"Another Soldier 2/6" by ellipsisblack, commentary by ladyvyola
Another Soldier on the Road to Nowhere
by ellipsisblack (conquest)
PART 1
Part 2: V-X. NC-17.
"nothing unusual nothing strange
close to nothing at all
the same old scenario the same old rain
and there's no explosions here"
* *
Michael obviously wasn't going to give up that quickly.
Michael can out-stubborn a Winchester, as we'll see. But he's so low-key that he can move in, unpack, and set up shop before you realize that he's even knocked on the door. Dean has no chance.
Dean had struck out up a hill and inland, so Michael followed. He was depressingly aware that he was not a stealthy pursuer, and, of course, Dean must have known that Michael would probably follow him, but Dean didn't look back once, just set a spanking pace that had Michael gasping for breath by the time they reached the hotel where Dean had apparently rented a room.
Michael snuck into the lobby, sending a shifty look at the desk clerk, then watched the elevator climb to the third floor and stop. Okay, he could deal with that. All he had to do was go up to the third floor himself, and knock on doors until Dean answered one of them.
Okay.
Right.
He was going to need a drink first.
The sun went down and the lights went on while he was sitting at a table in the corner of a little bar around the corner from the inappropriately named Royal Hotel, contemplating one beer after another. He had a good view of the door, and was glaring at it thoughtfully when it opened and Dean walked in. He looked even more tired than he had earlier, and he was swaying slightly, whether from exhaustion or alcohol, Michael wasn't sure.
Michael couldn't help thinking that Tony had been right. Dean had fallen back on old habits, if his familiar greeting to the barkeeper was any indication.
Michael was about to go up and talk to him again, but suddenly all he wanted to do was watch. He leaned back in his seat and watched as Dean worked his magic on the girl covering the bar, then he watched as Dean tilted his head back, exposing his long neck and tossed back the shot. It was the flash of tongue around the glass that did it. Michael stood up abruptly and almost knocked the table over.
Dean had turned around in an instant. His expression darkened when his eyes met Michael's and he tossed back the last of his drink before stalking over.
"The hell?" he demanded.
Michael gathered his stuff. "I was just leaving," he said hastily, glancing nervously around him, anywhere but Dean's irritated gaze. "Sorry."
He pushed past Dean, shoulder making contact with shoulder, and hurried out onto the street.
Michael's youth comes out here. He wants -- he needs -- to see Dean but he can't handle his own reactions yet.
* *
VI.
A couple of hours later, Michael slunk back into the bar. After he left, he'd walked all the way back to his hotel, only to realise he'd left his wallet, with the room key tucked into it, on the table at the bar. He'd been too ashamed to go back while he was sure Dean would be there, so he waited long enough that there was a reasonable chance Dean would have left, walking around the streets, staring up at the sky and trying to ignore the fact that he kept getting propositioned by strange men and he wasn't sure whether they were expecting to pay or be paid by him.
Mikey, Mikey, Mikey. Always do the negotiating up front.
A quick scan of the room suggested that he was right and Dean had gone. He hurried over to his table, heart crawling into his stomach when he realised his wallet wasn't there.
God, he was such a dickhead.
Is there anything more demoralizing than acting like a moron around someone you admire? (Okay, acting like a moron around someone you admire and want.)
He went up to the bar and asked the girl Dean had been flirting with earlier if she'd seen anyone pick up a wallet.
"You Mikey?" she asked.
"Yeah. Why?"
"Oh... your friend Miles found your wallet. He said he'd look after it for you."
Michael winced. Dean was holding his wallet hostage. That pretty much meant he had to bite the bullet and go knock on his door.
"Yeah, he said to remind you that he's in room 302 at the Royal."
Michael blinked. "Oh, right, of course. Thanks."
He went straight across to the hotel before he could change his mind. He took the stairs up to level three, fastidiously avoiding touching the filthy hand-rail. On the third level, he leant against the door to the stairwell, staring across at the greyish door behind which lay room 302.
Michael tried to make himself breathe deeply and focus, but it was difficult when he was winded from bounding up the stairs, and still feeling the liquid courage. And, of course, also when he knew Dean was behind that door, waiting for him to reclaim his wallet.
He launched himself at the door and knocked firmly twice. He had expected that Dean would answer immediately, but he was wrong. It took another round of slightly louder knocking before the door opened and Dean glared out at him.
"What are you doing here?"
"Um... the barkeeper," Michael said, gesturing behind him for no good reason. "My wallet."
"Oh yeah. Come in." Dean ran his hand through his hair and stepped back.
Michael eyed Dean warily. "I might wait here, if that's okay," he said. The thought of being shut in a hotel room with a drunk and grumpy Winchester was a little terrifying.
Dean made an annoyed noise, grabbed Michael by the front of his wifebeater, and dragged him into the room. A moment later, an object came flying at his chest, and he put out his hands instinctively to catch it. It was his wallet.
"Good reflexes," Dean said, flopping onto the double bed and squinting around for a longneck that he eventually found on the bedside table.
Michael stepped away from the door and looked around, tucking the wallet into his back pocket. The room was typical hotel, with flowered wallpaper, a violently green carpet, and a mini bar. The bed took up most of the floor space.
"What did you want again?" asked Dean, dropping the empty bottle onto the carpet. "Oh, by the way, there's more beer in the fridge. You can get yourself one. Get me one too." His gaze was sharp, and Michael almost wondered if he was being played. Maybe Dean was doing the whole drunk amnesia routine just to annoy him. He couldn't honestly have forgotten that Michael was offering to help him find Sam, could he?
"Um, thanks." He crossed the room, feeling Dean watching him. He was suddenly acutely aware of how tight the black wifebeater was over his chest.
"I can help you find your brother," he said, handing Dean a beer. Their fingers brushed on the neck of the bottle, and Michael looked up to find Dean leering at him. "He disappeared in Ohio, right, and so I did some research and-"
"Illinois."
"What?"
"Sam disappeared in Illinois."
Michael deflated like a balloon. "Oh. But still, I want to help."
