Eddie-fucking-Bauer
Dean couldn’t tell if it was the fever or if it was really fucking freezing inside the cabin and out. The place was good sized, open floor plan, living room leading into the kitchen. The bedrooms, or probably more than one, looked to be tucked in under the left slope of the roof. To the right, an enormous wood stove sat cold and empty. He frowned at the cathedral ceiling. Impractical waste of space that was probably a bitch to heat. He dumped his duffle on the floor, feeling his teeth starting to chatter.
“Sit,” Seth pointed to a chair next to the wood stove.
He’d dropped the bags on the living table and made his way into the kitchen. Dean could hear him opening and closing the drawers, muttering to himself. For a place that belonged to an ex friend of a friend, he seemed pretty comfortable with his surroundings. Dean fought the urge to give him shit about it. He was too goddamned miserable to be able to put any serious effort into it anyway. Instead he huddled in the chair, wishing he had his old sleeping bag. When he took it with him on a hunt for a wendigo last year, the thing had been ten years old at least and still sturdy as fuck. And it had gotten torn to shreds. He never got around to replacing it either.
Seth came back and knelt next to the stove with a pile of rolled up newspapers.
“There’s a gas furnace downstairs,” he said, sounding apologetic, “but it just heats the water. It’s a summer place.”
The kid surprised him again by getting the fire going in just a few minutes, with nothing more than a few pieces of paper and some dry wood stacked next to the stove. Soon, Dean could feel the heat wafting off the thing, seeping though his clothes.
“There’s more wood stacked in the crawl space under the house,” Seth went on, “It should be enough for a few days. You hungry?”
“Starving.”
--
Everything he’d stolen from the pharmacy and everything still left in his first responder bag was laid out on the living room table. He was running low on saline. He’d been so fucking nervous and jittery in the damn pharmacy that it just slipped his mind. It wasn’t a big deal; the world wasn’t gonna end if he ran out of saline but it still irked that he forgot such a basic thing.
“Hey there, sunshine. Shirtless and running a fever here. You think we can get on with it?”
“Turn around, the light’s better that way.”
Dean straddled the chair and faced the stove without a word. Seth felt his stomach tighten.
It wasn’t the saline he was worried about. He didn’t know what he was worried about. But without the added barrier of shock or booze or anything else, Dean’s skin suddenly seemed overwhelming.
Waterproof dressings. That was all he was doing. He could put those babies on blindfolded. But his hands shook as he cut the gauze off, peeling it off the stitches. There were old scars there. A white puckered stab wound in the upper shoulder, an old shallow slash curving around the ribs, what looked like burn scars peppering the lower back. He’d seen them all before, back at the farm house and then later in the hotel room. But there was something personal about them now. He’d always had the ability, common in his line of work, to separate himself from his patients. It was a necessary thing; gaping wounds, torn flesh, suffering of others, day in and day out, it wasn’t something anyone could carry lightly. He’d learned to shut it out, push it away, move on to the next case. It didn’t always work, especially with the really bad cases. And it wasn’t working now.
“How old are you?” he asked.
Dean’s shoulders shifted slightly.
“24.”
So many scars for someone so young. Seth’s fingers hesitated over the rough skin, feeling the uneven grooves. No one had patched that up when it happened, it was left to heal on its own. And it had gone deep. The muscle under his fingers moved and he jerked his hand back.
“The scars freaking you out?” Dean asked, sounding genuinely curious.
No. It wasn’t about the scars. The old ones or the new ones. It was the fact that they were becoming familiar, a map he’d began memorizing without knowing he was doing so. Getting used to the way they feel under his hands, as if they were his own, newly discovered and already a part of him.
No. If anything was freaking him out it was all the muscle. The sheer fucking expanse of Dean’s back, the length of space from shoulder to shoulder. The freckles. Faint dusting of them across the shoulders, like someone had shook a brush of gold flakes above him.
“That should have been patched up,” he said, keeping his voice steady, “It wouldn’t have scarred as badly.”
“I was busy. It healed.” Dean said shortly.
