The Journey: Mill Stones 3/5
Title: The Journey: Mill Stones
Authors: sasskitten and jeyhawk
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Summary: Dean is a hunter ever on the look out for things to kill. Sam is an innocent with his mind set on tracking down the thing that killed his girlfriend. When these two men are thrown together, they realize that their lives might not be as different as they first thought.
Disclaimer: We don’t own Supernatural, we make no money from it, it’s just for fun.
Note: It's time for a little explanation since a few of you may have noticed the name change. :) The Journey is an ongoing series written in 'episodes' of about five chapters. So every five chapters or so it will change its name according to the new adventure they are setting out on. Just wanted to let you all know.
Chapter Two
"I'm not afraid of the dark," Sam told himself as he made his way through the woods. He hadn't thought ahead enough to bring a torch with him and was thankful for the moon's light filtering through the trees.
He neared the old mill and stopped, looking it over. It didn't look any different at night, what exactly was he supposed to see there anyway? There was a very strong chance that this B. guy was going to jump out and kill him, and he was walking right into it. He pulled his gun out of his jeans and let out a deep breath. With the gun in his hand, hanging loosely at his side, he went up the steps to the front door, pulling it open. It was dark inside the room, dark enough so that Sam couldn't see a thing at first and he supposed that a flashlight really would have been a good idea. It wasn't like the ghost was going to run from it, but at least he might have been able to see where he was going. He regretted not going in earlier in the day, at least he would have known if there were any great gaping holes in the floor or something like that.
Swallowing, he stepped in through the door, carefully making his way further into the house. A few times he nearly stumbled over things before he walked right into something that felt like a chair and went tumbling to the floor. He was just trying to regain his bearings when he heard a dripping sound from near by, right before he felt something wet hit his face. He scrambled to his feet and held out his gun, panting heavily in fear. He couldn't see anything so he did the logical thing. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, concentrating on the sounds around him. Something screeched across the floor and Sam aimed his gun in that direction. Before he could move again something knocked him from behind, sending him flying to the other side of the room. He cried out in pain as he hit the far wall and turned quickly. He could see movement but he couldn't make out the shape. Aiming his gun again he fired it twice, the shockwaves going up his arms.
"Oh fuck," he whispered, as the thing kept coming at him. There was no way for him to escape, he was backed up against the wall and for a moment he didn't mind it ending here. He had already lost everything he had to live for and getting his throat cut would at least be fast. Swallowing he let the gun drop to the floor and raised his head. "Come on then, you son of a bitch."
There was the sound of a shotgun being cocked and then a great bang, this time making the ghost disappear. "Normal bullets won't stop it idiot," a familiar voice said to the right of him. "And that fucking stunt you just pulled certainly won't."
A hand reached down and grabbed his wrist, pulling him quite forcefully to his feet. In the moonlight, spilling in through a broken window, Sam could clearly see Dean's mightily pissed off face. "Would you hurry?" He hissed. "It’s still around somewhere."
"I thought you killed it," Sam answered as Dean half dragged him back the way he'd come in.
"I just shot it with rock salt, they don't like it but it doesn't kill them."
Stumbling, Sam tried to pick up speed but one of his ankles was hurting more with every step and the flares from the guns had made him all but blind. A second later they tumbled out through the front door and down the steps, Dean still leading the way until they were standing a few feet from the house.
"Now what the fuck are you doing here?" Dean yelled. "And what were you thinking?"
Sam flinched and looked down at his feet, suddenly feeling ashamed of himself. He remembered how he had felt in there all too well, how ready he'd been to die and in a way he felt cheated.
"I... I don't," he confessed. He suddenly slumped and Dean's arm went around his waist, pulling him back up.
"You gonna hurl?" Dean asked completely unsympathetically.
"You're not a reporter," Sam accused, breaking free of Dean's hold and taking a few steps back.
"No, I'm a hunter," Dean told him, looking back up at the house. "And earlier you disturbed me and I had to escort your ass safely home so now I gotta go looking for a grave in the friggen dark!"
Sam flinched and realized that he had dropped his gun in there, not that it did much good. "Wait, the woman in the bar, she said John Hoppich and his family were buried by the stream."
Dean looked towards where he knew the stream was. "All right, go wait in my car," he told him, tossing Sam the keys. "You even think of driving off in her and I will hunt you down."
"What? No, I'm coming with you. Why do you wanna find the graves anyway?" Sam said, following Dean as he walked away from him.
Dean turned and glared at him, picking up a shovel that he had dropped the second he heard Sam scream inside. "I gotta dig the bastard up, then salt and burn his bones. And I can't do this while I'm worrying about your ass."