"Oh, and why is that?" Dean looked up, eyes tired and bitter.
"I just-I owe you one."
"Why?"
Michael wondered why he was so desperate not to tell Dean who he was. Probably because he was scared Dean just wouldn't even remember. To Michael, meeting the Winchesters had been a turning point, the moment his eyes were opened, he realised what he wanted to do with his life, and he realised what was out there that he had to protect his mom and Asher from. But to Dean, he'd probably been just another kid in another small town. A person in peril, who happened to be convenient to give them a bit of a hand.
Dean changed Michael's life. Michael... did nothing for Dean. But if he can help find Sam....
"I just do, okay? You shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth." Oh Christ, he said that, then he realised that Dean was, in fact, looking at his mouth. A tingle went up his spine.
"And what are you willing to do ?"
"...What?"
"Well, right now, I'm piss drunk, and horny as hell. So all the help I want is a good hard fuck and then to sleep for three days." Dean stood up from the bed and took two steps towards Michael.
I get the feeling Dean doesn't care if he gets laid or if he scares Michael off.
Michael's heart hopped then skidded to a stop in his chest. "Uh. Right," he said, his voice going high.
He said, low and slow, "Can you help me with that, Mikey?"
On the other hand, Dean is not one to turn away a sure thing.
Dean took his hand and pulled him down onto the bed. And that, right there, was almost more than Michael had done with a guy.
When you spent the entirety of your high school years in a one school town building a closet kingdom and your summers learning to locate and shoot for the heart in eighty different non-humans, you couldn't really afford to slip up. He'd kissed girls, of course, but never really got over the playground yick factor, and at a party the weekend school ended, he'd kissed another guy on a dare and immediately had to re-assert his masculinity by decking some asshole who made a joke about it.
So to have Dean-sexy Dean, Dean who was drunk, a lot older and clearly a player; Dean, who, if Michael hadn't had a crush on earlier, he was fast on the way to developing one-pulling him down onto the bed, was exhilarating and terrifying, and Michael almost ran right then, out of the hotel, and all the way back to Fitchburg.
But he didn't, because Dean's hand was wrapped around his wrist, tugging him down, and Michael could no more have refused that pull than he could have built a rocketship powered by the light that apparently shone out of Sam Winchester's ass.
"Um," was all he said, because then Dean released his wrist and put his hand on Michael's chin instead. Dean pulled their bodies inexorably closer, until his lips were only an inch from Michael's, and he could feel Dean's breath, which unsurprisingly smelt like alcohol. Dean's eyes caught his and he paused, as if asking permission, and Michael knew Dean wouldn't do anything without the go-ahead, but he didn't know how you communicated to dead gorgeous older men that you would let them do pretty much anything they wanted, so he just made a small, confused noise in his throat.
Fortunately, Dean took this the right way. The hand on Michael's chin slid around to cradle the back of his head, fingers twisting in his hair and pulling his spiky ponytail loose, before Dean closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to Michael's. The kiss quickly passed beyond Michael's realm of experience, when Dean's tongue became demanding and his hand in Michael's hair tangled around the long strands, pulling tight.
Michael twisted and gasped, and Dean's hand held him still while he nuzzled aside Michael's shirt collar and pressed his lips to Michael's collarbone, just slightly scraping his teeth over the bone.
Michael's only thought at this point was to give Dean's mouth as much skin as possible, so he fumbled with the neck of the wifebeater, then just pulled it off. Dean had to let go of his hair so Michael could pull the shirt over his head, but once that was done, he moved around and pressed Michael back against the pillows, and went back to licking and biting down his chest, pausing to tongue one nipple while Michael blissed out against the headboard.
"You're fucking hot, you know that?" said Dean, pausing when he reached Michael's waistband and looking up.
Michael just whimpered, and Dean began unbuttoning his fly. He was about to pull Michael's aching dick free, when Michael's hand on his stopped him.
"Um," said Michael, trying to marshal words, "I want..." he tugged at Dean's shirtfront, and Dean crawled back up his body. "Clothes."
Dean's eyes sparked with understanding and he grinned enigmatically, sitting back on his heels and unbuttoning his shirt to reveal lean, tanned flesh. He shrugged the shirt off, and Michael sat up and shuffled forward so he was kneeling facing Dean, one knee between Dean's thighs. He put one hand on Dean's chest, and Dean leaned forward, eyes falling almost-closed. He worked at his jeans, stood up and pulled them off.
This is a pretty picture.
"Lights off?" he said, naked and unabashed, and the blood rushed to Michael's face. He nodded wordlessly, and Dean flicked the switch, plunging the room into moonlight and shadow.
Dean's skin was lit with blue as he closed the gap to the bed. He pushed Michael back and climbed on, dragging Michael's jeans off before crawling on top and kissing him, long and generous.
Michael groaned into Dean's mouth and tried to say something. He reflected hazily that he really should have joined debate club when his Mom suggested it, because talking under pressure was a skill he could definitely use right now.
Dean's hand slid down his side, fingers crooked just slightly so that the nail scraped and Michael forgot what he was going to say anyway. Then Dean's hand settled around his dick, while Dean arched above him, sleek muscles sliding under smooth skin in the moonlight, and Michael forgot everything.
His fingers scrabbled at Dean's back, and Dean dropped onto his elbow beside Michael, his chin at Michael's neck and one leg over his thighs.
He said, his voice thrumming through Michael's shoulder, "You haven't done this before."
Michael shook his head and twisted his body so he could run his hands down Dean's back. "I... small town. Closet kingdom." He wasn't making sense and he knew it, so he just trailed off into a groan and hoped Dean would take that for an answer.
Dean caught his eyes, his gaze sharpening for a second and his lip twitching. "You're so fucking gorgeous," he said, putting an arm around Michael's shoulder and pulling their bodies flush with each other. Michael hissed as his dick brushed against Dean's.
"Oh God," he said, "fuck."
"Yeah," purred Dean, sliding his hand over Michael's ass and pulling, fitting his hips against Michael's and grinding.