Seth dropped the stained gauze in the trash can and inspected the stitches, grimacing at the first few sets. God, he’d done such a piss poor job with those, it was a miracle none of them were infected. The rest looked better, neater. There would be some scarring but nothing bad. A few might go away completely.
He tore into the packages, carefully covering the stitches with a gauze pad and applying two tegaderm dressings to each, just to be on the safe side.
“So,” Dean said, “you seem to know your way around this place pretty well.”
“I spent a weekend here last year.”
“With an ex friend of a friend?”
“Yes.”
“What was his name?”
Seth paused for a moment, then found himself pressing the last dressing in place with a little more force than necessary.
Dean hissed.
“Sorry. It’s done. I’ve gotta take them off when you come out so just... let me know when you’re all through.”
“Can’t just leave them on?”
“No. The wounds need to breathe. And I gotta make sure no water’s gotten underneath.”
“All right.”
Dean stood up and Seth took a step back. It was ridiculous, he was the taller one by at least an inch or two, but Dean had a way of looming when he was too close, crowding him in. He turned away to pack the rest of the supplies back up so he wouldn’t have to watch him across the cabin. So he wouldn’t have to see that ridiculous expanse of uncovered skin. So he wouldn’t think about the exact moment Dean took the rest of his clothes off when the bathroom door closed behind him. Dean stepping into the shover, skin glistening under the spray of hot water.
No.
Supplies. He should be thinking about supplies.
They’d both had a can of tomato soup each and there was plenty of other cans stacked up in the pantry, everything from beef stew to canned peaches. It wasn’t gonna be enough. They needed bread, fruit, vegetables. Dean needed actual food, especially with the amount of pills Seth was having him take every six hours. Seth knew there was a small stash of emergency cash somewhere, James had dug into it when they were here. It was time to find out how much they were working with. And what else they would need in town because Seth didn’t wanna make more than one trip.
He started in the bedrooms because it seemed like the most obvious place.
Not because he couldn’t hear the shower running any more.
No. He had other things on his mind.
--
“Raiding the place?”
Seth jumped and Dean instantly felt bad. The kid seemed twitchier around him now than he’d been a few hours ago and Dean found that it bothered him. Was it the way he reacted in the car? The kid had fucking startled him. He’s lucky Dean didn’t break his wrist.
The scars? It’s not like Seth hadn’t seen them all that first morning in the farmhouse kitchen. No one had ever complained about them. Actually, most of the girls he’d slept with over the years had liked them just fine. Except that Seth wasn’t some drunk chick he’d picked up at a roadside bar.
‘That should have been patched up,’ he’d said, ‘It wouldn’t have scarred as badly.’
His body had become a damn road map of monsters. Once, he’d been ashamed of it. A long fucking time ago. Nothing he wanted to think about or remember. He didn’t like the feeling of that shame creeping back and he definitely didn’t like the sudden urge to put on a shirt.
Dean glanced around the bedroom, the solid oak bed, cream and gray bedding neatly made, everything tasteful but not overwhelming. A summer cabin. He could suddenly picture the guy Seth had spent a weekend here with. One of those khaki wearing douche bags who hiked through the woods in a five hundred dollar pair of boots and played tennis on the weekends. And why not? Seth’s parents probably owned a summer home too. A family with an MD and a PhD under one roof, they probably owned two.
“I found cash,” Seth said, “Couple of hundred, enough for the few things we need in town. And I thought you might want a change of clothes.”
And he was handing Dean a neatly folded pair of flannel bottoms and a long sleeve shirt. That probably belonged to whats-his-name. A glance down showed him an Eddie Bauer tag on the shirt and he would bet his life that there was one just like it on the flannel pants. They looked and felt brand new in his hands, probably never worn.
Something bitter and angry crawled up his throat.
“I’m good,” he said, handing them back.
“All your clothes are torn to shreds.”
“I said I’m good,” he repeated tightly, suddenly hating this goddamned cabin and everything in it, “you gonna get this shit off me or what?”
