"Another Soldier 5/6" by ellipsisblack, commentary by ladyvyola
Another Soldier on the Road to Nowhere
by ellipsisblack (conquest)
PART 4
Part 5: XXIII-XXVIII. NC-17.
"nothing unusual nothing's changed
just a little older that's all
you know when you've found it there's something i've learned
'cause you feel it when they take it away hey hey"
* *
Sam was still trying to stand. "Let me go," he said again. "Why are you here?" His voice was cold. "I left you, Dean. I don't want to hunt anymore. I don't want you. I wasn't kidnapped, I chose to go."
Michael hadn't thought it would be possible for Dean to go any whiter.
Dean was silent for a long time, staring at Sam, who glared coldly back. The sidhe were still and watching.
Dean swallowed. Michael could see his throat working.
"Mikey," he said. "How light is it?"
Michael frowned. "What?"
"It's still dark. You're seeing an illusion. It isn't dawn. This isn't over." He tightened his hands around Sam's ankle, and said grimly, "You're not Sam, you're just another creature. I won't let go."
"You're insane, Dean," said Sam with a jeering laugh.
"You shut the fuck up. You're not my brother." There was no doubt in his voice.
I trust Dean absolutely on this. If he says it isn't Sam, it isn't Sam.
Which raises the icky question of just what it really is.
The sidhe shifted en masse and the leaves around the clearing rustled, then the green lady raised her hand and where Sam had been there was now a porcupine. Dean hissed as the quills dug into his skin and glared at the lady, hatred in his eyes. "You're a nasty bitch, you know that?"
2 out of 2 hunters and 100% of readers agree.
The green lady just raised her eyebrow.
"You can see through our magic," she said thoughtfully. "Fairy ointment? You'll go mad, you know. They always do."
Dean ignored her.
"This one is blind though." She nodded at Michael. "He hasn't even realised about you and your brother, and you haven't told him, have you?"
"Shut the fuck up," Dean snarled.
The green lady laughed like this was a fun game.
Michael frowned. About Dean and Sam? He had no idea what she meant. She was probably just making shit up. Trying to distract them.
Oh, Mikey. Even Emmy Ann had a clue.
The clearing went dark again, and Michael resumed walking and watching the sky. Even though there was no way he could have known, he felt like an idiot for falling for the fairy dawn.
He's got the instincts of a hunter. He just needs to survive long enough to get the experiences of one.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the porcupine become an eagle which flapped madly for the sky.
* *XXIV.
The dawn-real dawn-broke around half past five. As soon as he saw the sky lightening, Michael looked at Dean, who was also looking up.
"It's real this time," he said, his voice breaking.
Michael, back aching and eyes watering, stopped walking and watched the first rays of the sun brush the trees. The sidhe muttered amongst themselves. Dean, lying on his back, face ghostly and both hands wrapped around a scorpion, only the stinger showing through the fingers of his right, managed a weak smirk at the green lady.
Dean's been put through the wringer on this one. And we've still got the emotional fallout to look forward to.
She spoke: "Oh, all right. You can keep him."
She waved her hand and with a flash that sent electricity up Michael's spine, the sidhe all vanished. There was a whimpering groan from Dean, and Michael turned around. Dean's arms were still stretched above his head, his back arched awkwardly, but now they were buried under the curled-up figure of Sam Winchester.
Michael dropped the bell to the ground with a clank, and ran over. Sam was stirring and groaning, and Michael hooked his arms under Sam's shoulders and hauled him up as much as he could. Dean didn't move. His right wrist was swollen, and his right hand still clamped around Sam's ankle, tight enough that Michael was pretty sure Sam would have bruises.
Nobody's coming out of this in good shape.
"You can let go," said Michael quietly.
Dean darted a look around. "They're still here," he said, "They're watching."
Even though he knew he'd see nothing, Michael looked over his shoulder.
Dean was slowly shifting his hips on the grass. He pulled a gun from the small of his back. Michael hadn't seen him put it there, so it must have been there since before they left town the previous afternoon.
Michael released his grip on Sam's shoulders and Sam slumped to the side, trying weakly to push himself up.
"Dean?" his voice was croaky.
"Hold on, Sammy," said Dean.
Sam nodded and curled up, closing his eyes. Dean cocked the gun with his left hand and levelled it down his body at the spot where the green lady had been. His right hand was still around Sam's ankle.
This is what convinces me that it's really Sam. The utter trust he places in Dean.
She shimmered back into visibility, expression amused and annoyed.
"What is it, mortal?" she said briskly.
"Is this really my brother?" asked Dean flatly.
"Can't you tell?"
"Answer the question."
She made an impatient gesture. "Yes."
Dean closed his eyes. "You better be telling the truth, because if I let go and he disappears, so help me, I will destroy you and your world, and all your kind to get him back."
I don't believe Dean has any doubts. I think he just wants to serve notice.
She laughed. "With that gun? You won't even wound us."
Dean squeezed the trigger and Michael heard the gun report three times, shattering the eerie silence of the clearing.
"We won't shoot you," said Dean. "We're good shots. We're not gonna fire until you're clear, okay?" Michael worried at the blanket and nodded.
"Have you heard a gunshot before?"
"Like, in the movies?"
Dean shook his head. "It's gonna be a lot louder than in the movies. So, I want you to stay under the bed, cover your ears, and do not come out until we say so, you understand?" Dean paused, his expression slipping into something raw. "Michael, you sure you wanna do this? You don't have to, it's okay. I won't be mad."
"No, I'm okay. Just don't shoot me."
"I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. I promise."
Beautiful use of the flashback. Dean is The Protector in all his aspects -- gun in his hand, care in his heart. Baby duckling Michael didn't have a chance of escaping imprinting, did he?
He'd heard a lot of gunshots since then, and they'd stopped being such a shock. That strange, raw expression on Dean's face, though, hit him like a gut punch every time.
This made me realize -- Dean does often look like using a gun causes him pain.
The green lady fell back, and there was the flash of phantom hands reaching for her before they all vanished completely.
Dean watched with grim triumph.
"Got the bitch," he said to no-one in particular. "May not kill her, but it looks like it hurts like fuck."
God, I love Dean's approach to self-medicating. He knew what he needed to start feeling better. :)
"I wouldn't know," said Michael, relief making him giddy.
Dean barked out a laugh. "Love your work, Mikey," he said, then rolled over and unclasped his fingers from Sam's ankle. Making a sound somewhere between a whimper and a chuckle. Sam didn't move. Michael was pretty sure he'd passed out.
Dean levered himself to his knees and bent over his brother, taking Sam's pulse with his left hand.
"He's fine," he said. His voice was oddly restrained, as was the hand he ran down Sam's side.
Restrained only because there's an audience.
Dean stood up. "We need to do the circle," he said, cradling his right arm and slowly flexing the fingers. "They've gone back through the ring."
Michael started. "Oh, um, yeah."
They worked quietly. Dean looked frequently at Sam, who hadn't moved from foetal position. Dean set the pieces of iron down end-to-end in the ditch around the thicket, and Michael fished out the battery-operated hand-welder they'd got from the hardware store.
Michael had to do the welding, because Dean's expression pinched every time something jolted his right arm.
The iron circle was buried, deep enough that it wouldn't be uncovered, but not so deep that Dean thought its power would be buried by the earth. Michael wondered if his fairy sight was affected by, or could sense, the presence of iron, but he didn't ask.
Over the top of the circle, at each of the cardinal points, they planted St. John's Wort seeds, and at the midpoints between these they buried seeds of other herbs: thyme, primrose, clover. Anything and everything that the books had suggested might ward against fairies.
I like how this is stripped of all ritual or fancy. It's very pragmatic, much like the boys themselves.
Once it was done, Michael climbed into the thicket. In the middle of the ring, Sam's phone and the rest had fallen to the ground. He picked it up. Sam might want it, once he was conscious.
* *XXV.
Sam woke up when they were hoisting him on their shoulders. Dean, being taller, was taking most of the weight, but Sam, being taller than them both, was dragging along the ground anyway. The first sign they had that he was conscious was his trying to get his feet under him so he could walk.
"Don't worry about it," said Dean. "We got you."
Sam scrunched his face up, his cheek lolling against Dean's shoulder, and sighed vaguely. He opened his eyes and frowned.
"Why are your clothes inside out?" Every word sounded like an effort.
Dean laughed. "Long story."
Sam closed his eyes again. "You look like an idiot."
"Jerk."
Oh, yeah. That's Sam, all right. And he's making sure Dean knows it.
Sam was weak but conscious for the rest of the walk to the car. It felt more like twenty than two miles. Michael's whole body ached, and the last traces of adrenalin had left his system, leaving him exhausted. Relieved, but exhausted.
They slid Sam into the back seat, and Michael buckled him up.
"Who are you?" asked Sam, not rudely, just like he couldn't think properly.
Michael offered him his hand. "Um, Michael Sorensen," he said politely. Sam didn't shake, because he didn't seem to have the energy to move his arm.
Dean snorted, sliding into the driver's seat. He put his hand on the steering wheel and hissed. Michael got into the passenger seat and looked at him. "What's wrong?"
Dean looked back at him for a long time.
"Mikey," he said, like every word was being dragged out of him, "you're going to have to drive. I can't."
Necessity, shemessity. I know true love when I see it.