I love this scene because even though Dean is drunk and pissed-off at the start, he still focuses totally on Michael. He lets him (and us!) know just how good Michael looks and feels.
Michael was making little noises in the back of his throat. He wanted to kiss Dean, but Dean's head was thrown back, his chin brushing Michael's hair, and Michael's face pressed against Dean's neck, so he kissed that instead, then bit down, and Dean jerked and groaned, voice rough and brittle.
"Shit, Mikey," he hissed, "that hurt."
Michael put his tongue where his teeth had been for a second, then shifted slightly and gave Dean a matching mark right beside the first one. Dean's groan was even rougher, and his movements became more frantic, grinding their cocks against one another while Michael worried at his collarbone. Dean's hands were moving everywhere, sometimes on Michael's ass to pull them closer together, sometimes gliding up his side, sometimes cradling his face or knotting his hair.
Their bodies slid together, sweat mingled, pressure rising and then Michael was coming, biting down against Dean's neck hard enough to draw blood, and Dean was swearing, sliding his hand between their bodies, into the mess of Michael's come and bringing himself off while Michael wrapped his arms around Dean's back and licked at the blood seeping from the perfect set of teeth marks over the tendon on the right side of his neck.
And hello, bite kink! If I didn't have it before, I'd have it now. I love the fact that Michael reacts so viscerally, so uninhibitedly. And he puts his mark on Dean from the start.
* *
VII.
Michael drifted off into a drunken doze covered in sweat and come and Dean, and feeling mellow to his bones. Sometime during the night, Dean shifted so that he was pressed against Michael's back, not exactly spooning, but still, there was something oddly protective about it.
We all knew Dean was a snuggler.
In the morning, Dean woke up first, with a string of curses that woke Michael up too. He rolled over, feeling a hundred tiny aches, and stared guiltily at the necklace of bite marks Dean was wearing. Although, those seemed like the least of Dean's problems.
Debaucher, debauchee. But the debauchee got some good licks in.
Dean looked down at Michael through bleary eyes and said, scrunching them tight, "Jesus fuck. We gotta get cleaned up. C'mon." With his eyes still closed, he made his way across to the bathroom, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose and the other feeling in front of him.
Michael struggled upright. He wasn't feeling so much hung over as just dirty, so he followed without comment. Dean had already turned the shower on and was leaning against the filthy recess and letting the water hit him square in the face and run down his body.
"Hop in," he said, cracking open one eye as he heard Michael shut the bathroom door.
Michael did so, and Dean budged over and handed him the soap. "Um," said Michael.
"Yeah," said Dean.
They were quiet for a while whilst Dean leant against the wall and Michael washed dried come off his stomach. Having done himself, Michael reached tentatively for Dean with the bar of soap. Dean started when he felt Michael's soapy hands skirting over his stomach and grabbed Michael's wrist. "Best not to," he said and took the soap. "Don't take it wrong."
Michael couldn't help it though; there was a flash of hurt. He tried to ignore it. "I can help you find your brother," he said, over the noise of the water hitting the porcelain bathtub.
Dean barked out a laugh. "That again, Mikey? It's too fucking early."
Dean, meet the Irresistible Force. (Sam is definitely the Immovable Object.)
Michael grabbed Dean's hand. Dean opened his eyes to slits and eyed Michael interrogatively.
"You saved my brother once," he said. "We thought he was going to die, and you saved him. I just want to return the favour."
He searched for some spark of recognition, that Dean remembered a kid named Michael with a little brother, from some town in Wisconsin.
Dean just said, "Sure," his voice cool and dead, and pushed out of the shower.
Michael didn't push it, because he didn't want Dean to look at him, slightly confused and say, "When was that?" like they had been just another in a long line of petty hunts. He finished up his shower without haste. He turned the water off and located a towel-the only towel-and wrapped it around his waist before he went back into the main room.
Dean was sitting on the bed in jeans, nursing a glass of water.
"Okay," said Michael, "That was a mistake."
"What, the shower?" Dean raised his head and half-smiled, ironically.
"No, before that."
"Oh." The syllable was eloquent. "Yeah."
"We were both drunk."
"Yeah."
"And we have work to do so um..." he looked around for his clothes, which, as luck would have it, were in a crumpled heap right beside Dean's foot. "...I'm going to go and get some coffee, and then we're going to head for Illinois or wherever and do some digging." He managed to say all this decisively, then he caught Dean's look and had to add, "Okay?"
Dean picked up Michael's clothes and handed them to him. He gave Michael a look like he wasn't sure why the hell he was going along with this. Then his lips twitched into a sardonic grin. "You're the boss."
If you can't beat 'em....
Michael nodded. "Right. Uh, how do you like your coffee?"
"Black, double strength," said Dean, slumping back onto the bed and spreading out. From that position he tossed the room key at Michael. "Let yourself back in."
Then he put his arm over his eyes, looking for all intents and purposes like he intended to have a nap.
Michael found a Starbucks within a block of the hotel and came back balancing two double strength black coffees-he'd decided to have what Dean had. He was about to open the door when he heard talking on the other side.
Were the walls really that thin, he wondered, flushing. If so, Dean's neighbours had got quite the show last night.
He leant against the door, eavesdropping shamelessly.
"I know last time I called I said I was through and you could stay lost for all I cared, but... Sammy, you once said that people don't just disappear, other people just stop lookin' for 'em and... I ain't gonna stop looking for you, so if you get this-call me." There was the click of a phone snapping shut.
This time we hear the call first-hand, along with Mikey. It hurts even more as Dean gets as close as he ever does to an apology and then a declaration of intent. He will never stop looking for Sam.
"You said you're a big brother?"
"Yeah."
"You'd take care of your little brother? You'd do anything for him?"
"Yeah, I would."
Dean looked up as Michael opened the door and let himself back in.
"Give me an hour or two to sober up," he said quietly, "and we can be on the road."
He didn't say anything about the phone call, and Michael didn't ask.
He took a sip of the coffee and almost spat it out again. Jesus, it was strong.
* *
VIII.