--
Then he was straddling the chair again, the heat from the stove breathing in his face, Seth’s fingers on his skin. The gentle, careful tug of dressings coming off, as if Seth was afraid he’d hurt him if he pulled too hard. And he was still angry. Why the fuck was he here with some rich kid? Because he’s pretty? He was gonna get himself fucking arrested for a pretty boy. Get himself killed for nothing. Stupid. Every single decision from the moment he’d seen the kid standing above him with a gun had been a mistake. And for what?
“So, I’m curious,” he said, “what exactly are you doing?”
“Um, taking the dressings off?”
“No. What are you doing here. With me. I doubt you’re looking for more excitement. Your job probably has plenty of that. So what is it? Another daddy rebellion? A way to stick it to the old man? Or did you just decide to run away from life for a while.”
Seth paused, his hand warm on Dean’s shoulder blade, then the gentle tugging went on as if nothing had happened.
“I wouldn’t... hurt my dad. Either of my parents. Not like this. And my life is okay. Most of the time.”
“Right. You like your parents and you like your life but you decided to take a road trip with FBI’s most wanted instead. That makes sense. Exactly what a normal person would do.”
“You needed help.”
“Oh no,” Dean snorted, “don’t put this on me. I don’t remember asking for help at any point. I definitely don’t remember inviting you to come along.”
Seth yanked on the last dressing, taking some hair with it. Dean winced.
“I didn’t hear you say you didn’t want me coming along,” Seth said, his voice tight.
“Well, what can I say,” Dean smirked, “I’m a sucker for a pretty face. But since I’m probably gonna get shot or locked up because some rich kid wanted to take walk on the wild side, I think I have a right to know.”
He turned around to find Seth shoving the supplies back in the bag, his face half-hidden by hair, his hands shaking. And he felt his stomach twist painfully.
Seth took a deep breath before speaking again and Dean was surprised how calm he sounded,
“You were hurt and sick and alone and I just thought--“
“What? That you’re gonna patch me up like some fucking rabbit with a broken foot? Make me your good deed for the year?”
“No!” Seth finally looked up, his expression incredulous, “God, why would you-- no.”
“You sure? Because that’s what it looks like from here. Poor crazy guy who spends his life hunting monsters, all alone, no family, no friends, so you take him in like a stray dog because you feel bad. Because in your world all the cuts get stitched up so they don’t scar, boyfriends wear Eddie-fucking-Bauer shirts, and the hard decisions involve telling your daddy you don’t wanna go to med school. Half the time you look at me like you’re terrified and the other half like I’m a fucking stray dog, so why. Are. You. Here.”
And somehow he’d moved closer. He was crowding the kid against the table, expecting the shocked hurt on Seth’s face to transform into anger at any moment, already hating himself for it but feeling a sick twist of pleasure at the same time. Because he was right. He knew he was right. Somewhere along the way, maybe as far back as that goddamned ambulance, he’d started falling for this fucking kid. And nothing was ever gonna come of it.
Because he’d come across guys like Seth before. Because rich little boys whose boyfriends owned summer homes never wanted Dean Winchester. If anything, they wanted to brush up against his handguns as he fucked them in the back seat, to feel alive for a few minutes, to feel the danger of it. But once it was all over with, they couldn’t run fast or far enough. He’d gotten more honest emotions from a hooker than he’d gotten from guys like Seth. And still, here he was again, with some pretty boy who didn’t know what he wanted.
Except that this was so much fucking worse. This was a short, fast trip to nothing but misery. Because Dean knew what he wanted, and he’d never wanted something so fucking badly as he wanted this kid. Wanted him in every way possible. In the hotel room bed next to his, long legs sprawled out while they shared a bottle. In the Impala, behind the wheel, long fingers wrapped around the steering wheel. By his side when he fought, when he slept, when he hunted. He wanted Seth’s shoulder brushing his as they walked side by side, Seth’s hand touching his, Seth’s smile, his fury, his breath. Things he’d never wanted from anyone else, things he couldn’t even have imagined wanting three days ago, stupid, small things. This pretty fucking kid he really knew nothing about who stumbled into his life out of nowhere was becoming painfully, infuriatingly important. And Dean was scared shitless. Scared and angry.
