There's a Hole In You and Me Part IV
Part III
Sam quickly weighs his options as Ms. Hamilton makes her way over to the group. He could claim Dean asked him to meet him out here, or lured him out of bed... Except Sam's guessing Brad and Katie are out of bed because Dean told them Sam was missing, so that won't work. He can claim Dean found him and attacked him, which would explain the bruises and scratches on both of them. They've all known Dean for years though; he's their golden boy and Sam's just some scrawny kid no one knows who keeps getting into trouble.
Sam finally settles on keeping his mouth shut until he can find a better way out of this situation. It's not his favorite plan - Sam’s a good liar and he always feels better when he's got a good solid story to hide behind - but it'll have to do for now.
Ms. Hamilton asks Brad and Katie to return to their respective cabins before turning to Sam and Dean. Her eyes travel slowly over the dirt smeared over Dean's back, the pink spot on his cheek that'll darken to a bruise by morning, the cut lip and the messy way his shirt is rucked up revealing a strip of tanned, muscular stomach. She glances over at Sam next, takes in his ruffled hair and torn shirt, the dirt on the knees of his jeans. She's quiet for a moment.
"I take it you boys have been fighting." It's not a question. "Dean, you know that fighting is not tolerated at Camp Blackwater. I'm afraid both of you will have to be suspended."
Sam doesn't say anything, but Dean’s eyes widen in shock and he opens his mouth to argue. Ms. Hamilton holds up a hand.
"No Dean, I'm not sending you home. You can still earn your summer’s pay," she adds with a small smile that disappears as she takes on a more serious tone. "Both of you will have to be removed from the main camp, however, for at least a week. Yes, I think a week should do it."
Sam glances at Dean to check if he's understood what she's saying. Apparently he has, because he's shaking his head, a look of stubborn disbelief on his face. When Sam turns back to Ms. Hamilton, she's smiling indulgently at Dean.
"I won't make you suffer the indignity of being supervised by one of your peers, Dean. You can be the supervising Counselor, and Mr. Campbell here will be the official detainee. However, I want both of you to try to get along while you're there, do you hear me? Learn to work together."
With a final nod, Ms. Hamilton turns to head back to camp.
"I expect you both to be packed and ready by breakfast," she calls over her shoulder.
The walk back to the cabins is awkward as all hell. Dean stands back to let Sam pass before him and walks a few yards behind him the whole way. He stops Sam a few yards away from his cabin and clears his throat.
"You're gonna wanna pack your bag. We're going to the isolation cabin tomorrow. Take all your stuff, 'cause you can't come back here until we're through serving our ‘sentence’." Dean won't meet his eye and Sam wants to force him to. He doesn't.
He just nods and turns away, drops into his bunk without changing and closes his eyes. He can still feel Dean's body above him, heavy but not stifling. Safe, like a fire blanket. And so warm.
***
Sam didn't actually have to pack - he never unpacked in the first place - so he just brings his duffel to breakfast. It feels like a last meal somehow - Brad keeps shooting him sympathetic looks while the other campers whisper loudly around him. Stan’s missing and Sam wonders about that to take his mind off the fact that he has somehow spectacularly broken rule number three of hunting - don’t get noticed.
He gets called away just as he's scraping the last of the scrambled eggs off his plate and he walks down the row of kids to meet Ms. Hamilton.
"Dean knows where you're going, and I asked Stan and Dave to bring some supplies over before breakfast." She glances over at the guys, sweaty and disgruntled, looking positively thrilled to have already been on a heavily loaded hike at the crack of dawn. "There's a phone at the cabin, but you're only to use it for emergencies. Aside from that, Dean, I think I trust you to remember your instructions. Take care, and I'll see you in a week."
Dean nods and murmurs his thanks before tossing his bag over his shoulder. Sam follows suit without a word.
The hike is only a half hour, but it's in a direction Sam hasn't been before - none of the camp hikes go east from the main camp. He keeps his mouth shut, focusing on memorizing the path so he can come back this way when he goes for Ms. Hamilton's office. He knows getting sent up here is probably a huge setback to the case, but if he's understood correctly, he's going to be locked up in a cabin with the most irritatingly tempting guy Sam thinks he's ever met. He wonders how long it'll take Dean to crack.
Both boys are sweating and huffing by the time they reach the cabin. It's a one-room deal with an outhouse and an outdoor shower that Sam intends to take full advantage of immediately. He throws his duffel on the bed closest to the door and strips out of his shirt while Dean stands in the doorway and pretends not to stare.