The car trip was only punctuated by the roar of the car's engine. Dean drove without music, which was funny because Michael kinda remembered him with a soundtrack of seventies metal, and without conversation.
Michael might have tried to fill the silence, but he was distracted thinking about the phone message he'd overheard. His heart ached a little bit for Dean, because it was far too easy for Michael to place himself in Dean's shoes, imagine if Asher was missing, how scared he'd be, how he'd be wondering if Asher was kidnapped, or dead, or just hiding. It was the big brother thing, and Michael really wanted to let Dean know he understood, but he was pretty sure Dean wouldn't appreciate it.
That phone call though... it had been at least a month since Sam disappeared.
"Sorry," Michael began. "I heard your call. Did it ring before it went to voicemail?"
Dean flicked him an irritated look. "Yeah," he said shortly.
Michael nodded. "So... you're wondering if Sam hasn't been taken by something supernatural at all. If the phone is on, then he's charging it, right, and ignoring your calls."
Dean didn't respond, but his hand went white on the steering wheel.
"But what if that's not it? What if it's actually a clue about what kind of supernatural creature has got him?"
Dean frowned at the road. "I don't see how the hell it could be."
Michael leaned back against the seat. "Neither do I," he said. "Lemme think about it."
MICHAEL = SMART. This is sexy.
* *
IX.
They stopped for the night in Limon, Colorado, in a little motor inn off Route 70.
It was eleven-thirty at night, and the woman who dragged herself out of the back room when Dean rang the bell looked kinda like Michael felt. As he'd quickly discovered during the past weeks, sitting in a car, bus, taxi, whatever, all day was exhausting.
"King or two queens?" she asked swiping a hand over her eyes and staring at Dean's Mastercard like she couldn't remember what to do with it.
"Two queens."
"Yeah, I'll bet." Michael glanced out the window at Sam, who, as if alerted that he was being stared at, looked up.
Dean was looking at him as if he didn't quite believe what he'd heard. "What'd you say?"
Michael smirked. "Nice car."
God, he'd been such a smartass.
Dean parked the Impala in the designated spot and they tromped up to the room, which was on the second floor. Opening the door sent a whiff of stale smoke, and Dean's lip curled slightly when he caught the scent.
That lip-curl was hot. Michael couldn't help that he brushed against Dean's side when they entered the room. He probably could have avoided the hand-ass element of the contact if he'd wanted to.
I like how Michael's not all traumatized and worried after the less-than-wonderful morning after.
Dean claimed the bed nearer the door. "You want to shower tonight?" he asked.
"Hell no," said Michael, "sleep first. Bathe later."
Dean's lip flicked into his odd, reluctant smile. "Agreed."
They got ready for bed in silence. Michael climbed between the sheets of his bed and it creaked fit to wake the neighborhood.
"Jesus Christ," muttered Dean.
"Sorry." He was moving around, trying to get comfortable, and wincing at every noise the springs made.
Eventually, Dean said, "Okay fine, you can share mine."
Michael rolled over and stared at him.
"Not like that," Dean said irritably. "Just, either stop moving or switch beds, because that racket is driving me nuts. Don't get me wrong, Mikey, you're still fucking hot, but I'm so tired I don't think I could get it up."
Oh. Well. Was that something that happened when you were older? Because Michael was kinda hard just thinking about sharing a bed with Dean.
Oh, Mikey. Sometimes you are so very young. This is probably a good thing, as Dean needs someone to wear him out.
He mentally shrugged. The plan had a lot going for it and very few drawbacks. And if he slept facing away from Dean, Dean need never know about the boner.
Dean shuffled over to the right side as Michael padded between the two beds and climbed in.
"I'm gonna kick the blanket off," he said.
"Sure," said Michael. "That's fine." The room wasn't air-conditioned, and the air was sticky.
Dean flicked off the bedside lamp and they each turned so that their backs were facing. Michael figured this was as good a time as any to broach the subject-Dean was tired, his defences were down-so after a pause he said, "Could you tell me what happened?"
Sneaky. Distract him with sex then hit him with the hard question.
There was a long silence, then Dean spoke, fast and toneless. "There were maulings around Griggsville. Like a werewolf, except the patterns were wrong. They were happening every three months instead of every full moon. So we investigated. Thought maybe it was a pack or even a lone black dog doing it. Anyway, we were out in the woods one night at the quarter when whatever it was should have been hunting, and Sam just vanished. I searched but-anyway, that was the last I saw of him. One minute he was there, the next, pfff, gone." Dean's voice became angrier as he spoke. "Couldn't call in the police. Sam's a Person of Interest in Illinois these days, and besides, there's something evil stalking those woods. Didn't want to involve civilians." He was quiet for a bit. "By the time I realised I wasn't gonna find him on my own, it was too late."
"Oh," said Michael. "Okay, thanks."
Dean laughed humourlessly. "You're welcome." He shifted slightly so there was an extra inch of space between them.
By the morning, he had his arm slung over Michael's back and his lips pressed into Michael's neck. It was weird, like Dean was used to sleeping like this with someone. Michael didn't try to shift him.
Just -- a world of "oh, Dean" here. He's trying so hard to keep his distance from Michael but his body knows that they fit. Not the same way that Sam fit him but still a true fit.
* *
X.
They reached Griggsville early afternoon the next day. It was a pleasant enough town, but Dean kept his eyes on the road straight ahead, jaw tight. Michael stared out the passenger side and looked at the buildings, a mix of colonial government buildings, strip malls of the kind you could see in any town across the country, and houses dating from apparently every architectural period since the town was founded.
"Stop," Michael said. "There's-isn't that woman putting up missing posters?"
Dean slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road. Sure enough, a woman in jeans and a button-up shirt was pinning black-and-white missing posters to a notice board outside the church.
Dean parked the car and banged his back against the seat once.
"Fuck it," he said, "I spend two weeks turning this shit hole upside down and not a peep out of any of them. The boy wonder swans in, and there's a woman pinning fucking missing posters to the wall on the main street." His tone was irritated, but some of the tension had gone out of his jaw.
"Might be nothing," said Michael, fighting a smug grin.