"Well if you'd spent a little less time earlier worrying about at my ass then maybe you could have done that during the day," Sam retorted. Dean stared at him hard and Sam just looked back at him, not backing down. Finally Dean cracked a grin.
"All right, you can come, if you walk in front of me," he said with the most lewd smile Sam had ever seen.
"You gotta be kidding me," Sam said, only for Dean to shrug.
"Take it or leave it."
"Fine, enjoy the view," Sam spat as he began walking off in the direction of the stream.
Dean produced a flashlight from somewhere but he wasn't pointing it at Sam's feet that much was for sure. Sam's ankle still hurt, but it was getting better and he had no problem putting his weight on it, which was good because the path down to the stream was rocky and uneven. He doubted that anyone had walked down it for years.
"Dean," He said when a root almost sent him tumbling. "Would you mind pointing that at my feet?"
"What?" Dean sounded like he'd been deep in thought. "Oh... right."
The flashlight moved downwards until Sam could actually see the ground in front of him. "Thank you," he said sarcastically.
"You're welcome," Dean responded cheerfully.
It took a few more minutes of evading roots and stepping over stones before Sam got down on the streambed. Dean came right after him, almost walking into him before he stopped. The other man moved the flashlight back and forth until they saw a set of stones in a row, three of them in total. The stones were old, normal stones too not real gravestones and side by side they walked up to them.
The largest stone had a crude inscription saying ‘John Hoppich’ and Dean threw the shovel down on the ground before Sam's feet. Sam looked up at him with a frown. "You got to be kidding me," he said.
"You said you wanted to help," Dean pointed out. "You better start digging."
Giving Dean an angry look, Sam picked up the shovel and put it to work. By the time he hit something hard, his arms were aching with the strain and he was all out of breath. "I think I got something," he said, directing the words towards Dean who was reclining in a half lying position on the nearest grave, holding the flashlight and getting some sort of cheap thrill out of watching Sam work.
"Open it," Dean told him, sitting up to look inside. He chuckled when Sam opened the coffin and all but choked on the smell.
"All right, Sammy, get out," Dean said only for Sam to glare at him. He held out his hand and let Dean haul him out before Dean pulled a bottle of lighter fluid and a big box of salt out of his bag. He stood back, almost in awe of what was happening. He watched Dean scatter the salt over the bones before squirting the fuel and setting fire to it.
"This is so illegal," Sam said as he watched the body burn, a feeling of satisfaction that he had helped end this thing. That no one else would die because of what they had done.
"What're you a lawyer?" Dean said sarcastically, packing up his stuff again.
"A law student actually," Sam confessed, not meeting his eyes. He was shocked into looking at him when Dean's hand cupped his face. "What're you doing?"
Dean looked into his eyes seriously. "I'm going to kiss you." Sam froze for a second before Dean started laughing to himself. "Relax, I'm just looking at your eye, you're bleeding."
Sam put his fingers to his eyebrow and brought them away bloody. "Yeah, and my ankle’s not feeling so great either."
"Right," Dean said, handing him the flashlight and taking both the bag and the shovel. "We go back to the motel, get you patched up and then you can tell me why a law student from California is out in the middle of nowhere getting his ass kicked by Casper."
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The ride back to the motel was pretty uneventful compared to the rest of the night, even when Dean sang along to Metallica, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel despite the fact that they were still moving. It turned out Dean's motel room where only a few doors down from Sam's and that he had a kick ass first aid kit. Sam flinched when Dean started cleaning the wound over his eyes, but the other man's fingers were gentle and soothing against his skin.
"So tell me, Sam," Dean said as he cleaned away the blood and taped the eyebrow together. "What happened up there?"
"I fucked up, you saved my ass... Then you made me pay by digging up a fucking rock streambed and thanks to that my palms are now full of blisters." Sam held his hands up to show Dean the proof.
"Hmm," Dean answered, catching one of Sam's hands and taking out more gauze. "You know that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about you throwing away the gun and baring your neck like a fucking submissive dog."
Sam licked his lips and turned his head away, shivering when Dean started cleaning his hands with a cool cloth. "It's complicated okay... but the bottom line is... my girl... Ouch, stop that." Sam pulled his hand away from Dean who had brought out a pair of tweezers.
"I got to take out the splinters," Dean said patiently snatching Sam's hand right back. "I wouldn't want your desk clerk hands to get all scarred and ridged now, would I?"
Sam managed half a smile, but he didn't pull his hand away again.