"Gonna take a shower. Wanna come with?" Sam asks with an impish grin. Dean shakes his head and opens his mouth, probably to tell Sam to stop hitting on him, but Sam just brushes slowly past him on his way out.
The shower's amazing in spite of a general lack of hot water. The water's not freezing, which is good enough for Sam, and though he’s hidden from view he has a feeling Dean can hear him, which makes it that much better when he wraps a hand around his cock and strokes himself off under the spray.
There’s not a whole lot left to be gained by getting this guy to fuck him; Sam knows this, and yet here he is letting soft moans and grunts escape him in the hope that Dean'll hear. He's jerking himself almost angrily and he's not sure why, only that as he gets closer and closer to orgasm, knees going weak and breath coming short, he lets himself groan Dean's name and it feels so damn good he comes with it still on his lips.
When the post orgasm glow fades, Sam's angry. Dean's a perfect shining example of normal small town America - probably has a pretty girlfriend at home, probably has a sweet gig as the star quarterback or something, probably headed to college and a perfect life, 2.5 children and a white picket fence. Probably.
Whereas Sam's headed towards a life of sleeping with a gun under his pillow, never staying in one town longer than a week, and possibly one day turning darkside and killing people. The 'Don't Get Attached' rule isn't just there for the hunters - sure, it helps you solve a case if you're not spending half the time holding hands and planning your future children's names - it's to stop civilians from getting hurt. Sam needs to remember that, and get over this weird urge to push Dean until he snaps and fucks Sam into the mattress.
Dean's not in the cabin when Sam gets back in and he can't help feeling a little relieved. Time to remember what he's here for and plan the next step.
***
Dean's not a coward.
Usually, Dean's not a coward. Right now, he's running away from what has to be the most terrifying situation he's ever been in - the charred nightmare in the back of his mind notwithstanding. This kid is driving Dean insane. He heard every breath, every hushed whimper, every wet slide of skin on skin from the shower and he took off. And now, he's running through the woods under darkening clouds on a path he's not sure he's ever seen before and probably won’t be able to remember on the way back. At least he's not too worried about the age thing anymore. When Sam pulled his shirt off, he finally stood up nice and straight and Dean knows now that Sam's barely shorter than him and there's no way he's younger than 14. Which, fine, is young, but it's not that young. Not old enough for Dean to actually do anything, but old enough that Dean doesn't feel quite so perverted.
Somehow, this hasn't made keeping his hands off the kid any easier. Dean just needs to focus, and that's what this run is for. It's not really running away, it's more like... taking a break. A breather.
The rain starts to fall, first a couple of drops and then all at once it's pouring heavily on the hot ground, the smell of summer downpour thick in the air. Dean heads back the way he came with a quiet prayer that Sam will be dressed by the time he gets back to the cabin.
***
Sam’s dressed and sitting on his bed, curled protectively around something in his lap that Dean can’t see. He shrugs it off and grabs his towel, heading for the shower with barely a nod in Sam’s direction.
Dean's never concentrated so hard on a speck of paint before, but it's the only thing that gets him through standing naked in the exact spot where not even an hour before, Sam was gasping and moaning.
He makes himself a sandwich while the rain continues and considers making one for Sam but settles for leaving all the supplies out for him. The kid hasn't moved from his spot on the bed, still staring down at what Dean has now realized is a pile of papers. Every once in a while, he jots something down in a thick leather journal.
The afternoon passes in fits and starts - Dean dozes comfortably on his bed, then wakes suddenly to the sensation of being watched, before spending a tense half hour trying to observe Sam without being noticed, only to fall back asleep while Sam doesn't seem to move at all.
When Dean wakes up for the last time, it's dark and Sam isn't on his bed. There's rain lashing the walls of the cabin, wind knocking the branches of the surrounding trees against the ceiling and the irregular crash of thunder punctuating it all. Dean sits up, rubbing his eyes while he stretches and finds Sam at the window, staring out into the rain.
"Can't leave," Sam says absently. Dean snorts.
"What, big plans tonight?" he asks, and Sam turns to raise an eyebrow at him, but stays silent.