"Probably," said Dean. "We should check it out."
PART 3
by ellipsisblack (conquest)
PART 1
Part 2: V-X. NC-17.
"nothing unusual nothing strange
close to nothing at all
the same old scenario the same old rain
and there's no explosions here"
* *
Michael obviously wasn't going to give up that quickly.
Michael can out-stubborn a Winchester, as we'll see. But he's so low-key that he can move in, unpack, and set up shop before you realize that he's even knocked on the door. Dean has no chance.
Dean had struck out up a hill and inland, so Michael followed. He was depressingly aware that he was not a stealthy pursuer, and, of course, Dean must have known that Michael would probably follow him, but Dean didn't look back once, just set a spanking pace that had Michael gasping for breath by the time they reached the hotel where Dean had apparently rented a room.
Michael snuck into the lobby, sending a shifty look at the desk clerk, then watched the elevator climb to the third floor and stop. Okay, he could deal with that. All he had to do was go up to the third floor himself, and knock on doors until Dean answered one of them.
Okay.
Right.
He was going to need a drink first.
The sun went down and the lights went on while he was sitting at a table in the corner of a little bar around the corner from the inappropriately named Royal Hotel, contemplating one beer after another. He had a good view of the door, and was glaring at it thoughtfully when it opened and Dean walked in. He looked even more tired than he had earlier, and he was swaying slightly, whether from exhaustion or alcohol, Michael wasn't sure.
Michael couldn't help thinking that Tony had been right. Dean had fallen back on old habits, if his familiar greeting to the barkeeper was any indication.
Michael was about to go up and talk to him again, but suddenly all he wanted to do was watch. He leaned back in his seat and watched as Dean worked his magic on the girl covering the bar, then he watched as Dean tilted his head back, exposing his long neck and tossed back the shot. It was the flash of tongue around the glass that did it. Michael stood up abruptly and almost knocked the table over.
Dean had turned around in an instant. His expression darkened when his eyes met Michael's and he tossed back the last of his drink before stalking over.
"The hell?" he demanded.
Michael gathered his stuff. "I was just leaving," he said hastily, glancing nervously around him, anywhere but Dean's irritated gaze. "Sorry."
He pushed past Dean, shoulder making contact with shoulder, and hurried out onto the street.
Michael's youth comes out here. He wants -- he needs -- to see Dean but he can't handle his own reactions yet.
* *
VI.
A couple of hours later, Michael slunk back into the bar. After he left, he'd walked all the way back to his hotel, only to realise he'd left his wallet, with the room key tucked into it, on the table at the bar. He'd been too ashamed to go back while he was sure Dean would be there, so he waited long enough that there was a reasonable chance Dean would have left, walking around the streets, staring up at the sky and trying to ignore the fact that he kept getting propositioned by strange men and he wasn't sure whether they were expecting to pay or be paid by him.
Mikey, Mikey, Mikey. Always do the negotiating up front.
A quick scan of the room suggested that he was right and Dean had gone. He hurried over to his table, heart crawling into his stomach when he realised his wallet wasn't there.
God, he was such a dickhead.
Is there anything more demoralizing than acting like a moron around someone you admire? (Okay, acting like a moron around someone you admire and want.)
He went up to the bar and asked the girl Dean had been flirting with earlier if she'd seen anyone pick up a wallet.
"You Mikey?" she asked.
"Yeah. Why?"
"Oh... your friend Miles found your wallet. He said he'd look after it for you."
Michael winced. Dean was holding his wallet hostage. That pretty much meant he had to bite the bullet and go knock on his door.
"Yeah, he said to remind you that he's in room 302 at the Royal."
Michael blinked. "Oh, right, of course. Thanks."
He went straight across to the hotel before he could change his mind. He took the stairs up to level three, fastidiously avoiding touching the filthy hand-rail. On the third level, he leant against the door to the stairwell, staring across at the greyish door behind which lay room 302.
Michael tried to make himself breathe deeply and focus, but it was difficult when he was winded from bounding up the stairs, and still feeling the liquid courage. And, of course, also when he knew Dean was behind that door, waiting for him to reclaim his wallet.
He launched himself at the door and knocked firmly twice. He had expected that Dean would answer immediately, but he was wrong. It took another round of slightly louder knocking before the door opened and Dean glared out at him.
"What are you doing here?"
"Um... the barkeeper," Michael said, gesturing behind him for no good reason. "My wallet."
"Oh yeah. Come in." Dean ran his hand through his hair and stepped back.
Michael eyed Dean warily. "I might wait here, if that's okay," he said. The thought of being shut in a hotel room with a drunk and grumpy Winchester was a little terrifying.
Dean made an annoyed noise, grabbed Michael by the front of his wifebeater, and dragged him into the room. A moment later, an object came flying at his chest, and he put out his hands instinctively to catch it. It was his wallet.
"Good reflexes," Dean said, flopping onto the double bed and squinting around for a longneck that he eventually found on the bedside table.
Michael stepped away from the door and looked around, tucking the wallet into his back pocket. The room was typical hotel, with flowered wallpaper, a violently green carpet, and a mini bar. The bed took up most of the floor space.
"What did you want again?" asked Dean, dropping the empty bottle onto the carpet. "Oh, by the way, there's more beer in the fridge. You can get yourself one. Get me one too." His gaze was sharp, and Michael almost wondered if he was being played. Maybe Dean was doing the whole drunk amnesia routine just to annoy him. He couldn't honestly have forgotten that Michael was offering to help him find Sam, could he?
"Um, thanks." He crossed the room, feeling Dean watching him. He was suddenly acutely aware of how tight the black wifebeater was over his chest.
"I can help you find your brother," he said, handing Dean a beer. Their fingers brushed on the neck of the bottle, and Michael looked up to find Dean leering at him. "He disappeared in Ohio, right, and so I did some research and-"
"Illinois."
"What?"
"Sam disappeared in Illinois."
Michael deflated like a balloon. "Oh. But still, I want to help."
"Oh, and why is that?" Dean looked up, eyes tired and bitter.