Seth exhaled, a shuddery breath Dean could feel brushing the side of his face.
This is when Seth would tell him he’s an asshole. Tell him to leave. And Dean was fucking ready to go. Ready to just cut this crazy thing in half right here and now, to put an end to it before it got worse. He expected anything from an insult to a plain old fist in the face.
What he didn’t expect was the kid leaning forward, his lips brushing Dean’s, his breath hot against Dean’s mouth. He definitely didn’t expect it to be so soft and light, with no clear anger or need behind it. Everything inside of him grinding to a halt, flooding in confusion, heat spreading across his face as if he’s back in second grade and being kissed for the first time. Seth moving back slowly, his eyes wide, looking just as confused. Mouth still parted, a faint blush spreading over his cheeks too, except on Seth it looked as sweet as Dean’s first crush, as filthy as the very first porn he’d ever watched. If someone had gathered all the things Dean had ever wanted, all the things his mind sifted through when he jerked off in some random motel, if someone were to force all those fantasies into one single person it would have been Seth at that exact moment, wide eyed and flushed.
And realistically, somewhere in the back of Dean’s mind, he still knew that he couldn’t have this kid. That he would never be Dean’s, no matter what happened between them. But that detail suddenly seemed so small and unimportant. He was already tangling his fingers in Seth’s hair, tugging him forward, and it was too late for reason or logic. Seth made a small sound of surprise before his mouth crashed against Dean’s and for a few sick, fearful moments Dean was sure that the kid was gonna push him away. Instead, Seth’s tongue invaded his mouth, his fingers dug into Dean’s arm, his back, pulling him forward and sweet jesus, the kid’s mouth was like sin, sweet and forceful at once, his tongue licking the inside of Dean’s mouth like he couldn’t stand leaving a corner of it untasted. Dean backed him against the table, pushing his free hand under the kid’s shirt, his palm finding the quivering stomach muscles and Seth whined, he fucking whined in Dean’s mouth, his fingers tightening, his mouth turning frantic.
It wouldn’t change anything. This would actually make it all worse.
But fuck if that mattered next all the blood roaring in Dean’s ears, his nose full of that lemon grass scent, Seth’s breath moist against his cheek. He wrapped his arm around the kid’s waist and lifted him one handed onto the table surface. The bag hit the floor and Seth’s coffee cup toppled after it, ceramic shattering. Seth’s response was to wrap his legs around Dean tightly, to pull him even closer, short nails scraping against the skin of his lower back. Dean tugged on the kid’s shirt blindly, his fingers stupid and shaky, the few seconds Seth’s mouth was away from his feeling like years, feeling like he was underwater with no air. He threw the thing off to the side, not caring where it landed, and paused.
Chest rising with each panting breath, hair mussed and lips already swelling, the kid was so fucking beautiful it hurt. Dean could feel the pain of it deep below his breast bone like a delayed burn of getting shot. His pupils huge and dark, the hollow of his throat already glistening with sweat, stomach muscles visibly quivering as if they could still feel Dean’s palm pressing against them.
“Jesus,” he said hoarsely, “look at you.”
Seth licked his bottom lip and slid closer on the table surface so Dean can feel him, hard and pulsing against his thigh.
“C’mon,” he whispered, hands clutching the edge of the table, his hips jerking forward, grinding against Dean.
Dean felt the contact in his fucking spine, like someone had raked a knife down the length of it. He made a sound he couldn’t even hear over the blood beating in his mouth, in his throat, behind his eyes. He was gonna fucking come in his pants like some horny fucking teenager.
“C’mon,” Seth groaned, surging forward, nails digging into Dean’s skin again.
His lips closed over Dean’s nipple, sucking it into his mouth, grazing over it with his teeth. Dean moaned, for the first fucking time in his life he actually moaned and he couldn’t have stopped it even if he knew how. He wanted to yank the kid off the table, push him down on his knees, wanted to feel that mouth wrapped around him, wanted to see his own cum smeared all over those pretty lips. Except that he was so embarrassingly close already, he wouldn’t last three seconds.