Dean sighs and slides out of bed, trying to ignore the hostile silence and the way Sam is watching him, expressionless. He wanders over to the "kitchen" - a corner of the cabin with a sink and a stove. Their supplies are piled on the wooden table - pasta, cans of beans and corn, a jar of tomato sauce, a few sausages that Dean supposes they'd better eat soon. It's cold in the cabin and if he remembers correctly, the electricity should --
Another ear shattering crash and the lights flicker. Sam spins to face Dean, eyes wide. His hand's curled tight in his pocket and Dean has to wonder what he's got in there for a moment before grinning.
"What, scared of a little lightning?" Dean asks, but Sam doesn't answer. Dean sighs and heads for the tiny fireplace. It won't do much to warm the place, but if they stay near it it'll keep them from shivering and the light will be welcome once the power goes out. Which should be any second, given the way the lights keep flickering at every strike.
When there's a decent sized fire crackling - if not roaring - in the fireplace, Dean stands with a sigh.
"You want some dinner?" he asks Sam, who's still standing by the window, tense and quiet. He's staring at the lights that won't stop buzzing in and out like they're going to attack at any second. "Hey! Dude, c'mon, the power goes out up here if there's a storm, it's no big deal. You wanna eat?"
Sam finally turns his attention back to Dean and nods warily, starts to cross the room towards him. There’s a low buzz and the lights flicker again as blue white light lights up the room. Sam freezes.
The lights go out like an afterthought, the echo of the thunder long gone. It takes Dean's eyes a moment to adjust but when they do they're pulled straight to Sam, standing stock still in the room, his hazel eyes darting back and forth. Waiting.
"Dude, relax. It's really just lightning."
Sam snorts but doesn't answer.
Dean laughs uneasily. The dark isn't scaring him, but Sam sort of is. Dean gets to his feet and goes to stand in front of Sam.
"Hey. Seriously man, you need to chill. If you have some, like, storm phobia or something you just gotta tell me."
Sam laughs in Dean's face.
"Power outage phobia? Fear of the dark?" Dean tries helplessly.
"I'm not scared of the dark," Sam says with a sneer. "I just know what's out there."
Dean blinks.
"There's nothing out there. Rain. Maybe some deer or something."
"Right."
Dean stares at him, the word 'crazy' lighting up in his head. Except he's not. The guy's smart, definitely logical, he's just... an angry teenager. Dean hesitates.
"You think there's something out there?" The instant he says it, he pictures some twisted, insane man with a rusty knife. Thoughts of all the stories he's heard about murders and disappearances on camp grounds fill his mind and he shivers.
Sam snaps out of it with a shrug and an easy grin.
"Nah, you're right. Probably just the rain," he says as he steps around Dean to get to food. "Hey, we got any salt for this?"
Dean watches him for a moment before answering, but Sam seems perfectly fine. There's a box of table salt in a cupboard and he tosses it to him before looking through their supplies for ketchup. No luck.
The boys eat by the flickering firelight, Dean slowly enjoying the meal and Sam consuming his with near military efficiency. There's not a crumb left anywhere by the time Dean's halfway finished with his hot dog and he raises his eyebrows at Sam, who shrugs again.
"Lots of brothers," he explains, and Dean feels a pang of jealousy.
"Must be nice."
Sam snorts and it’s like another splinter under Dean's skin, irritation flaring quick. He doesn't say another word, just finishes his dinner and throws his napkin in the fire.
Predictably, Dean finds himself breaking the silence first, curiosity trumping annoyance.
"Why are you the only Campbell at Blackwater if you have a bunch of brothers? They older?"
Sam sends him a disdainful glance before answering.
"Yeah. They're in college now. Christian's doing his undergrad at Harvard, Ash is doing grad school at Stanford."
The words are unexpectedly bitter, like Sam can't stand having to speak them. Dean knows he shouldn't press the topic, should in fact probably just shut the fuck up, but somehow he can't.
“You see them a lot, if they’re so far? Where’re you from, anyway?”
Dean knows the instant the words are out that it’s the wrong thing to ask. Sam’s face, previously scrunched in an annoyed frown, twists into an angry scowl.
***
It shouldn’t bother Sam and he knows it. He’s on edge, though, has been all night. He studied his incomplete case file until he could see the names and faces of victims everywhere he looked, black and white images burned into his retinas. He was already tense when the lights started flickering, and now with every brief plunge into darkness the hairs on the back of his neck stand up straighter, his eyes wide open to catch any glimpse of unnatural light.
It was only after Dean had begun staring at him for minutes at a time that Sam realized he’d slipped into hunter mode, fist clenched around the handle of his knife and every muscle tensed. He’d forced himself to relax, to smile and act normal and pretend not to check the corners of the cabin for ectoplasm.