"What? I don't have my license! Why the hell do you think I chased you across the country by bus?" Michael waved his hands around.
Mikey and the little wavy hands! He's always doing little gestures like that.
Dean closed his eyes, the lines around them deepening. "Do you have your permit?"
Michael didn't like where this was going. "Yeah..." he said reluctantly.
"Then I'll supervise. We need to get back and get our stuff, then we need to get to Ohio, tonight."
"Sam- "
"-Is completely out of it. Gotta be you, Mikey. Trust me, I don't like it either."
It took a bit of cajoling, but eventually Dean convinced him to switch spots. Michael shut the driver's door and took a couple of deep breaths.
No pressure. Right.
"That's right," said Dean. "Stay calm. You've done this before."
Michael glanced over. Dean looked about as calm as he felt.
"Okay, clutch in. Good. Put her in neutral. Now, turn the key." Michael obeyed, and the engine roared to life.
"That's right baby, it's okay." Michael glanced over, startled at Dean's suddenly caressing tone. Dean was stroking the dash comfortingly, and Michael didn't know whether to be amused or hurt that Dean was clearly more concerned with reassuring the car than with reassuring him.
Get used to it, Mikey. Even Sam knows where he stands in relation to the Impala.
"Put her in first. No, first, not third."
"Oh, heh." Michael shifted the stick.
"There we go. Now, slowly push in the accelerator. Slowly. There, the engine's caught. Now release the clutch. Slowly!" Dean's pitch climbed as the car jumped forward.
Michael's muscle memory kicked in and he managed to get the car under control and avoid stalling. He turned the wheel. "Oh, Jesus." It was difficult.
"Yeah, no power steering. Good thing you're strong. She can be a beast to manoeuvre if you're not used to it. Second now."
Michael changed the gear and turned out onto the highway without incident.
"You're good at this coaching thing," he said.
Dean snorted. "I taught Sam. Not in this car." He laughed wryly. "I borrowed my girlfriend's. She had one of those little girl cars. Much easier to drive. First time I took him out in it was in a parking lot. Not an obstacle for miles, except a couple poles. He was doing okay in first, steering a bit, and he got himself lined up with one of the poles and panicked. I told him to turn, turn, Sam, turn, okay, brake, brake, brake, but instead, he screeched, took his hands off the wheel and closed his eyes. Rolled right into that pole at two miles an hour." Dean's lip twitched. "Slowest car accident in history. You should be in third."
"Oh, sorry." Michael shifted gears again, grinning. He'd never driven into anything, let alone a pole at two miles an hour. That made him feel a lot better, and he shifted to fourth without being prompted.
I totally believe this story. Right down to the little girly scream. I don't think Dean allowed Sam to even sit behind the Impala's steering wheel until blood loss forced his hand one night.
* *XXVI.
They rolled into town at half past six, and roared out again at seven, having said goodbye to Sue, who was clearly flummoxed but thrilled to see Sam alive, and the ghillie dhu, who barely condescended to manifest so Dean could reassure her that the sidhe were stuck in their circle.
As they drove out, Michael accidentally ground the stick a bit between first and second, and Dean looked for a second like he was going to cry, but all in all, Michael was getting the hang of the impala. Dean's hand was cradled on his lap, and he kept up periodic bursts of small talk to keep Michael alert. They stopped for lunch and very large, very strong coffee in a small town just outside of Indianapolis, and Dean tried getting behind the wheel, only to once again relinquish it to Michael, who was feeling considerably more alert than he should after such a long night.
Driving was less tiring than being a passenger on these trips, he discovered.
You know Dean thinks Mikey driving his baby is hot. Even when it makes him cry.
Dean directed him to leave route 70 just after Dayton.
"Where are we going?" asked Michael, taking the turn off.
"Marysville. We got some old friends there. Perry's a hunter. Mel's a doctor. She's good at caring for the kind of injuries we get in this line of work, and unlike a hospital, she doesn't ask awkward questions. I want her to have a look over Sam."
And Michael learns a bit more of the hunter network.
Michael glanced over. Hopefully this Mel would have a look over Dean too.
Dean called ahead as they passed through Urbana to let them know that they were coming. Consequently, when Michael drove up to a respectable-looking house on a nice street of Marysville, they were greeted enthusiastically by a man and a woman. Dean levered himself out of the car. Michael turned off the ignition and climbed out himself.
"Mikey," he said, "This is Perry, and Mel. Guys, this is Mikey. He gave me a hand finding Sam."
"Oh honey," said Mel. "You found him?"
Dean nodded and gestured to the back seat. Sam had slumped over so he wasn't visible from the street.
Perry headed for the back and was helping Sam when Mel noticed Dean was favouring his wrist.
"What happened?" she asked, taking the arm and holding it gently.
Dean tried to pull it back and winced. "It's nothing," he said.
"First time I treated you, you were twenty-seven, and we were on our honeymoon, remember? I know that 'nothing' is Dean Winchester for 'I am bleeding from a vital organ but am too macho to admit it'."
Ah, a bit of Conversational Winchester.
Dean looked taken-aback. "Can you look over Sam first? He's been through a lot."
Mel glanced over Dean's shoulder. "Perry's got him. You come with me and we'll get this fixed up. Then I'll look at Sam. And you, Mikey, was it? You look like you've had a rough night."
Michael laughed weakly. "You could say that, ma'am."
That automatic politeness is going to take him far.
Mel splinted Dean's wrist, which she pronounced broken and bruised, and harangued him for not getting it seen to sooner. Sam she pronounced exhausted but otherwise fine, and recommended bed rest for all three of them.
Mel had bedded Sam down in the infirmary, because he'd gone from mostly unconscious to completely unconscious while she was examining him, but she offered Dean and Michael the guest bedroom, which they accepted gratefully despite her warning that there was only a double.
She looked between them, eyebrow raised, and Dean scowled. Mel's lip twitched.
"So, fairies, huh?" she said, changing the topic. Dean had told her what they'd been up to while she fixed his wrist.
Not changing the topic that much.
"I know," said Dean dourly. "It gets funnier every time I hear it."
"He's never gonna live that down, is he?"
"Hell no." Dean smiled with grim satisfaction.
"I have him back and he has all his limbs. I'm allowed to torture him."
An hour or so later, Dean and Michael crawled into bed. They were both too exhausted and sore for awkwardness, and even Michael the teenage boy had very little on his mind other than sleeping for the next three days.
In the morning, Sam was up and about before they were. Perry said he'd had three breakfasts already, and was digging into a fourth.
"He said he'd eaten at a banquet in Faerie," said Perry. "Don't know much about fairies in particular, but most ‘witched food, you eat it, and for a while, our food can't sustain you. He'll get over it, and until then he'll be a bit weird, and he'll eat us out of house and home."
Dean nodded.
"Other thing is, he's sure he's only been gone for a day. Figured you'd be wanting to correct him."
Dean's expression went flat. "Yeah, thanks."
That's going to go over well. Once Sam realizes just how bad it was for Dean....
* *XXVII.
"Sam, you've got to believe me." Dean ran his hand over his eyes. "It's August 2nd. You've been gone three months-a whole Celtic cycle."
Dean held himself like he was expecting a battle, but Sam just frowned thoughtfully and said, "If you say so." He resumed chomping through a piece of toast.
Still a little under the Faerie influence.
Dean blinked. "Okay, good," he said, clearly thrown off his stride.
Michael suddenly remembered Sam's phone, which he'd shoved in the front pocket of his duffel. Sam watched, toast poised halfway to his mouth, as Michael squeaked and jumped up.
"Strange kid," said Sam as Michael left the room.
Michael half-heard Dean's response: Wouldn't have found you without him."
He retrieved the phone and was back in time to catch the end of the conversation.
"-from Fitchburg. In '06, the shtriga? Come on Sam, work with me."
"Oh. Oh. You must have really made an impression." There was a definite smirk in his tone.
Sam knows exactly what kind of impression, too.
"He's a good kid," said Dean flatly, and Michael re-entered before Sam could reply. Michael wasn't sure how he felt about being Dean's ‘good kid', but at least Dean had defended him. Kinda.
Heh. Dean's kid. That's got so many levels I don't think I can dig that deep. Sammy, meet Mikey. Mikey, meet Sammy. Discuss.
He gave the phone to Sam.
"Oh wow, thanks," said Sam. "I wondered where this was." He looked at the screen. "God, I am popular."
"You've been gone three months."
Sam looked up, then his eyes slid away from Dean's. "Yeah. Still, I'm not usually Mr. Social these days." There was something under that comment, because Dean tensed.
Dean would rather be flayed than reveal his feelings. And there's three months of feelings in Sam's voice mail.
The second night at Perry and Mel's wasn't awkward, because even though Sam wasn't passed out in the infirmary, precedent had been set, and Dean and Michael shared the bed again, while Sam scrunched himself onto the couch. There was a loaded look that passed between the brothers, but Michael couldn't interpret it. He was fairly sure that Dean hadn't said anything about-them to Sam. He sure as hell wouldn't have been telling Asher if their roles were reversed, and he had this suspicion that if Sam did know, for sure, he would be giving Dean shit about it.
The next day, they left Marysville. Not because they had to, but because Dean was apparently allergic to accepting people's hospitality for any longer than he had to. Michael grumbled and Sam rolled his eyes, but Dean got his way, and they drove, south-east, towards North Carolina, and Manteo Guns and Antiques.