"I just-I owe you one."
"Why?"
Michael wondered why he was so desperate not to tell Dean who he was. Probably because he was scared Dean just wouldn't even remember. To Michael, meeting the Winchesters had been a turning point, the moment his eyes were opened, he realised what he wanted to do with his life, and he realised what was out there that he had to protect his mom and Asher from. But to Dean, he'd probably been just another kid in another small town. A person in peril, who happened to be convenient to give them a bit of a hand.
Dean changed Michael's life. Michael... did nothing for Dean. But if he can help find Sam....
"I just do, okay? You shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth." Oh Christ, he said that, then he realised that Dean was, in fact, looking at his mouth. A tingle went up his spine.
"And what are you willing to do ?"
"...What?"
"Well, right now, I'm piss drunk, and horny as hell. So all the help I want is a good hard fuck and then to sleep for three days." Dean stood up from the bed and took two steps towards Michael.
I get the feeling Dean doesn't care if he gets laid or if he scares Michael off.
Michael's heart hopped then skidded to a stop in his chest. "Uh. Right," he said, his voice going high.
He said, low and slow, "Can you help me with that, Mikey?"
On the other hand, Dean is not one to turn away a sure thing.
Dean took his hand and pulled him down onto the bed. And that, right there, was almost more than Michael had done with a guy.
When you spent the entirety of your high school years in a one school town building a closet kingdom and your summers learning to locate and shoot for the heart in eighty different non-humans, you couldn't really afford to slip up. He'd kissed girls, of course, but never really got over the playground yick factor, and at a party the weekend school ended, he'd kissed another guy on a dare and immediately had to re-assert his masculinity by decking some asshole who made a joke about it.
So to have Dean-sexy Dean, Dean who was drunk, a lot older and clearly a player; Dean, who, if Michael hadn't had a crush on earlier, he was fast on the way to developing one-pulling him down onto the bed, was exhilarating and terrifying, and Michael almost ran right then, out of the hotel, and all the way back to Fitchburg.
But he didn't, because Dean's hand was wrapped around his wrist, tugging him down, and Michael could no more have refused that pull than he could have built a rocketship powered by the light that apparently shone out of Sam Winchester's ass.
"Um," was all he said, because then Dean released his wrist and put his hand on Michael's chin instead. Dean pulled their bodies inexorably closer, until his lips were only an inch from Michael's, and he could feel Dean's breath, which unsurprisingly smelt like alcohol. Dean's eyes caught his and he paused, as if asking permission, and Michael knew Dean wouldn't do anything without the go-ahead, but he didn't know how you communicated to dead gorgeous older men that you would let them do pretty much anything they wanted, so he just made a small, confused noise in his throat.
Fortunately, Dean took this the right way. The hand on Michael's chin slid around to cradle the back of his head, fingers twisting in his hair and pulling his spiky ponytail loose, before Dean closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to Michael's. The kiss quickly passed beyond Michael's realm of experience, when Dean's tongue became demanding and his hand in Michael's hair tangled around the long strands, pulling tight.
Michael twisted and gasped, and Dean's hand held him still while he nuzzled aside Michael's shirt collar and pressed his lips to Michael's collarbone, just slightly scraping his teeth over the bone.
Michael's only thought at this point was to give Dean's mouth as much skin as possible, so he fumbled with the neck of the wifebeater, then just pulled it off. Dean had to let go of his hair so Michael could pull the shirt over his head, but once that was done, he moved around and pressed Michael back against the pillows, and went back to licking and biting down his chest, pausing to tongue one nipple while Michael blissed out against the headboard.
"You're fucking hot, you know that?" said Dean, pausing when he reached Michael's waistband and looking up.
Michael just whimpered, and Dean began unbuttoning his fly. He was about to pull Michael's aching dick free, when Michael's hand on his stopped him.
"Um," said Michael, trying to marshal words, "I want..." he tugged at Dean's shirtfront, and Dean crawled back up his body. "Clothes."
Dean's eyes sparked with understanding and he grinned enigmatically, sitting back on his heels and unbuttoning his shirt to reveal lean, tanned flesh. He shrugged the shirt off, and Michael sat up and shuffled forward so he was kneeling facing Dean, one knee between Dean's thighs. He put one hand on Dean's chest, and Dean leaned forward, eyes falling almost-closed. He worked at his jeans, stood up and pulled them off.
This is a pretty picture.
"Lights off?" he said, naked and unabashed, and the blood rushed to Michael's face. He nodded wordlessly, and Dean flicked the switch, plunging the room into moonlight and shadow.
Dean's skin was lit with blue as he closed the gap to the bed. He pushed Michael back and climbed on, dragging Michael's jeans off before crawling on top and kissing him, long and generous.
Michael groaned into Dean's mouth and tried to say something. He reflected hazily that he really should have joined debate club when his Mom suggested it, because talking under pressure was a skill he could definitely use right now.
Dean's hand slid down his side, fingers crooked just slightly so that the nail scraped and Michael forgot what he was going to say anyway. Then Dean's hand settled around his dick, while Dean arched above him, sleek muscles sliding under smooth skin in the moonlight, and Michael forgot everything.
His fingers scrabbled at Dean's back, and Dean dropped onto his elbow beside Michael, his chin at Michael's neck and one leg over his thighs.
He said, his voice thrumming through Michael's shoulder, "You haven't done this before."
Michael shook his head and twisted his body so he could run his hands down Dean's back. "I... small town. Closet kingdom." He wasn't making sense and he knew it, so he just trailed off into a groan and hoped Dean would take that for an answer.
Dean caught his eyes, his gaze sharpening for a second and his lip twitching. "You're so fucking gorgeous," he said, putting an arm around Michael's shoulder and pulling their bodies flush with each other. Michael hissed as his dick brushed against Dean's.
"Oh God," he said, "fuck."
"Yeah," purred Dean, sliding his hand over Michael's ass and pulling, fitting his hips against Michael's and grinding.
I love this scene because even though Dean is drunk and pissed-off at the start, he still focuses totally on Michael. He lets him (and us!) know just how good Michael looks and feels.