So he’s on edge when he throws out a quick lie to explain his weird eating habits and Dean latches on, starts questioning him about his fictitious siblings and their whereabouts.
He doesn’t snap until Dean asks where he’s from.
There’s no good reason for this question to bother him. He must have heard it hundreds of times in his life, usually has no problem lying - sometimes pretty inventively - when he answers it. But this time he can’t and there’s a hot pit of anger in his stomach that he can’t explain and his nails are digging into his palms so hard there might be blood and Sam just cannot lie.
Dean’s still watching him and Sam’s skin is prickling under the scrutiny. He’s not about to answer, so he deflects, throws out the first jab he can think of.
“This isn’t a first date, sweetheart. No need to wine and dine me.”
***
Anger flares hot in Dean’s belly at the words, and he moves up into Sam’s space, their faces inches apart and chests nearly touching. He likes the way Sam has to tilt his face up to meet his eye.
“Why are you so convinced everyone wants to get in your pants? You’re not exactly my type.” Dean means it as a taunt but it sticks in his throat, more truth in the words than intended.
“Oh, I can believe that,” Sam says bitterly. “Bet you got a pretty girlfriend waiting at home. Lemme guess, captain of the cheerleaders? Straight A student, pretty but smart? You planning on marrying her, getting a nice pretty house with a white picket fence and everything?”
The words are a little too close to the truth - Alice was the co-captain, but everything else is on the money. Something about hearing his life plans in Sam’s angry voice makes them sound small and boring, sparking up doubts the Dean’s been trying to forget he has. He shakes them off with a harsh laugh.
“Is that what this is about? I got a life and you don’t, so you’re trying to what - fuck your way into mine?”
It’s mean and Dean knows it, but there’s something satisfying about the flash of anger in Sam’s eyes before he shoves Dean in the chest, hard enough to send him stumbling back for a second before he’s right back in Sam’s face.
“Fuck you,” Sam spits and Dean laughs again.
“Didn’t you hear me? That’s the thing: I. Don’t. Want. To.”
He’s pushing and he’s not sure why but suddenly he’s got other things to think about as Sam’s demeanor changes entirely. He drops the scowl, tilts his head flirtatiously and runs a hand up Dean’s bicep to his shoulder as he steps even closer.
“Oh really? You don’t want me on my knees for you?” Sam asks as he ducks his head in to run his lips against Dean’s skin. “I’ve seen you looking. You’re telling me you don’t want me to open up for you, take anything you wanna give me, right now?”
Sam’s voice is stretched taut, his body tense under the teasing act. And it is an act, Dean knows it is, but that doesn’t stop what feels like half his blood from rushing south.
Sam’s so close Dean can feel his chest moving with each breath, too fast and hard to be entirely fake. Dean should be backing up and denying everything, but he's not moving an inch and he can feel it the second Sam takes that for permission.
The moment goes from taunting to something else in an instant when Sam palms Dean's cock through his jeans. It's a practiced move and that fact makes something low and bitter burn in Dean's chest even as he gasps at the rough squeeze Sam gives him. It's the last straw that breaks Dean's resolve and he finally moves, wrapping one arm around Sam's body to pull him closer and threading the fingers of his other hand through Sam's dark floppy hair to tug his head back.
The groan that slips from Sam's lips sends a shiver down Dean's spine that has him grinding forward into Sam, dropping his eyes to meet Sam's for a moment. Pupils blown wide, leaving a strip of molten gold and hazel patched with blue visible through slitted lids before Sam's eyes shut entirely and he buries his face in Dean's neck, mouth latching onto heated skin. Sam's hand wiggles out from its trapped position against Dean's cock, drawing a shaky gasp from Dean as it moves against him before sliding up under the back of his shirt and gripping him hard. Dean grinds down against Sam and groans in frustration at the lack of friction.
"Floor," Sam mumbles against his neck, and the word takes a while to penetrate the fog of arousal in Dean's brain, but when it does he pushes Sam down, following to lie between Sam's spread thighs. It feels right, so good Dean could happily die here, Sam's strong, lean thighs tight around Dean's hips and the perfect thrust and grind of their cocks together through denim. Sam throws his head back on a moan when Dean slips a hand up his shirt to rub a thumb over one nipple - flat, skinny chest a strangely welcome surprise - and Dean knows they won't have time to get their dicks out, won't have time for anything because he's going to come.