Michael knew-he knew-that he had to ask them to drop him back in Fitchburg, now that the job was over and Sam was found. He'd made a resolution that he would, and there was only a month until school started, and his Mom probably needed his help at the motel. But somehow, he found he couldn't force the words out. Not while Dean seemed happy enough to have him along.
Sam was doing most of the driving, with Dean riding shotgun and Michael in the back. Sometimes he dozed and he was pretty sure they forgot he was there.
Somewhere near the Ohio-West Virginia border, Sam said, "I'm sorry, man."
"For what?" said Dean.
"I listened to my voice mail. And you-I really gave you a scare, didn't I? It only feels like I've been gone a day, but-you've been looking for me for three months. Just... sorry."
Dean was silent for a while. "It's fine," he said flatly. "Just drop it."
"If you say so," said Sam, and looked back at the road.
Dean looked over at him for a while, then leant against his window, staring out.
Argh! Talk, you morons. It'll only hurt for a minute!
Winchesters. Can't live with 'em, can't kill 'em for fear they'll take over Hell and bust out.
That night, Michael volunteered to take the foldout, which turned out to be damp and smelly, while Dean and Sam took the singles.
The next day, they drove south through West Virginia, Virginia and into North Carolina. Dean seemed determined to make it to Manteo before they stopped for the night, but at ten thirty, just outside motor inn. Dean protested, but Sam really did look exhausted, and Michael was just about ready to sleep, so Dean hauled himself out of the car and stalked into reception to rent a room.
He emerged dangling a room key and glaring indiscriminately.
"They only have king rooms left, and they're getting us a foldout," he said. "Room 103."
He walked across the parking lot while Sam followed him in the car. While Sam and Michael hauled the bags in and waited for the foldout, Dean vanished into the bathroom. They didn't talk much; Sam's head was lolling against the back of the chair, and Michael was rediscovering just how exhausting being a passenger could be.
The foldout arrived and a woman made it up for them. A few minutes later, Dean emerged from the bathroom. Sam looked at Michael, Michael looked at Dean, and Dean looked at the two beds, made an impatient noise and said, "It's my turn to take the foldout."
He shot Sam then Michael very pointed looks, which Michael took to mean that Dean definitely hadn't told Sam about their… unprofessional relationship and wanted Michael to play along, please. Michael shrugged and met Sam's bemused look.
Eventually he was going to have to learn to say no to Dean.
But not anytime soon.
Sleeping with him had been a bad idea, yes, but it was like the time when he was fifteen and a hunter passing through Eveline's place gave him pot. Evie had found him flat on his back screeching at the ceiling and beat the tar out of him as what she chose to call an 'object lesson in the evils of drugs'. But, having had a bad trip had bolstered his credibility at school so much that while he acknowledged it had been a bad idea, he couldn't find it in him to be entirely repentant.
Sam threw his hands up and said amiably, "More bed for me."
"Heh," said Michael, who was, in fact, a head shorter than Sam.
Dean jeered, "You need it, beanpole."
"Shut up, midget," returned Sam cheerfully.
Perhaps Sam just preferred to share a bed with the weird kid rather than the brother. Some people were funny about sharing beds with relatives, but Michael wouldn't have expected it from a Winchester.
*sporfle* That gets me every time. Do not drink and read at the same time.
* *XXVIII.
Michael woke up with a warm body wrapped around his back, and his mind went through three stages: fear, because he was pinned and couldn't move, confusion because he thought Dean had claimed the foldout, and then, when he realised it was Sam clinging to him, irritation that Winchesters seemed so determined to trap him when he really kinda needed to pee. That passed, and he settled into a strange, warm contentment. Sam felt different-longer and heavier, and somehow softer-but still nice. It was funny how quickly Michael had got out of the habit of sleeping alone.
Michael Sorenson = Luckiest Boy in the World
He shifted a bit and snuffled.
"Morning, Snow White," said Dean, his expression strange and dark when Michael opened his eyes.
Michael pulled his arm out from underneath Sam's and rubbed his eyes. "Why'm I Snow White?" he asked vaguely.
"Because he is Sleeping Beauty," Dean retorted, gesturing with his un-splinted arm, which was grasping a styrofoam cup.
That would make Dean... a dwarf?
"Fuck you, Dean," Sam croaked, clearly still struggling out of sleep. Michael felt Sam's lips moving on the back of his neck and squirmed.
Sam came fully awake and realised who he was wrapped around.
"Sorry," he said, disentangling and rolling over to his side of the bed.
"S'fine," said Michael, already contemplating a nap.
"Don't even think about it," said Dean, grabbing another cup off the nightstand and shoving it at him. Michael frowned sleepily and levered himself up before accepting it.
"Why are you up so early anyway?" said Sam, standing up and padding towards the bathroom. "Shower first, coffee next," he added, shutting the door.
Dean had been about to answer Sam's first question, but he shut his mouth and looked at Michael, eyebrows raised. "Weird," said Michael.
"I know," said Dean. "Coffee before everything."
A man's gotta have his priorities.
They nodded, almost in unison, and Michael crawled out of the bed. Dean was leaning against the back of the chair, posture relaxed but muscles strangely tight.
"Um," said Michael.
"There's a ghost," said Dean quietly.
"What?"
"I can see her. She's not manifesting, just floating out beside the main building."
Michael sat back down on the bed. "So it really is second sight."
Cool. Except for the whole "go mad" thing.
"Apparently. I haven't told Sam."
"You don't get to be angry...."
"Okay. Are you all right?"
Dean stood up. "I'm fine," he snapped.
"In all the stories... mortals who put the ointment on..."
"Yeah, yeah, dead, blind or mad. I got it, Mikey." Dean scowled at him. "I had to. It's fine."
"Okay," Michael said again. He paused. "You got Sam back."
And that's the bottom line.
"Yeah," said Dean, dragging the syllable out. "Have you noticed how... agreeable he's being? Usually we have a brawl over every little thing from where to stop for the night to whether or not to hold hands and share about our feelings."
Michael frowned. "Fairies are notorious for giving the gift of obedience. It'll probably wear off?" He ended on a question because Dean was scowling at him, and that was intimidating.
"He stopped here without asking me," Dean said slowly.
"Almost back to himself then!" said Michael heartily, earning himself another frown.
Michael's going to find the upside somewhere.
They got to Manteo that morning, and Tony was surprised and pleased to see the brothers Winchester reunited. Michael felt a pang when Tony's eyes alit on him and he said, "Mikey!" as if this were an afterthought.
The amazing brothers Winchester and their pintsize tagalong.
Tony recovered quickly and added, "Good to see you found him, and Sam too."
Dean put his arm loosely around Michael's shoulders. "He's a determined brat," he said, and they laughed.
Tony cajoled them into staying in Manteo for the day. He took a look at Dean's and Sam's kits, the latter of which had been in the trunk since Sam vanished, and replenished what was down. He also said that if they stuck around, he'd be able to make up one for Michael. Michael looked at Dean, eyes shining at the thought of having his very own hunter's kit with guns and… and… knives, and ammo, and holy water and flares, and Dean rolled his eyes.
"Daddy, daddy, daddy!"
"Whatever," he said. "You stay here and pick your equipment. We'll go check into that motel we passed a mile back."
Michael nodded, already browsing the pistols on the wall behind the counter.
Picking out the weapons was quicker than he expected. He just picked the ones he knew Dean had. He'd handled a couple of Dean's guns, and liked the balance, especially of the glocks. Besides, Dean was Dean, and if Dean liked a gun, it was good enough for Michael too.
Oh, Mikey.
Tony sent him on his way after half an hour, saying he'd have all the other stuff gathered up by morning. With a mental shrug, Michael decided to walk back to the motel. It didn't take long, and he managed to cajole the room number of one Miles Dagobert from the receptionist (another useful skill one picked up when running with Dean Winchester).
He strolled up the steps to room 215 and glanced in the window beside the door. What he saw stopped him dead, and made the bottom drop out of his stomach.
There was Dean, shoved right up against the dresser, face to the door, neck arched. Curled over in front of him, almost blocking him completely from Michael's view, was Sam. Who had... Sam's hands were disappearing into the sides of Dean's jeans.
Totally blindsided. You can hear his foundations crumbling.
Dean's back curled and his hands came up to scrabble at Sam's back. He opened his eyes and saw Michael, frozen to the spot. His hands dropped and he pushed Sam to the side.
Dean pushes Sam away. Pushes. Sam. Away. And then runs after Michael. Michael's too caught up to realize what that means but Sam knows.
"Mikey!" he shouted, but Michael was running. He heard the door open and slam shut behind him, and Sam's shouted, "Dean!" was drowned out by Dean shouting "Mikey!" again as his hand closed around Michael's shirt, stopping him dead.
Michael turned around and Dean released his shirt and shoved him roughly against the wall. "Don't you fucking run away," he snarled.
Dean can't say that to Sam. But he can say it to Mikey.
Michael twisted his face away, trying to slip out under Dean's arm, but Dean had him pinned with his hip.
"Mikey," said Dean, quieter. "Mikey, don't." There was a catch in his voice and Michael went still, looking up at Dean's hooded eyes and trying to put all the anger, betrayal and disgust he was feeling into his look.
Dean ducked his head. "Just let me," he said, brushing his lips, soft and open, against Michael's.