The table creaked alarmingly and more stuff toppled off, gauze and scissors, dressing wrappers fluttering down with a soft swish. They were gonna break the damn thing. He snuck his palms under the kid’s ass and lifted him easily off the surface. Seth’s mouth left his nipple with a with a painful scrape of the teeth, arms flailing to grab on to Dean’s neck, ankles locking against the small of Dean’s back. Then he chuckled softly into Dean’s neck, tongue sneaking out to lick a burning hot stripe from the collar bone to Dean’s jaw.
They landed heavily on the couch against the far wall, Dean pushing him blindly into the cushions, finding his mouth again, fighting with his jeans and zipper and boxers and so many goddamned fucking layers that he wanted to scream. His fingers finally wrapped around Seth’s cock, slippery with pre-come and fuck, even that part of him was fucking beautiful, long and cut, curving upwards slightly, perfect in every fucking way.
“Fuck,” Seth gasped, hips rocking into Dean’s hand, “oh, fuck--“
His thigh was trapped in between Dean’s legs, grinding against him and in order to free himself from the fucking jeans, Dean would have to lift off the kid, he’d have to let go of him and there was no fucking way in hell he was going to do that. He twisted his wrist, hand tightening around Seth’s cock, thumb brushing under the head, gathering more pre-come.
“Fuck,” he growled Seth’s own word back to him, “so fucking hot baby.”
“Please,” Seth whined, “please, I want-- I want--“
“Anything,” Dean muttered against his lips, “anything you want, anything.”
And he fucking meant it. At that moment he would have done anything, given anything for this fucking kid, for his long legs and smooth skin and swollen lips and his panting breath against Dean’s mouth. He would take that beautiful cock in his mouth in a heartbeat. He would let the kid ride him until he couldn’t walk for a week. Anything. Things he’d never willingly done for anyone. His heart on a fucking platter if Seth wanted.
Seth’s hands groped at Dean’s jeans and Dean almost lost it when the kid’s hand pressed against him, his palm hot even through two layers.
“Want you-- wanna feel you--“
Lifting slightly, Dean frantically attacked the top button of his jeans with one hand like some complicated puzzle, refusing to let go of Seth, trying to keep the steady rhythm of his fist around the kid’s cock. Seth fumbled with him and they both seemed to have turned stupid with need because it was taking forever, the zipper was getting stuck, their hands were slippery with sweat and Seth’s pre-come. Then Seth was finally pushing his pants down and Dean surged forward, letting go of Seth’s cock only long enough to wrap his hand around both. Seth moaned, a deep throaty sound bordering on painful and Dean sunk his teeth in the kid’s shoulder to stop himself from doing the same. He thrust against him furiously, mindlessly, feeling like he’s gonna fall apart, like he’s gonna self-combust, sure his fingers were leaving bruises on Seth’s thigh, sure Seth was scraping layers of skin off his back with his nails, wanting to come so fucking bad and never wanting it to end.
“Fuck,” Seth whimpered in his ear, “so close--“
Suddenly nothing mattered more than Seth coming before he did, staying conscious enough to see it, to hear it happen, to feel him spilling all over Dean’s hand and cock and stomach.
He lifted his head from Seth’s shoulder, not noticing the imprints his teeth had left, the spot already bruising. Seth’s head was thrown back, his mouth slick and parted, his eyes closed and the lashes wet, his throat working as if trying to swallow the moans and not succeeding. And instead of attacking like he wanted to, instead of pushing his tongue in to search for Seth’s, he barely brushed against his mouth, hovering just beyond reach, licking the bottom lip gently, moving back when Seth tried to chase after him.
“So beautiful baby,” he whispered, “so fucking beautiful.”