When he does, it's with Sam's hips rising to meet his and Sam's hurt little noises filling him up, pulling hot pleasure down his body to the base of his spine. He faintly hears Sam cry out as hot wetness fills his underwear, is aware enough to feel Sam jerk and shake under him, one hand scrabbling on the floor and the other digging into Dean's shoulder.
In the quiet that follows, Dean pants and tries not to drop all of his weight onto Sam. It's not until Sam starts to shift that Dean finally pulls himself up to find a roll of paper towels, taking a couple before tossing the roll to Sam. He cleans himself up and tosses the mess into the fire, suddenly exhausted and surprisingly calm. He vaguely thinks that he should absolutely be freaking out right now, or at least feeling some serious regret, but he just... isn't. Some part of him thinks this was inevitable, that he knew this would happen from the moment he first set eyes on this kid.
Dean sits by the fire and doesn't turn to watch Sam clean himself up and go to bed.
***
Sam stares up at the ceiling, watches the firelight licking the wood until Dean covers it with the iron screen and everything goes dark. The rain has calmed to a steady pour and the lightning is moving on, the cabin quiet enough that Sam can hear Dean shedding his clothes and crawling into his own bed. Sam listens carefully to the deep, regular breathing not three feet away and lets his own slow to match it. Rolling onto his side to face the other bed, he finds himself staring at Dean's profile.
The anger in his belly is gone, replaced by warm satisfaction and a spark of doubt about what happens next. As Sam’s eyes drift shut and falls into sleep, one last sound breaks through to make him smile into his pillow.
“‘Night Sam.”
***
Dean wakes up to the sound of a heavy thump. It takes him a moment to remember that he's in the Isolation Cabin and the noise is a branch being whipped against the wall of the cabin by the wind. The storm is back in full force, rain lashing the windows and wind howling through the trees. The room is so dark Dean has to check his watch to confirm that it is, in fact, morning. He rolls over and throws a glance at the other bed only to find it empty. The bottom of his stomach drops out at the sight and he sits straight up.
Sam's in the kitchen drinking coffee - and since when do they give campers caffeine - flipping through that leather notebook he always has. He doesn't look up as Dean slides out of bed and tugs on some jeans to walk over to the kitchenette. Dean rifles through their supplies until he finds some bread and a pot of peanut butter. He pours himself some coffee and sits at the table opposite Sam, noting the way the kid tilts his journal so it's impossible for Dean to see what's inside.
After a few minutes of silence, the tension in the air growing thicker with each passing second, Dean thinks screw it and opens his mouth.
"What is that?" he asks, nodding to the journal. Sam glances up for a second before looking back down at the leather bound book in his hands, closing it with a small sigh.
"It's just a... It was my grandfather's. I write in it sometimes, to record... stuff." Sam looks infinitely uncomfortable with the subject.
"What kind of stuff?" Dean asks. He's pushing again. He knows this is just going to end in Sam shutting down and himself feeling like an idiot, but he really can't seem to help it.
"Just... stuff I do. Stuff that happens." Sam gazes out at the rain for a moment then turns back to
Dean. "You've been coming to this camp a long time, right?"
A personal question. This is some kind of victory, Dean's sure of it.
"Yeah, twelve years. Why?"
Sam's eyes light up at the number but he just shrugs.
"Just wondering."
Dean opens his mouth to speak when Sam interrupts.
"Is there anything to do here? I mean, up here at this cabin. Are we just suppose to sit around inside all week?"
Dean shrugs.
"Usually it's nice out. It's funny, I haven't seen a storm this bad since... I think it was my third year here. I was a camper back then and they had us all sit in the Big Barn all day and listen to stories. It was kind of fun, actually." Dean remembers everyone sitting in big circles on the floor, remembers playing telephone and duck duck goose. That was back when he was one of the littler kids at camp... He suddenly remembers that was the year they found those two hikers out by the lake. His discomfort must show on his face because Sam speaks up.
"What? What happened with that storm?" Sam sounds... excited.
"Nothing. Couple of hikers got lost in the storm, bodies showed up when it was over. One of the counselors found them, actually. Over by the lake."
Sam nods, like this somehow makes sense to him. Dean pushes it out of his mind.
"Anyway, storm probably won't last more than a couple of days, then we can go for a hike or something. I know a few around here..."
Dean's voice trails off. Sam's not paying attention anyway.
***
Part V