Michael never had learned how to say no to Dean.
Over Dean's shoulder, he saw Sam come up behind them.
"Sam," said Dean, his voice raw as he looked over his shoulder. Michael closed his eyes, and then suddenly they were back in the room, and Dean was shutting the door behind them.
Sam was saying, "Dean," uncertainly, and Dean was saying, "Sammy," like that was the answer to a question.
Dean needs Sam to pass Dean to Michael. Sam needs to know Michael will take Dean.
Then Michael was being pushed gently back towards the bed, Dean's hands warm on his shoulders. His calves hit the side, and Sam dropped to his knees in front of him. Dean pulled his shirt up over his head, Sam was working at his pants and Michael squeaked as Sam's hand brushed his cock.
Sam stopped, and instead nuzzled the skin of Michael's stomach that had been bared when Dean pulled up the shirt.
His hair tickled, and that felt nice. Michael's breathing hitched. He felt like he was out of his league. He felt like monsters must feel when the Winchesters tag-teamed him. Then Dean said, "Ssh, Mikey," and spun him around, and Sam had lost his shirt because when he pressed against Michael's back, his chest was warm and smooth.
Dean kissed Michael, needing and open, and then there was only Dean, and Sam, and him in the world, and that wasn't that big, or scary. It was warm, and Dean's hands were stroking down his sides, while he pulled at Dean's buttons, getting them undone and pushing the shirt off Dean's shoulders. Dean's hands returned to his sides, sliding down into the waistband of his pants. Dean's rough, blunt fingers felt more familiar than Sam's longer digits, and Michael didn't start when Dean's hands settled on his ass and dragged their bodies close.
Above his head, Sam ducked to kiss his brother, and Michael looked up and away, throwing his head back against Sam's collarbone as Dean's roaming hands found his cock hard in his boxers. He was an eighteen year old boy, after all, and even though his skin prickled with tension and adrenalin and looking at Dean's tongue fucking Sam's mouth above his head felt wrong and twisted something in his gut, this was Dean grinding his hips into Michael's, and Dean had pretty much a direct line to his dick.
Not everything's going to be resolved all at once. There's a lot of stuff to deal with. Sex isn't magically going to make everything better.
Dean stepped back and knelt, finishing what Sam had started earlier and dragging Michael's jeans and boxers down and off, leaving Michael naked and flushed. He stood up and spun Michael around, pulling him back against his body and Michael felt the rough scrape of jeans digging into the small of his back. Dean's hands slid down his forearms and clasped the backs of his hands.
Sam was standing right in front of him, and Michael looked up into his downturned face, and Sam smiled, wide and slightly predatory. Dean's hands on his guided them to Sam's fly, and Michael took the hint and undid the button.
Sam put his hands on Dean's, fingers brushing Michael's thumb.
"Mikey," he said softly, "if you don't want to..."
"I'm fine," said Michael. "I... if you don't... I mean."
Sam smiled, and removed his hand from Dean's, bringing it up to tilt Michael's chin. Then he bent over, stooping from what seemed like an incredible height. Time slowed a bit, and then Sam's mouth was on his, teasing and then devouring, and now he had kissed a grand total of three men in his life, and two of them were Winchesters.
God, that's an incredible batting average.
Dean's hands were working at Sam's fly, because Michael's were curled against Sam's
Dean backed them all up and they fell back on the bed, Sam half-across Michael's body, Michael on top of Dean. Sam slid off and stood up, shuffling out of his jeans. Michael's breath stuttered when Sam's cock was freed and he reached for Sam, whose eyes slid half-shut as he crawled back onto the bed, kneeling over them and rolling them so he could tug Dean's jeans and briefs off.
Dean grabbed Sam's neck and dragged him down, and again, Michael's heart skittered, because Dean was a beautiful kisser, open and desperate and a little rough and Michael wanted Dean's mouth back on his. Sharp desire shot through him mixing with a little bit of shame and disgust, and a bit of jealousy that made him writhe and twist back, grinding his ass against Dean's cock, which was hot against him.
Michael's never been passive. He knows how to make his presence felt.
Dean broke the kiss and threw his head back, dragging in air like he was suffocating. He wrapped his right arm around Michael's stomach, the bandage and the outline of the splint below it digging into Michael's stomach, and shifted so they were lying both on their sides, Dean's left arm under Michael's head, legs tangled.
Sam knelt over the two of them, lids heavy, and he smiled again.
"Sammy," said Dean, voice soft and soaked with desire. "Lube."
Michael started and tried to turn his head, but Dean's arms pinned him where he was.
"Shhh," whispered Dean, breath gusting into Michael's hair and tickling his ear. "It's okay."
Sam climbed off the bed and knelt, the muscles of his back caressed by the midday light filtering through the curtains, shifting under his skin.
Dean's left tricep was trapped under Michael's head, but he bent his elbow and brought his hand up to tangle in Michael's hair, making him arch his neck so Dean could curl over and bite at the tendon along the side.
Then Sam was back, looming over them, and Michael tried to turn his head but couldn't because Dean's hand was still tangled in his hair. Sam's hand ran up his side and he shivered, the touch seeming to hit every nerve ending in his body.
Then Sam was squirting clear liquid onto his fingertips, and Michael could see him because he had moved and was lying down in front of him, sandwiching Michael between the two much larger Winchesters. Then Sam was reaching over him and sliding his shining fingertips between Michael's body and Dean's.
He felt the slick digits brush against his ass, then Dean hissed and every muscle Michael could feel against his back tensed as Sam wrapped his hand around Dean's cock. Michael's head was pressed to Sam's neck, and he dragged in a couple of breaths, inhaling the scent of sweat and cologne that somehow went straight to his dick. Then Sam's hand was moving again, painting a cool line down Michael's tailbone and then-Michael gasped and bit down and Sam swore.
Dean chuckled. "He does that," he said dryly.
And Dean loves it.
"Heh," said Michael, thinking hazily that he might apologise, except Sam's fingers were moving again, sliding slowly in and out of him, and he had to concentrate on not repeating his crime because he really, really wanted to bite down on something to keep himself from screaming as Sam's fingers worked in and out, knuckle by knuckle.
Dean seemed to sense his difficulty, because the hand that was tangled in his hair moved slightly so that one long, blunt finger dragged across Michael's lips. Michael opened them hungrily and Dean pushed his finger in. "Go on," he said, so Michael did, biting down hard enough that Dean hissed.
Sam withdrew his fingers and shifted, and the next minute Michael felt Dean's dick pushing up and in, Dean's hips shifting against his, and he squirmed because that hurt, he wasn't ready, and Dean was making soothing noises in his ear, but it wasn't enough.
Then Sam's hand was around his cock, and okay, that felt pretty good. Sam shuffled in, pushing his leg between Michael's and Dean's and throwing the other one over the top to hook around Dean's thigh. Dean's hand around Michael's stomach moved to Sam's back, pulling them so close that the slim pockets of air between them burned with body heat and Michael couldn't move without seeing Winchester and smelling Winchester and touching Winchester, trapping him, holding him, surrounding him.
The movement had put Sam's hips flush with Michael's, and as Dean sank into him, his hips pushed forward, brushing his dick against Sam's. That felt very good. While Dean held himself still, Sam's massive hand encircled both their cocks and began to pump them. Then Dean began to move, and Michael's back curled as sensations washed over him.
His hands slipped on sweat-slick skin as he tried to find something to hold on to, and his teeth ground against Dean's finger until Dean gasped and tried to tug it free. Over his bowed head, Sam craned his neck and Michael could feel his throat working as he and Dean kissed, open-mouthed and sloppy, little noises spilling out of Dean's throat as he thrust in time with Sam.
Then it was too much. Michael arched up and back, hitting Sam's chin and then pushing against Dean's collarbone as orgasm was wrung from him on a tide of, "oh God, oh God, oh God, ohgodohgodohgod."
He lay, exhausted and spent, cradled by Dean's body, as Sam jacked off, and Dean thrust into him, Michael's body so relaxed now that it barely burned as Dean drove in and out, in and out. Sam groaned as he came, long and low, and Dean's hand moving rhythmically against his side, small, comforting gestures like you'd pet a cat.
Then Michael felt Dean go still behind him, muscles tensing then relaxing as Dean bit off a shout and then gasped in two deep breaths.
It was hot, and sticky, with sweat and come, and Dean's legs were crushing his. Michael tried to lever himself up, but he just slumped back down, and Dean was still inside him, and Dean's arm was still stroking gently along Sam's side, brushing Michael's too, and Michael gave up trying to get up and just let his eyes slide closed. The last thing he saw was the bite mark he'd made on Sam's shoulder.
Words just fail me. I can't deconstruct this in any meaningful way. Dean and Sam need to reconnect, but Dean has changed while Sam was gone. He's found Michael and while they haven't figured out their relationship yet, it definitely exists and stands on its own ground. Michael is a part of Dean now (and vice versa) and Dean cannot relate to Sam without taking that into account.
Sam can't just reach out and touch Dean, either. He has to accept Michael, who stood up to Dean and stood beside Dean and hunted and fought with him.
And Michael....
There's so much history between Sam and Dean. SamandDean, really. If he's going to have anything meaningful or lasting with Dean, he's got to understand that history. And it's not easy or pretty or normal.
The sex is hot and amazing and did I mention hot? But it's also the start of the delicate negotiations these three men must conduct so that they don't rip each other apart.