Michael was making little noises in the back of his throat. He wanted to kiss Dean, but Dean's head was thrown back, his chin brushing Michael's hair, and Michael's face pressed against Dean's neck, so he kissed that instead, then bit down, and Dean jerked and groaned, voice rough and brittle.
"Shit, Mikey," he hissed, "that hurt."
Michael put his tongue where his teeth had been for a second, then shifted slightly and gave Dean a matching mark right beside the first one. Dean's groan was even rougher, and his movements became more frantic, grinding their cocks against one another while Michael worried at his collarbone. Dean's hands were moving everywhere, sometimes on Michael's ass to pull them closer together, sometimes gliding up his side, sometimes cradling his face or knotting his hair.
Their bodies slid together, sweat mingled, pressure rising and then Michael was coming, biting down against Dean's neck hard enough to draw blood, and Dean was swearing, sliding his hand between their bodies, into the mess of Michael's come and bringing himself off while Michael wrapped his arms around Dean's back and licked at the blood seeping from the perfect set of teeth marks over the tendon on the right side of his neck.
And hello, bite kink! If I didn't have it before, I'd have it now. I love the fact that Michael reacts so viscerally, so uninhibitedly. And he puts his mark on Dean from the start.
* *
VII.
Michael drifted off into a drunken doze covered in sweat and come and Dean, and feeling mellow to his bones. Sometime during the night, Dean shifted so that he was pressed against Michael's back, not exactly spooning, but still, there was something oddly protective about it.
We all knew Dean was a snuggler.
In the morning, Dean woke up first, with a string of curses that woke Michael up too. He rolled over, feeling a hundred tiny aches, and stared guiltily at the necklace of bite marks Dean was wearing. Although, those seemed like the least of Dean's problems.
Debaucher, debauchee. But the debauchee got some good licks in.
Dean looked down at Michael through bleary eyes and said, scrunching them tight, "Jesus fuck. We gotta get cleaned up. C'mon." With his eyes still closed, he made his way across to the bathroom, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose and the other feeling in front of him.
Michael struggled upright. He wasn't feeling so much hung over as just dirty, so he followed without comment. Dean had already turned the shower on and was leaning against the filthy recess and letting the water hit him square in the face and run down his body.
"Hop in," he said, cracking open one eye as he heard Michael shut the bathroom door.
Michael did so, and Dean budged over and handed him the soap. "Um," said Michael.
"Yeah," said Dean.
They were quiet for a while whilst Dean leant against the wall and Michael washed dried come off his stomach. Having done himself, Michael reached tentatively for Dean with the bar of soap. Dean started when he felt Michael's soapy hands skirting over his stomach and grabbed Michael's wrist. "Best not to," he said and took the soap. "Don't take it wrong."
Michael couldn't help it though; there was a flash of hurt. He tried to ignore it. "I can help you find your brother," he said, over the noise of the water hitting the porcelain bathtub.
Dean barked out a laugh. "That again, Mikey? It's too fucking early."
Dean, meet the Irresistible Force. (Sam is definitely the Immovable Object.)
Michael grabbed Dean's hand. Dean opened his eyes to slits and eyed Michael interrogatively.
"You saved my brother once," he said. "We thought he was going to die, and you saved him. I just want to return the favour."
He searched for some spark of recognition, that Dean remembered a kid named Michael with a little brother, from some town in Wisconsin.
Dean just said, "Sure," his voice cool and dead, and pushed out of the shower.
Michael didn't push it, because he didn't want Dean to look at him, slightly confused and say, "When was that?" like they had been just another in a long line of petty hunts. He finished up his shower without haste. He turned the water off and located a towel-the only towel-and wrapped it around his waist before he went back into the main room.
Dean was sitting on the bed in jeans, nursing a glass of water.
"Okay," said Michael, "That was a mistake."
"What, the shower?" Dean raised his head and half-smiled, ironically.
"No, before that."
"Oh." The syllable was eloquent. "Yeah."
"We were both drunk."
"Yeah."
"And we have work to do so um..." he looked around for his clothes, which, as luck would have it, were in a crumpled heap right beside Dean's foot. "...I'm going to go and get some coffee, and then we're going to head for Illinois or wherever and do some digging." He managed to say all this decisively, then he caught Dean's look and had to add, "Okay?"
Dean picked up Michael's clothes and handed them to him. He gave Michael a look like he wasn't sure why the hell he was going along with this. Then his lips twitched into a sardonic grin. "You're the boss."
If you can't beat 'em....
Michael nodded. "Right. Uh, how do you like your coffee?"
"Black, double strength," said Dean, slumping back onto the bed and spreading out. From that position he tossed the room key at Michael. "Let yourself back in."
Then he put his arm over his eyes, looking for all intents and purposes like he intended to have a nap.
Michael found a Starbucks within a block of the hotel and came back balancing two double strength black coffees-he'd decided to have what Dean had. He was about to open the door when he heard talking on the other side.
Were the walls really that thin, he wondered, flushing. If so, Dean's neighbours had got quite the show last night.
He leant against the door, eavesdropping shamelessly.
"I know last time I called I said I was through and you could stay lost for all I cared, but... Sammy, you once said that people don't just disappear, other people just stop lookin' for 'em and... I ain't gonna stop looking for you, so if you get this-call me." There was the click of a phone snapping shut.
This time we hear the call first-hand, along with Mikey. It hurts even more as Dean gets as close as he ever does to an apology and then a declaration of intent. He will never stop looking for Sam.
"You said you're a big brother?"
"Yeah."
"You'd take care of your little brother? You'd do anything for him?"
"Yeah, I would."
Dean looked up as Michael opened the door and let himself back in.
"Give me an hour or two to sober up," he said quietly, "and we can be on the road."
He didn't say anything about the phone call, and Michael didn't ask.
He took a sip of the coffee and almost spat it out again. Jesus, it was strong.
* *
VIII.
The car trip was only punctuated by the roar of the car's engine. Dean drove without music, which was funny because Michael kinda remembered him with a soundtrack of seventies metal, and without conversation.
