his lips against Sam’s warm perfection. It was exactly where he needed to be. Sam struggled, trying to shove him away but Dean didn’t know why. So he whimpered and pressed in closer, rocking his hips up against Sam and cupping his face. Sam had to know that they had to do this. They had to. This was the only thing that would make Dean whole. He had to show Sam what he meant to Dean. Had to show him a good time. A perfect time. The tingle of his lips was spreading to his entire body and Sam’s mouth against his felt like high voltage.

Sam’s struggles ceased and suddenly Dean was being turned to slam against the wall of the cabin, Sam’s massive hands running down Dean’s back to cup his ass. Oh, yes. Yes, this was perfect. Dean moaned and wrapped a leg around Sam, hooking it around his waist, and jumped up to wrap his other one around, too. Sam held him up effortlessly, arms cradling Dean’s body.

The scent of Sam was even more overpowering-that cinnamon and chocolate smell was back, threading through the deep musk of what Dean instinctually knew was arousal. It made him moan in surrender. He was ready. He was more than ready.

Sam carried Dean back to the back bedroom, Dean rocking against him insistently, hopefully. This was perfect, just what they needed. Dean broke his lips free of Sam’s to mouth down Sam’s neck, sucking on the vulnerable skin. Sam groaned and, like it was a release valve, they both fell, bouncing onto the bed. Sam landed on top of Dean, long limbs sprawling over him and Dean purred at how good it felt to be under Sam. “Sammy…” he whispered and leaned up to kiss Sam again.

There was no holding back from Sam now. Sam kissed like a thing possessed as he spread Dean’s legs to rock hard against him. Dean whimpered, meeting him at each thrust, feeling Sam’s hard cock pressing against him. Yes.

Sam’s hands were everywhere, too, stripping off Dean’s clothes and running over his bare skin. With not even having a hope of keeping up with all the places Sam was touching, Dean let himself lay back and enjoy the ride. He moaned and shivered appreciatively, moving wherever Sam put him as he let Sam run the show. Sammy always did like to be in control. It was perfect.

Sam fumbled into Dean’s pants and Dean jerked, hissing at the too pleasurable touch of Sam’s skin on his dick. They were taking too long. Much too long. He kicked at Sam, shoving him back to get enough room to tug off the jeans and throw them in the corner. Sam watched him with dark, hungry eyes, pupils dilated as he shed his own clothes before jumping back on top of Dean. Dean wiggled happily because even the lightest of Sam’s brushes against his body were setting him on fire. He wound his arms around Sam’s neck, dragging him down for more desperate kisses as Sam found his cock again.

Sam pumped him slow but firm, his big hand encircling Dean completely as he stroked. Dean whined, starting to tremble, and they had to get on with this. He wasn’t going to last. He shoved two fingers into his mouth, sucking on them and getting them wet before he moved his hand between his legs, right beside Sam’s and going lower, to push a finger into himself. “Sammy…” he whispered.

Sam’s groan was half pleasure and half pain. “Dean.”

Dean licked his lips and pushed a second finger inside. It hurt but the burn was so sweet. Even sweeter still was the thought that soon it wasn’t going to be his fingers fucking him. “Sammy… Need you…”

“God, Dean.” Sam’s head fell forward to land against Dean’s shoulder as Sam’s breathing turned ragged.

“Now,” Dean continued. Didn’t Sam understand that he couldn’t wait? It had to be now, now, now!

In a flash, Sam was up off of him and Dean was left whining in disappointment. He tried to push himself up to see where Sam might have gone to but before he could Sam was back, bearing him down to the bed, covering him. Dean rocked his hips against Sam eagerly, his hard cock sliding against Sam’s naked stomach. “Dean,” Sam groaned. “You’re going to hate me in the morning.”

That was just ridiculous. Dean had never hated Sam. Couldn’t. And he certainly wouldn’t start for something like this… Sam was talking nonsense again. Dean whined and wiggled his hips, plunging his fingers in and fucking himself, hoping to tempt Sam into getting on with it. Sam groaned and shuddered, his eyes closing as he breathed in slow measured gasps. Then Dean’s hand was ripped away and Sam was lining himself up, his dick already slicked with lube.

Dean arched with an encouraging moan. His entire body felt like it was on fire, burning up. He needed Sam. Needed him now. He had to show Sam a good time. He had to do this for Sammy.

Sam pushed in, slow and easy until impatience caused Dean to wrap his legs around Sam and drag him closer. Sam hissed as he sunk in while Dean’s eyes opened wide. He felt like he was being split in two. Sam’s cock was huge; why hadn’t he ever noticed this before? And God, it felt perfect. “God, Dean…” Sam said, turning his head away. “I can’t…”

“Move, Sammy…” Dean whispered, rolling his hips against Sam. Sam gasped and jerked his hips, his cock sliding so sweetly inside of Dean. “Mmm!” Dean moaned, hands reaching out to claw at Sam’s shoulders. “Yeah…” His voice squeaked at the tail end of the word as Sam thrust in again, hips pulling back for a good hard slam against Dean and Dean found he couldn’t seem to get his mouth to form words anymore.

Sam growled and fucked like a beast, all hard bruising grips, nipping teeth, and demanding rolls of his hips. Dean moaned and twisted beneath him, desperate to ride him out, feeling his body burning hotter and hotter with each passing minute. He felt like he was going to explode, to split and burst over the walls and he wasn’t quite sure what was holding him together.

Sam’s angle changed, him leaning more fully over Dean as he rocked into him and Sam’s hand grabbed a hold of Dean’s cock, stroking it strong and sure. Dean’s eyes opened wide but he saw nothing but white as he came.

“Fuck-” Sam bite off, fucking harder and Dean panted as he tried to come down from the damn ceiling already. Each thrust of Sam’s felt like another mini-orgasm, dragging it out and Dean bit his lip to stop from sobbing. Finally Sam grunted and came, pulsing inside of Dean. Dean breathed once, twice, and then the world went away.

Somewhere, far away, he thought he could hear laughter.

Part 1 | Master Post | Part 3