PART 6
by ellipsisblack (conquest)
PART 4
Part 5: XXIII-XXVIII. NC-17.
"nothing unusual nothing's changed
just a little older that's all
you know when you've found it there's something i've learned
'cause you feel it when they take it away hey hey"
* *
Sam was still trying to stand. "Let me go," he said again. "Why are you here?" His voice was cold. "I left you, Dean. I don't want to hunt anymore. I don't want you. I wasn't kidnapped, I chose to go."
Michael hadn't thought it would be possible for Dean to go any whiter.
Dean was silent for a long time, staring at Sam, who glared coldly back. The sidhe were still and watching.
Dean swallowed. Michael could see his throat working.
"Mikey," he said. "How light is it?"
Michael frowned. "What?"
"It's still dark. You're seeing an illusion. It isn't dawn. This isn't over." He tightened his hands around Sam's ankle, and said grimly, "You're not Sam, you're just another creature. I won't let go."
"You're insane, Dean," said Sam with a jeering laugh.
"You shut the fuck up. You're not my brother." There was no doubt in his voice.
I trust Dean absolutely on this. If he says it isn't Sam, it isn't Sam.
Which raises the icky question of just what it really is.
The sidhe shifted en masse and the leaves around the clearing rustled, then the green lady raised her hand and where Sam had been there was now a porcupine. Dean hissed as the quills dug into his skin and glared at the lady, hatred in his eyes. "You're a nasty bitch, you know that?"
2 out of 2 hunters and 100% of readers agree.
The green lady just raised her eyebrow.
"You can see through our magic," she said thoughtfully. "Fairy ointment? You'll go mad, you know. They always do."
Dean ignored her.
"This one is blind though." She nodded at Michael. "He hasn't even realised about you and your brother, and you haven't told him, have you?"
"Shut the fuck up," Dean snarled.
The green lady laughed like this was a fun game.
Michael frowned. About Dean and Sam? He had no idea what she meant. She was probably just making shit up. Trying to distract them.
Oh, Mikey. Even Emmy Ann had a clue.
The clearing went dark again, and Michael resumed walking and watching the sky. Even though there was no way he could have known, he felt like an idiot for falling for the fairy dawn.
He's got the instincts of a hunter. He just needs to survive long enough to get the experiences of one.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the porcupine become an eagle which flapped madly for the sky.
* *XXIV.
The dawn-real dawn-broke around half past five. As soon as he saw the sky lightening, Michael looked at Dean, who was also looking up.
"It's real this time," he said, his voice breaking.
Michael, back aching and eyes watering, stopped walking and watched the first rays of the sun brush the trees. The sidhe muttered amongst themselves. Dean, lying on his back, face ghostly and both hands wrapped around a scorpion, only the stinger showing through the fingers of his right, managed a weak smirk at the green lady.
Dean's been put through the wringer on this one. And we've still got the emotional fallout to look forward to.
She spoke: "Oh, all right. You can keep him."
She waved her hand and with a flash that sent electricity up Michael's spine, the sidhe all vanished. There was a whimpering groan from Dean, and Michael turned around. Dean's arms were still stretched above his head, his back arched awkwardly, but now they were buried under the curled-up figure of Sam Winchester.
Michael dropped the bell to the ground with a clank, and ran over. Sam was stirring and groaning, and Michael hooked his arms under Sam's shoulders and hauled him up as much as he could. Dean didn't move. His right wrist was swollen, and his right hand still clamped around Sam's ankle, tight enough that Michael was pretty sure Sam would have bruises.
Nobody's coming out of this in good shape.
"You can let go," said Michael quietly.
Dean darted a look around. "They're still here," he said, "They're watching."
Even though he knew he'd see nothing, Michael looked over his shoulder.
Dean was slowly shifting his hips on the grass. He pulled a gun from the small of his back. Michael hadn't seen him put it there, so it must have been there since before they left town the previous afternoon.
Michael released his grip on Sam's shoulders and Sam slumped to the side, trying weakly to push himself up.
"Dean?" his voice was croaky.
"Hold on, Sammy," said Dean.
Sam nodded and curled up, closing his eyes. Dean cocked the gun with his left hand and levelled it down his body at the spot where the green lady had been. His right hand was still around Sam's ankle.
This is what convinces me that it's really Sam. The utter trust he places in Dean.
She shimmered back into visibility, expression amused and annoyed.
"What is it, mortal?" she said briskly.
"Is this really my brother?" asked Dean flatly.
"Can't you tell?"
"Answer the question."
She made an impatient gesture. "Yes."
Dean closed his eyes. "You better be telling the truth, because if I let go and he disappears, so help me, I will destroy you and your world, and all your kind to get him back."
I don't believe Dean has any doubts. I think he just wants to serve notice.
She laughed. "With that gun? You won't even wound us."
Dean squeezed the trigger and Michael heard the gun report three times, shattering the eerie silence of the clearing.
"We won't shoot you," said Dean. "We're good shots. We're not gonna fire until you're clear, okay?" Michael worried at the blanket and nodded.
"Have you heard a gunshot before?"
"Like, in the movies?"
Dean shook his head. "It's gonna be a lot louder than in the movies. So, I want you to stay under the bed, cover your ears, and do not come out until we say so, you understand?" Dean paused, his expression slipping into something raw. "Michael, you sure you wanna do this? You don't have to, it's okay. I won't be mad."
"No, I'm okay. Just don't shoot me."
"I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. I promise."
Beautiful use of the flashback. Dean is The Protector in all his aspects -- gun in his hand, care in his heart. Baby duckling Michael didn't have a chance of escaping imprinting, did he?
He'd heard a lot of gunshots since then, and they'd stopped being such a shock. That strange, raw expression on Dean's face, though, hit him like a gut punch every time.
This made me realize -- Dean does often look like using a gun causes him pain.
The green lady fell back, and there was the flash of phantom hands reaching for her before they all vanished completely.
Dean watched with grim triumph.
"Got the bitch," he said to no-one in particular. "May not kill her, but it looks like it hurts like fuck."
God, I love Dean's approach to self-medicating. He knew what he needed to start feeling better. :)
"I wouldn't know," said Michael, relief making him giddy.
Dean barked out a laugh. "Love your work, Mikey," he said, then rolled over and unclasped his fingers from Sam's ankle. Making a sound somewhere between a whimper and a chuckle. Sam didn't move. Michael was pretty sure he'd passed out.
Dean levered himself to his knees and bent over his brother, taking Sam's pulse with his left hand.
"He's fine," he said. His voice was oddly restrained, as was the hand he ran down Sam's side.
Restrained only because there's an audience.
Dean stood up. "We need to do the circle," he said, cradling his right arm and slowly flexing the fingers. "They've gone back through the ring."
Michael started. "Oh, um, yeah."
They worked quietly. Dean looked frequently at Sam, who hadn't moved from foetal position. Dean set the pieces of iron down end-to-end in the ditch around the thicket, and Michael fished out the battery-operated hand-welder they'd got from the hardware store.
Michael had to do the welding, because Dean's expression pinched every time something jolted his right arm.
The iron circle was buried, deep enough that it wouldn't be uncovered, but not so deep that Dean thought its power would be buried by the earth. Michael wondered if his fairy sight was affected by, or could sense, the presence of iron, but he didn't ask.
Over the top of the circle, at each of the cardinal points, they planted St. John's Wort seeds, and at the midpoints between these they buried seeds of other herbs: thyme, primrose, clover. Anything and everything that the books had suggested might ward against fairies.
I like how this is stripped of all ritual or fancy. It's very pragmatic, much like the boys themselves.
Once it was done, Michael climbed into the thicket. In the middle of the ring, Sam's phone and the rest had fallen to the ground. He picked it up. Sam might want it, once he was conscious.
* *XXV.
Sam woke up when they were hoisting him on their shoulders. Dean, being taller, was taking most of the weight, but Sam, being taller than them both, was dragging along the ground anyway. The first sign they had that he was conscious was his trying to get his feet under him so he could walk.
"Don't worry about it," said Dean. "We got you."
Sam scrunched his face up, his cheek lolling against Dean's shoulder, and sighed vaguely. He opened his eyes and frowned.
"Why are your clothes inside out?" Every word sounded like an effort.
Dean laughed. "Long story."
Sam closed his eyes again. "You look like an idiot."
"Jerk."
Oh, yeah. That's Sam, all right. And he's making sure Dean knows it.
Sam was weak but conscious for the rest of the walk to the car. It felt more like twenty than two miles. Michael's whole body ached, and the last traces of adrenalin had left his system, leaving him exhausted. Relieved, but exhausted.
They slid Sam into the back seat, and Michael buckled him up.
"Who are you?" asked Sam, not rudely, just like he couldn't think properly.
Michael offered him his hand. "Um, Michael Sorensen," he said politely. Sam didn't shake, because he didn't seem to have the energy to move his arm.
Dean snorted, sliding into the driver's seat. He put his hand on the steering wheel and hissed. Michael got into the passenger seat and looked at him. "What's wrong?"
Dean looked back at him for a long time.
"Mikey," he said, like every word was being dragged out of him, "you're going to have to drive. I can't."
Necessity, shemessity. I know true love when I see it.
"What? I don't have my license! Why the hell do you think I chased you across the country by bus?" Michael waved his hands around.