Michael might have tried to fill the silence, but he was distracted thinking about the phone message he'd overheard. His heart ached a little bit for Dean, because it was far too easy for Michael to place himself in Dean's shoes, imagine if Asher was missing, how scared he'd be, how he'd be wondering if Asher was kidnapped, or dead, or just hiding. It was the big brother thing, and Michael really wanted to let Dean know he understood, but he was pretty sure Dean wouldn't appreciate it.
That phone call though... it had been at least a month since Sam disappeared.
"Sorry," Michael began. "I heard your call. Did it ring before it went to voicemail?"
Dean flicked him an irritated look. "Yeah," he said shortly.
Michael nodded. "So... you're wondering if Sam hasn't been taken by something supernatural at all. If the phone is on, then he's charging it, right, and ignoring your calls."
Dean didn't respond, but his hand went white on the steering wheel.
"But what if that's not it? What if it's actually a clue about what kind of supernatural creature has got him?"
Dean frowned at the road. "I don't see how the hell it could be."
Michael leaned back against the seat. "Neither do I," he said. "Lemme think about it."
MICHAEL = SMART. This is sexy.
* *
IX.
They stopped for the night in Limon, Colorado, in a little motor inn off Route 70.
It was eleven-thirty at night, and the woman who dragged herself out of the back room when Dean rang the bell looked kinda like Michael felt. As he'd quickly discovered during the past weeks, sitting in a car, bus, taxi, whatever, all day was exhausting.
"King or two queens?" she asked swiping a hand over her eyes and staring at Dean's Mastercard like she couldn't remember what to do with it.
"Two queens."
"Yeah, I'll bet." Michael glanced out the window at Sam, who, as if alerted that he was being stared at, looked up.
Dean was looking at him as if he didn't quite believe what he'd heard. "What'd you say?"
Michael smirked. "Nice car."
God, he'd been such a smartass.
Dean parked the Impala in the designated spot and they tromped up to the room, which was on the second floor. Opening the door sent a whiff of stale smoke, and Dean's lip curled slightly when he caught the scent.
That lip-curl was hot. Michael couldn't help that he brushed against Dean's side when they entered the room. He probably could have avoided the hand-ass element of the contact if he'd wanted to.
I like how Michael's not all traumatized and worried after the less-than-wonderful morning after.
Dean claimed the bed nearer the door. "You want to shower tonight?" he asked.
"Hell no," said Michael, "sleep first. Bathe later."
Dean's lip flicked into his odd, reluctant smile. "Agreed."
They got ready for bed in silence. Michael climbed between the sheets of his bed and it creaked fit to wake the neighborhood.
"Jesus Christ," muttered Dean.
"Sorry." He was moving around, trying to get comfortable, and wincing at every noise the springs made.
Eventually, Dean said, "Okay fine, you can share mine."
Michael rolled over and stared at him.
"Not like that," Dean said irritably. "Just, either stop moving or switch beds, because that racket is driving me nuts. Don't get me wrong, Mikey, you're still fucking hot, but I'm so tired I don't think I could get it up."
Oh. Well. Was that something that happened when you were older? Because Michael was kinda hard just thinking about sharing a bed with Dean.
Oh, Mikey. Sometimes you are so very young. This is probably a good thing, as Dean needs someone to wear him out.
He mentally shrugged. The plan had a lot going for it and very few drawbacks. And if he slept facing away from Dean, Dean need never know about the boner.
Dean shuffled over to the right side as Michael padded between the two beds and climbed in.
"I'm gonna kick the blanket off," he said.
"Sure," said Michael. "That's fine." The room wasn't air-conditioned, and the air was sticky.
Dean flicked off the bedside lamp and they each turned so that their backs were facing. Michael figured this was as good a time as any to broach the subject-Dean was tired, his defences were down-so after a pause he said, "Could you tell me what happened?"
Sneaky. Distract him with sex then hit him with the hard question.
There was a long silence, then Dean spoke, fast and toneless. "There were maulings around Griggsville. Like a werewolf, except the patterns were wrong. They were happening every three months instead of every full moon. So we investigated. Thought maybe it was a pack or even a lone black dog doing it. Anyway, we were out in the woods one night at the quarter when whatever it was should have been hunting, and Sam just vanished. I searched but-anyway, that was the last I saw of him. One minute he was there, the next, pfff, gone." Dean's voice became angrier as he spoke. "Couldn't call in the police. Sam's a Person of Interest in Illinois these days, and besides, there's something evil stalking those woods. Didn't want to involve civilians." He was quiet for a bit. "By the time I realised I wasn't gonna find him on my own, it was too late."
"Oh," said Michael. "Okay, thanks."
Dean laughed humourlessly. "You're welcome." He shifted slightly so there was an extra inch of space between them.
By the morning, he had his arm slung over Michael's back and his lips pressed into Michael's neck. It was weird, like Dean was used to sleeping like this with someone. Michael didn't try to shift him.
Just -- a world of "oh, Dean" here. He's trying so hard to keep his distance from Michael but his body knows that they fit. Not the same way that Sam fit him but still a true fit.
* *
X.
They reached Griggsville early afternoon the next day. It was a pleasant enough town, but Dean kept his eyes on the road straight ahead, jaw tight. Michael stared out the passenger side and looked at the buildings, a mix of colonial government buildings, strip malls of the kind you could see in any town across the country, and houses dating from apparently every architectural period since the town was founded.
"Stop," Michael said. "There's-isn't that woman putting up missing posters?"
Dean slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road. Sure enough, a woman in jeans and a button-up shirt was pinning black-and-white missing posters to a notice board outside the church.
Dean parked the car and banged his back against the seat once.
"Fuck it," he said, "I spend two weeks turning this shit hole upside down and not a peep out of any of them. The boy wonder swans in, and there's a woman pinning fucking missing posters to the wall on the main street." His tone was irritated, but some of the tension had gone out of his jaw.
"Might be nothing," said Michael, fighting a smug grin.
"Probably," said Dean. "We should check it out."
PART 3