Seth mewled against his mouth, hips stuttering, arching off the couch. His hand found the back of Dean’s neck and yanked his head down, their lips mashing together, his cock pulsing in Deans hand, his whole body shuddering. Hot come splattered in between them and Seth mewled again, still moving, riding through the climax. Then the fucking world just went white, Dean’s orgasm ripping through him without a warning, like a fucking tidal wave closing over his head, slamming him against a cliff. Later he would think that this was how people fucking died from heart attacks, that he finally understood how some old fucks managed to keel over before they were even done. But right then and there he couldn’t think, he could barely breathe. He could feel Seth’s lips moving against his ear, his hand cupping the back of Dean’s head as if making sure that Dean knew someone was holding on to him, that he wouldn’t come back down alone.
--
Only their shoulders were touching.
For a little while there, they had stayed entwined and Seth would’ve been happy to never fucking move again, to stay pressed against Dean until they were stuck to each other. But then Dean had moved away, as far as the narrow couch would let him. He’d made no move to get up or grab his clothes but it was obvious that he needed distance. And that fucking hurt.
That had been the clumsiest, hottest goddamned sex of Seth’s life. Not that he had much to compare it to. And maybe he was still naive, but he’d always thought that somewhere out there there would be that one person that would make him lose him mind. That one person he could do anything with, without ever feeling ashamed or anxious. As it turns out he was half right. Because he had lost his mind. And now he felt anxious and ashamed and unsure of everything.
He turned his head and studied the line of Dean’s throat, the freckles across his cheeks, the faint laugh lines around his eyes. Was he in love? Was he fucking in love with the crazy guy he met two days ago?
No. No, Dean was right. Seth was definitely the crazy one here. But it fucking hurt to look at him. It hurt not to be wrapped around him right now.
“You were right,” he said.
Dean blinked and turned his head to look at him, his eyes carefully blank,
“About what?”
“About me. About my life.”
God, this would be so much easier if he could hide his face in Dean’s shoulder, if he didn’t have those green eyes studying him carefully, making him feel all clumsy and stupid.
“In my world you grow up, you go to school, you become a doctor like your dad, you date the nice fucking guy your mom invites to a dinner party who’s also in pre-med and everything is orderly and all problems get patched up. And it’s one long washed out movie where everyone knows the ending. It’s empty and it’s predictable and it’s wrong. It’s always, always felt wrong, like I’m living someone else’s life.”
He closed his eyes and found that the rest could come out easier like this,
“I didn’t quit med school to spite my dad. I quit because it wasn’t me. Because I’ve never fucking belonged anywhere except in the back of that ambulance. The only time I feel right, I feel like myself, is when I’m saving people, when I’m covered in blood up to my elbows, when I’m stitching someone up or breathing life into them or pushing their broken pieces back together. And I don’t know what that makes me, ok? I don’t. Maybe I’m just a spoiled fucking brat. Maybe I’m fucked up. But I’m only alive when I’m out there in the dirt and the filth with bleeders and screamers and the dead. And now here, with you.”
He took a deep, painful breath, wishing his voice would stop shaking,
“And yeah, half the time I’m terrified of you and I don’t even know why. And I don’t-- I don’t know why-- I don’t know anything except that I’m here cause I wanna be. Not because I feel bad for you and not because my life isn’t exciting enough. Because it feels right, because last night-- last night on the thruway. Just driving, not really sure where I was going, not sure what would happen when I got there, with you in the car, it felt like I’d done it a million times before, like I was home.”
Hysterical laughter squeezed his throat and he shook his head,
“And I know it’s crazy. God, I’m listening to myself and I sound crazy--“
He cut off because he felt Dean’s weight shift and he was suddenly terrified that he’d said too much, that Dean didn’t want anything to do with the buckets of insanity that had just spilled out of his mouth.
Instead Dean’s lips brushed the side of his mouth, his arms wrapping around Seth and pulling him over. Seth shifted closer, wishing he didn’t feel so desperate as he practically crawled on top of him, hiding his face against Dean’s shoulder. His chest felt so tight that he could barely breathe, an unfamiliar mix of happiness and an unbearably painful ache like nothing he’d felt before. And he was still afraid. Even as Dean’s hand gently smoothed his hair back, thumb brushing over his cheek, he was still terrified. Except that he wasn’t afraid of Dean any more. He was afraid for both of them.
Chapter 9 →