Mikey and the little wavy hands! He's always doing little gestures like that.
Dean closed his eyes, the lines around them deepening. "Do you have your permit?"
Michael didn't like where this was going. "Yeah..." he said reluctantly.
"Then I'll supervise. We need to get back and get our stuff, then we need to get to Ohio, tonight."
"Sam- "
"-Is completely out of it. Gotta be you, Mikey. Trust me, I don't like it either."
It took a bit of cajoling, but eventually Dean convinced him to switch spots. Michael shut the driver's door and took a couple of deep breaths.
No pressure. Right.
"That's right," said Dean. "Stay calm. You've done this before."
Michael glanced over. Dean looked about as calm as he felt.
"Okay, clutch in. Good. Put her in neutral. Now, turn the key." Michael obeyed, and the engine roared to life.
"That's right baby, it's okay." Michael glanced over, startled at Dean's suddenly caressing tone. Dean was stroking the dash comfortingly, and Michael didn't know whether to be amused or hurt that Dean was clearly more concerned with reassuring the car than with reassuring him.
Get used to it, Mikey. Even Sam knows where he stands in relation to the Impala.
"Put her in first. No, first, not third."
"Oh, heh." Michael shifted the stick.
"There we go. Now, slowly push in the accelerator. Slowly. There, the engine's caught. Now release the clutch. Slowly!" Dean's pitch climbed as the car jumped forward.
Michael's muscle memory kicked in and he managed to get the car under control and avoid stalling. He turned the wheel. "Oh, Jesus." It was difficult.
"Yeah, no power steering. Good thing you're strong. She can be a beast to manoeuvre if you're not used to it. Second now."
Michael changed the gear and turned out onto the highway without incident.
"You're good at this coaching thing," he said.
Dean snorted. "I taught Sam. Not in this car." He laughed wryly. "I borrowed my girlfriend's. She had one of those little girl cars. Much easier to drive. First time I took him out in it was in a parking lot. Not an obstacle for miles, except a couple poles. He was doing okay in first, steering a bit, and he got himself lined up with one of the poles and panicked. I told him to turn, turn, Sam, turn, okay, brake, brake, brake, but instead, he screeched, took his hands off the wheel and closed his eyes. Rolled right into that pole at two miles an hour." Dean's lip twitched. "Slowest car accident in history. You should be in third."
"Oh, sorry." Michael shifted gears again, grinning. He'd never driven into anything, let alone a pole at two miles an hour. That made him feel a lot better, and he shifted to fourth without being prompted.
I totally believe this story. Right down to the little girly scream. I don't think Dean allowed Sam to even sit behind the Impala's steering wheel until blood loss forced his hand one night.
* *XXVI.
They rolled into town at half past six, and roared out again at seven, having said goodbye to Sue, who was clearly flummoxed but thrilled to see Sam alive, and the ghillie dhu, who barely condescended to manifest so Dean could reassure her that the sidhe were stuck in their circle.
As they drove out, Michael accidentally ground the stick a bit between first and second, and Dean looked for a second like he was going to cry, but all in all, Michael was getting the hang of the impala. Dean's hand was cradled on his lap, and he kept up periodic bursts of small talk to keep Michael alert. They stopped for lunch and very large, very strong coffee in a small town just outside of Indianapolis, and Dean tried getting behind the wheel, only to once again relinquish it to Michael, who was feeling considerably more alert than he should after such a long night.
Driving was less tiring than being a passenger on these trips, he discovered.
You know Dean thinks Mikey driving his baby is hot. Even when it makes him cry.
Dean directed him to leave route 70 just after Dayton.
"Where are we going?" asked Michael, taking the turn off.
"Marysville. We got some old friends there. Perry's a hunter. Mel's a doctor. She's good at caring for the kind of injuries we get in this line of work, and unlike a hospital, she doesn't ask awkward questions. I want her to have a look over Sam."
And Michael learns a bit more of the hunter network.
Michael glanced over. Hopefully this Mel would have a look over Dean too.
Dean called ahead as they passed through Urbana to let them know that they were coming. Consequently, when Michael drove up to a respectable-looking house on a nice street of Marysville, they were greeted enthusiastically by a man and a woman. Dean levered himself out of the car. Michael turned off the ignition and climbed out himself.
"Mikey," he said, "This is Perry, and Mel. Guys, this is Mikey. He gave me a hand finding Sam."
"Oh honey," said Mel. "You found him?"
Dean nodded and gestured to the back seat. Sam had slumped over so he wasn't visible from the street.
Perry headed for the back and was helping Sam when Mel noticed Dean was favouring his wrist.
"What happened?" she asked, taking the arm and holding it gently.
Dean tried to pull it back and winced. "It's nothing," he said.
"First time I treated you, you were twenty-seven, and we were on our honeymoon, remember? I know that 'nothing' is Dean Winchester for 'I am bleeding from a vital organ but am too macho to admit it'."
Ah, a bit of Conversational Winchester.
Dean looked taken-aback. "Can you look over Sam first? He's been through a lot."
Mel glanced over Dean's shoulder. "Perry's got him. You come with me and we'll get this fixed up. Then I'll look at Sam. And you, Mikey, was it? You look like you've had a rough night."
Michael laughed weakly. "You could say that, ma'am."
That automatic politeness is going to take him far.
Mel splinted Dean's wrist, which she pronounced broken and bruised, and harangued him for not getting it seen to sooner. Sam she pronounced exhausted but otherwise fine, and recommended bed rest for all three of them.
Mel had bedded Sam down in the infirmary, because he'd gone from mostly unconscious to completely unconscious while she was examining him, but she offered Dean and Michael the guest bedroom, which they accepted gratefully despite her warning that there was only a double.
She looked between them, eyebrow raised, and Dean scowled. Mel's lip twitched.
"So, fairies, huh?" she said, changing the topic. Dean had told her what they'd been up to while she fixed his wrist.
Not changing the topic that much.
"I know," said Dean dourly. "It gets funnier every time I hear it."
"He's never gonna live that down, is he?"
"Hell no." Dean smiled with grim satisfaction.
"I have him back and he has all his limbs. I'm allowed to torture him."
An hour or so later, Dean and Michael crawled into bed. They were both too exhausted and sore for awkwardness, and even Michael the teenage boy had very little on his mind other than sleeping for the next three days.
In the morning, Sam was up and about before they were. Perry said he'd had three breakfasts already, and was digging into a fourth.
"He said he'd eaten at a banquet in Faerie," said Perry. "Don't know much about fairies in particular, but most ‘witched food, you eat it, and for a while, our food can't sustain you. He'll get over it, and until then he'll be a bit weird, and he'll eat us out of house and home."
Dean nodded.
"Other thing is, he's sure he's only been gone for a day. Figured you'd be wanting to correct him."
Dean's expression went flat. "Yeah, thanks."
That's going to go over well. Once Sam realizes just how bad it was for Dean....
* *XXVII.
"Sam, you've got to believe me." Dean ran his hand over his eyes. "It's August 2nd. You've been gone three months-a whole Celtic cycle."
Dean held himself like he was expecting a battle, but Sam just frowned thoughtfully and said, "If you say so." He resumed chomping through a piece of toast.
Still a little under the Faerie influence.
Dean blinked. "Okay, good," he said, clearly thrown off his stride.
Michael suddenly remembered Sam's phone, which he'd shoved in the front pocket of his duffel. Sam watched, toast poised halfway to his mouth, as Michael squeaked and jumped up.
"Strange kid," said Sam as Michael left the room.
Michael half-heard Dean's response: Wouldn't have found you without him."
He retrieved the phone and was back in time to catch the end of the conversation.
"-from Fitchburg. In '06, the shtriga? Come on Sam, work with me."
"Oh. Oh. You must have really made an impression." There was a definite smirk in his tone.
Sam knows exactly what kind of impression, too.
"He's a good kid," said Dean flatly, and Michael re-entered before Sam could reply. Michael wasn't sure how he felt about being Dean's ‘good kid', but at least Dean had defended him. Kinda.
Heh. Dean's kid. That's got so many levels I don't think I can dig that deep. Sammy, meet Mikey. Mikey, meet Sammy. Discuss.
He gave the phone to Sam.
"Oh wow, thanks," said Sam. "I wondered where this was." He looked at the screen. "God, I am popular."
"You've been gone three months."
Sam looked up, then his eyes slid away from Dean's. "Yeah. Still, I'm not usually Mr. Social these days." There was something under that comment, because Dean tensed.
Dean would rather be flayed than reveal his feelings. And there's three months of feelings in Sam's voice mail.
The second night at Perry and Mel's wasn't awkward, because even though Sam wasn't passed out in the infirmary, precedent had been set, and Dean and Michael shared the bed again, while Sam scrunched himself onto the couch. There was a loaded look that passed between the brothers, but Michael couldn't interpret it. He was fairly sure that Dean hadn't said anything about-them to Sam. He sure as hell wouldn't have been telling Asher if their roles were reversed, and he had this suspicion that if Sam did know, for sure, he would be giving Dean shit about it.
The next day, they left Marysville. Not because they had to, but because Dean was apparently allergic to accepting people's hospitality for any longer than he had to. Michael grumbled and Sam rolled his eyes, but Dean got his way, and they drove, south-east, towards North Carolina, and Manteo Guns and Antiques.
Michael knew-he knew-that he had to ask them to drop him back in Fitchburg, now that the job was over and Sam was found. He'd made a resolution that he would, and there was only a month until school started, and his Mom probably needed his help at the motel. But somehow, he found he couldn't force the words out. Not while Dean seemed happy enough to have him along.
Sam was doing most of the driving, with Dean riding shotgun and Michael in the back. Sometimes he dozed and he was pretty sure they forgot he was there.
Somewhere near the Ohio-West Virginia border, Sam said, "I'm sorry, man."
"For what?" said Dean.
"I listened to my voice mail. And you-I really gave you a scare, didn't I? It only feels like I've been gone a day, but-you've been looking for me for three months. Just... sorry."
Dean was silent for a while. "It's fine," he said flatly. "Just drop it."
"If you say so," said Sam, and looked back at the road.
Dean looked over at him for a while, then leant against his window, staring out.
Argh! Talk, you morons. It'll only hurt for a minute!
Winchesters. Can't live with 'em, can't kill 'em for fear they'll take over Hell and bust out.
That night, Michael volunteered to take the foldout, which turned out to be damp and smelly, while Dean and Sam took the singles.
The next day, they drove south through West Virginia, Virginia and into North Carolina. Dean seemed determined to make it to Manteo before they stopped for the night, but at ten thirty, just outside motor inn. Dean protested, but Sam really did look exhausted, and Michael was just about ready to sleep, so Dean hauled himself out of the car and stalked into reception to rent a room.
He emerged dangling a room key and glaring indiscriminately.
"They only have king rooms left, and they're getting us a foldout," he said. "Room 103."
He walked across the parking lot while Sam followed him in the car. While Sam and Michael hauled the bags in and waited for the foldout, Dean vanished into the bathroom. They didn't talk much; Sam's head was lolling against the back of the chair, and Michael was rediscovering just how exhausting being a passenger could be.
The foldout arrived and a woman made it up for them. A few minutes later, Dean emerged from the bathroom. Sam looked at Michael, Michael looked at Dean, and Dean looked at the two beds, made an impatient noise and said, "It's my turn to take the foldout."
He shot Sam then Michael very pointed looks, which Michael took to mean that Dean definitely hadn't told Sam about their… unprofessional relationship and wanted Michael to play along, please. Michael shrugged and met Sam's bemused look.
Eventually he was going to have to learn to say no to Dean.
But not anytime soon.
Sleeping with him had been a bad idea, yes, but it was like the time when he was fifteen and a hunter passing through Eveline's place gave him pot. Evie had found him flat on his back screeching at the ceiling and beat the tar out of him as what she chose to call an 'object lesson in the evils of drugs'. But, having had a bad trip had bolstered his credibility at school so much that while he acknowledged it had been a bad idea, he couldn't find it in him to be entirely repentant.
Sam threw his hands up and said amiably, "More bed for me."
"Heh," said Michael, who was, in fact, a head shorter than Sam.
Dean jeered, "You need it, beanpole."
"Shut up, midget," returned Sam cheerfully.
Perhaps Sam just preferred to share a bed with the weird kid rather than the brother. Some people were funny about sharing beds with relatives, but Michael wouldn't have expected it from a Winchester.
*sporfle* That gets me every time. Do not drink and read at the same time.
* *XXVIII.
Michael woke up with a warm body wrapped around his back, and his mind went through three stages: fear, because he was pinned and couldn't move, confusion because he thought Dean had claimed the foldout, and then, when he realised it was Sam clinging to him, irritation that Winchesters seemed so determined to trap him when he really kinda needed to pee. That passed, and he settled into a strange, warm contentment. Sam felt different-longer and heavier, and somehow softer-but still nice. It was funny how quickly Michael had got out of the habit of sleeping alone.
Michael Sorenson = Luckiest Boy in the World
He shifted a bit and snuffled.
"Morning, Snow White," said Dean, his expression strange and dark when Michael opened his eyes.
Michael pulled his arm out from underneath Sam's and rubbed his eyes. "Why'm I Snow White?" he asked vaguely.
"Because he is Sleeping Beauty," Dean retorted, gesturing with his un-splinted arm, which was grasping a styrofoam cup.
That would make Dean... a dwarf?
"Fuck you, Dean," Sam croaked, clearly still struggling out of sleep. Michael felt Sam's lips moving on the back of his neck and squirmed.
Sam came fully awake and realised who he was wrapped around.
"Sorry," he said, disentangling and rolling over to his side of the bed.
"S'fine," said Michael, already contemplating a nap.
"Don't even think about it," said Dean, grabbing another cup off the nightstand and shoving it at him. Michael frowned sleepily and levered himself up before accepting it.
"Why are you up so early anyway?" said Sam, standing up and padding towards the bathroom. "Shower first, coffee next," he added, shutting the door.
Dean had been about to answer Sam's first question, but he shut his mouth and looked at Michael, eyebrows raised. "Weird," said Michael.
"I know," said Dean. "Coffee before everything."
A man's gotta have his priorities.
They nodded, almost in unison, and Michael crawled out of the bed. Dean was leaning against the back of the chair, posture relaxed but muscles strangely tight.
"Um," said Michael.
"There's a ghost," said Dean quietly.
"What?"
"I can see her. She's not manifesting, just floating out beside the main building."
Michael sat back down on the bed. "So it really is second sight."
Cool. Except for the whole "go mad" thing.
"Apparently. I haven't told Sam."
"You don't get to be angry...."
"Okay. Are you all right?"
Dean stood up. "I'm fine," he snapped.
"In all the stories... mortals who put the ointment on..."
"Yeah, yeah, dead, blind or mad. I got it, Mikey." Dean scowled at him. "I had to. It's fine."
"Okay," Michael said again. He paused. "You got Sam back."
And that's the bottom line.
"Yeah," said Dean, dragging the syllable out. "Have you noticed how... agreeable he's being? Usually we have a brawl over every little thing from where to stop for the night to whether or not to hold hands and share about our feelings."
Michael frowned. "Fairies are notorious for giving the gift of obedience. It'll probably wear off?" He ended on a question because Dean was scowling at him, and that was intimidating.
"He stopped here without asking me," Dean said slowly.
"Almost back to himself then!" said Michael heartily, earning himself another frown.
Michael's going to find the upside somewhere.
They got to Manteo that morning, and Tony was surprised and pleased to see the brothers Winchester reunited. Michael felt a pang when Tony's eyes alit on him and he said, "Mikey!" as if this were an afterthought.
The amazing brothers Winchester and their pintsize tagalong.
Tony recovered quickly and added, "Good to see you found him, and Sam too."
Dean put his arm loosely around Michael's shoulders. "He's a determined brat," he said, and they laughed.
Tony cajoled them into staying in Manteo for the day. He took a look at Dean's and Sam's kits, the latter of which had been in the trunk since Sam vanished, and replenished what was down. He also said that if they stuck around, he'd be able to make up one for Michael. Michael looked at Dean, eyes shining at the thought of having his very own hunter's kit with guns and… and… knives, and ammo, and holy water and flares, and Dean rolled his eyes.
"Daddy, daddy, daddy!"
"Whatever," he said. "You stay here and pick your equipment. We'll go check into that motel we passed a mile back."
Michael nodded, already browsing the pistols on the wall behind the counter.
Picking out the weapons was quicker than he expected. He just picked the ones he knew Dean had. He'd handled a couple of Dean's guns, and liked the balance, especially of the glocks. Besides, Dean was Dean, and if Dean liked a gun, it was good enough for Michael too.
Oh, Mikey.
Tony sent him on his way after half an hour, saying he'd have all the other stuff gathered up by morning. With a mental shrug, Michael decided to walk back to the motel. It didn't take long, and he managed to cajole the room number of one Miles Dagobert from the receptionist (another useful skill one picked up when running with Dean Winchester).
He strolled up the steps to room 215 and glanced in the window beside the door. What he saw stopped him dead, and made the bottom drop out of his stomach.
There was Dean, shoved right up against the dresser, face to the door, neck arched. Curled over in front of him, almost blocking him completely from Michael's view, was Sam. Who had... Sam's hands were disappearing into the sides of Dean's jeans.
Totally blindsided. You can hear his foundations crumbling.
Dean's back curled and his hands came up to scrabble at Sam's back. He opened his eyes and saw Michael, frozen to the spot. His hands dropped and he pushed Sam to the side.
Dean pushes Sam away. Pushes. Sam. Away. And then runs after Michael. Michael's too caught up to realize what that means but Sam knows.
"Mikey!" he shouted, but Michael was running. He heard the door open and slam shut behind him, and Sam's shouted, "Dean!" was drowned out by Dean shouting "Mikey!" again as his hand closed around Michael's shirt, stopping him dead.
Michael turned around and Dean released his shirt and shoved him roughly against the wall. "Don't you fucking run away," he snarled.
Dean can't say that to Sam. But he can say it to Mikey.
Michael twisted his face away, trying to slip out under Dean's arm, but Dean had him pinned with his hip.
"Mikey," said Dean, quieter. "Mikey, don't." There was a catch in his voice and Michael went still, looking up at Dean's hooded eyes and trying to put all the anger, betrayal and disgust he was feeling into his look.
Dean ducked his head. "Just let me," he said, brushing his lips, soft and open, against Michael's.
Michael never had learned how to say no to Dean.
Over Dean's shoulder, he saw Sam come up behind them.
"Sam," said Dean, his voice raw as he looked over his shoulder. Michael closed his eyes, and then suddenly they were back in the room, and Dean was shutting the door behind them.
Sam was saying, "Dean," uncertainly, and Dean was saying, "Sammy," like that was the answer to a question.
Dean needs Sam to pass Dean to Michael. Sam needs to know Michael will take Dean.
Then Michael was being pushed gently back towards the bed, Dean's hands warm on his shoulders. His calves hit the side, and Sam dropped to his knees in front of him. Dean pulled his shirt up over his head, Sam was working at his pants and Michael squeaked as Sam's hand brushed his cock.
Sam stopped, and instead nuzzled the skin of Michael's stomach that had been bared when Dean pulled up the shirt.
His hair tickled, and that felt nice. Michael's breathing hitched. He felt like he was out of his league. He felt like monsters must feel when the Winchesters tag-teamed him. Then Dean said, "Ssh, Mikey," and spun him around, and Sam had lost his shirt because when he pressed against Michael's back, his chest was warm and smooth.
Dean kissed Michael, needing and open, and then there was only Dean, and Sam, and him in the world, and that wasn't that big, or scary. It was warm, and Dean's hands were stroking down his sides, while he pulled at Dean's buttons, getting them undone and pushing the shirt off Dean's shoulders. Dean's hands returned to his sides, sliding down into the waistband of his pants. Dean's rough, blunt fingers felt more familiar than Sam's longer digits, and Michael didn't start when Dean's hands settled on his ass and dragged their bodies close.
Above his head, Sam ducked to kiss his brother, and Michael looked up and away, throwing his head back against Sam's collarbone as Dean's roaming hands found his cock hard in his boxers. He was an eighteen year old boy, after all, and even though his skin prickled with tension and adrenalin and looking at Dean's tongue fucking Sam's mouth above his head felt wrong and twisted something in his gut, this was Dean grinding his hips into Michael's, and Dean had pretty much a direct line to his dick.
Not everything's going to be resolved all at once. There's a lot of stuff to deal with. Sex isn't magically going to make everything better.
Dean stepped back and knelt, finishing what Sam had started earlier and dragging Michael's jeans and boxers down and off, leaving Michael naked and flushed. He stood up and spun Michael around, pulling him back against his body and Michael felt the rough scrape of jeans digging into the small of his back. Dean's hands slid down his forearms and clasped the backs of his hands.
Sam was standing right in front of him, and Michael looked up into his downturned face, and Sam smiled, wide and slightly predatory. Dean's hands on his guided them to Sam's fly, and Michael took the hint and undid the button.
Sam put his hands on Dean's, fingers brushing Michael's thumb.
"Mikey," he said softly, "if you don't want to..."
"I'm fine," said Michael. "I... if you don't... I mean."
Sam smiled, and removed his hand from Dean's, bringing it up to tilt Michael's chin. Then he bent over, stooping from what seemed like an incredible height. Time slowed a bit, and then Sam's mouth was on his, teasing and then devouring, and now he had kissed a grand total of three men in his life, and two of them were Winchesters.
God, that's an incredible batting average.
Dean's hands were working at Sam's fly, because Michael's were curled against Sam's
Dean backed them all up and they fell back on the bed, Sam half-across Michael's body, Michael on top of Dean. Sam slid off and stood up, shuffling out of his jeans. Michael's breath stuttered when Sam's cock was freed and he reached for Sam, whose eyes slid half-shut as he crawled back onto the bed, kneeling over them and rolling them so he could tug Dean's jeans and briefs off.
Dean grabbed Sam's neck and dragged him down, and again, Michael's heart skittered, because Dean was a beautiful kisser, open and desperate and a little rough and Michael wanted Dean's mouth back on his. Sharp desire shot through him mixing with a little bit of shame and disgust, and a bit of jealousy that made him writhe and twist back, grinding his ass against Dean's cock, which was hot against him.
Michael's never been passive. He knows how to make his presence felt.
Dean broke the kiss and threw his head back, dragging in air like he was suffocating. He wrapped his right arm around Michael's stomach, the bandage and the outline of the splint below it digging into Michael's stomach, and shifted so they were lying both on their sides, Dean's left arm under Michael's head, legs tangled.
Sam knelt over the two of them, lids heavy, and he smiled again.
"Sammy," said Dean, voice soft and soaked with desire. "Lube."
Michael started and tried to turn his head, but Dean's arms pinned him where he was.
"Shhh," whispered Dean, breath gusting into Michael's hair and tickling his ear. "It's okay."
Sam climbed off the bed and knelt, the muscles of his back caressed by the midday light filtering through the curtains, shifting under his skin.
Dean's left tricep was trapped under Michael's head, but he bent his elbow and brought his hand up to tangle in Michael's hair, making him arch his neck so Dean could curl over and bite at the tendon along the side.
Then Sam was back, looming over them, and Michael tried to turn his head but couldn't because Dean's hand was still tangled in his hair. Sam's hand ran up his side and he shivered, the touch seeming to hit every nerve ending in his body.
Then Sam was squirting clear liquid onto his fingertips, and Michael could see him because he had moved and was lying down in front of him, sandwiching Michael between the two much larger Winchesters. Then Sam was reaching over him and sliding his shining fingertips between Michael's body and Dean's.
He felt the slick digits brush against his ass, then Dean hissed and every muscle Michael could feel against his back tensed as Sam wrapped his hand around Dean's cock. Michael's head was pressed to Sam's neck, and he dragged in a couple of breaths, inhaling the scent of sweat and cologne that somehow went straight to his dick. Then Sam's hand was moving again, painting a cool line down Michael's tailbone and then-Michael gasped and bit down and Sam swore.
Dean chuckled. "He does that," he said dryly.
And Dean loves it.
"Heh," said Michael, thinking hazily that he might apologise, except Sam's fingers were moving again, sliding slowly in and out of him, and he had to concentrate on not repeating his crime because he really, really wanted to bite down on something to keep himself from screaming as Sam's fingers worked in and out, knuckle by knuckle.
Dean seemed to sense his difficulty, because the hand that was tangled in his hair moved slightly so that one long, blunt finger dragged across Michael's lips. Michael opened them hungrily and Dean pushed his finger in. "Go on," he said, so Michael did, biting down hard enough that Dean hissed.
Sam withdrew his fingers and shifted, and the next minute Michael felt Dean's dick pushing up and in, Dean's hips shifting against his, and he squirmed because that hurt, he wasn't ready, and Dean was making soothing noises in his ear, but it wasn't enough.
Then Sam's hand was around his cock, and okay, that felt pretty good. Sam shuffled in, pushing his leg between Michael's and Dean's and throwing the other one over the top to hook around Dean's thigh. Dean's hand around Michael's stomach moved to Sam's back, pulling them so close that the slim pockets of air between them burned with body heat and Michael couldn't move without seeing Winchester and smelling Winchester and touching Winchester, trapping him, holding him, surrounding him.
The movement had put Sam's hips flush with Michael's, and as Dean sank into him, his hips pushed forward, brushing his dick against Sam's. That felt very good. While Dean held himself still, Sam's massive hand encircled both their cocks and began to pump them. Then Dean began to move, and Michael's back curled as sensations washed over him.
His hands slipped on sweat-slick skin as he tried to find something to hold on to, and his teeth ground against Dean's finger until Dean gasped and tried to tug it free. Over his bowed head, Sam craned his neck and Michael could feel his throat working as he and Dean kissed, open-mouthed and sloppy, little noises spilling out of Dean's throat as he thrust in time with Sam.
Then it was too much. Michael arched up and back, hitting Sam's chin and then pushing against Dean's collarbone as orgasm was wrung from him on a tide of, "oh God, oh God, oh God, ohgodohgodohgod."
He lay, exhausted and spent, cradled by Dean's body, as Sam jacked off, and Dean thrust into him, Michael's body so relaxed now that it barely burned as Dean drove in and out, in and out. Sam groaned as he came, long and low, and Dean's hand moving rhythmically against his side, small, comforting gestures like you'd pet a cat.
Then Michael felt Dean go still behind him, muscles tensing then relaxing as Dean bit off a shout and then gasped in two deep breaths.
It was hot, and sticky, with sweat and come, and Dean's legs were crushing his. Michael tried to lever himself up, but he just slumped back down, and Dean was still inside him, and Dean's arm was still stroking gently along Sam's side, brushing Michael's too, and Michael gave up trying to get up and just let his eyes slide closed. The last thing he saw was the bite mark he'd made on Sam's shoulder.
Words just fail me. I can't deconstruct this in any meaningful way. Dean and Sam need to reconnect, but Dean has changed while Sam was gone. He's found Michael and while they haven't figured out their relationship yet, it definitely exists and stands on its own ground. Michael is a part of Dean now (and vice versa) and Dean cannot relate to Sam without taking that into account.
Sam can't just reach out and touch Dean, either. He has to accept Michael, who stood up to Dean and stood beside Dean and hunted and fought with him.
And Michael....
There's so much history between Sam and Dean. SamandDean, really. If he's going to have anything meaningful or lasting with Dean, he's got to understand that history. And it's not easy or pretty or normal.
The sex is hot and amazing and did I mention hot? But it's also the start of the delicate negotiations these three men must conduct so that they don't rip each other apart.
PART 6