"So this girl of yours... She died right?"
"Yeah," Sam responded, biting his lip. "Yeah, she did."
"I'm sorry man that's gotta be tough."
Sam looked up in time to find Dean giving him a sympathetic look, sympathetic not pitying for once, and he bit his lip to keep the tears at bay. "It is," he murmured. "She was all I had and now... There's nothing left."
"Right, I get it, I really do, but that doesn't explain why you're here," Dean told him, grabbing some antiseptic cream and soothing it over Sam's hands. Their eyes met and for a second Dean could swear he saw Sam's darken a little.
"She was murdered, by something, I don't know what," he said looking back down at his hands.
Dean nodded slowly. "So you're looking for answers. You know this Hoppich guy couldn't have done it right? Unless your girl was one of the victims."
"No, I searched on line, trying to find out more about these things. I ended up chatting to some guy who told me I'd find answers here." Sam flinched as Dean grabbed his foot and put it on his lap before easing off his sneaker and pulling out a bandage. He was about to argue that he could do it but it felt nice to have someone touch him if he were honest.
"So you think it was a ghost who got your girl?" Dean asked him, his voice low as he worked on strapping up Sam's ankle.
"I don't know, I know hardly anything about all this stuff, I just wanna find the thing that killed Jess and make it pay."
Dean snorted. "Oh that's healthy. But I guess if you gotta choose between fighting and dying then you made the right choice."
"And what about you? You said you were a hunter. A ghost hunter?"
Again Dean laughed and shook his head. "Do I look like Bill Murray to you? I hunt all things evil, spirits, werewolves, demons."
Sam froze and looked at him. "Werewolves are real? And demons? Jesus Christ."
Dean looked at him sympathetically and patted his leg just above the injured ankle. "I know... It's a bit much to swallow at first, but you'll get used to it."
Sam gave Dean a look and made a face. "Would you not talk about swallowing while doing that thing to my leg? It weirds me out man."
Dean looked down at his hand like he'd never seen it before, finding that his fingers had crept in under the hem of Sam's pants,. "Oops," he said, removing his hand.
"Thanks," Sam responded, pulling his foot from Dean's lap. "So how does this hunting thing work then? You check out every ghost story there is, or..."
Dean chuckled. "Hell no. Sometimes my dad sends me coordinates, or calls with some freaky shit for me to sort out, or I scan the local papers until I find things that don't check out as normal." He shrugged. "This case I stumbled on by accident while stopping for a coffee and some food."
Sam nodded. "And you kill things. Bad things."
"Hell yeah, and I get laid too."
Sam laughed. "Not by the evil things I hope, or is there maybe something you're not telling me."
"Very funny," Dean stuck his tongue out and Sam wondered what it tasted like for a whole millisecond before flushing beet red.
"Now do tell me where that kinky little mind of yours just went," Dean said with a grin. "There's no mistaking a blush like that."
"I don't blush," Sam argued, reaching for the glass of water Dean had placed there for him earlier.
"Oh really." Dean's grin widened, he took that as a challenge. "So you wouldn't blush I was to tell you how much I'd enjoy dropping to my knees and pulling that rapidly growing hard on of yours out." He stopped talking as Sam's eyes followed the path of Dean's down to his crotch, finding that he was in fact semi hard.
Sam quickly stood up and grabbed his jacket. "Look I already told you-"
"Okay, okay," Dean quickly said, holding up his hands to show he meant no harm. "Come on, sit back down, I'm just messing with you. Come here and I'll tell you everything you need to know."
Sam stood there for a second before tossing his jacket back over the chair.
"But I did make you blush," Dean said confidently.
They stayed awake all through the night while Dean, who was on his best behavior now, informed Sam of everything he had ever come up against. He told Sam that he was most likely looking for a demon and that if he went blundering into things unprepared like he was tonight then he'd get himself killed. It was almost seven in the morning and Dean knew if he wanted to get back on the road today then he would need a shit load of coffee to stay awake, though a part of him wanted to stay, just to linger around Sam a little longer, but even he knew when to admit defeat, he was getting nowhere fast with this kid. Too bad, he was too damned cute for his own good while having that bruised look about him that made Dean itch to just hold him and Dean never wanted to just hold anyone.
Still he couldn't deny that the thought of Sam out there, hunting by himself scared the crap out of Dean. The guy had come up against one ghost so far and he'd bared his throat to that one like a fucking virgin sacrifice. Sam would get himself killed the next time he faced a vengeful spirit, it was as simple as that and Dean didn't want to have that on his conscience. But what could he do, tie the guy up and send him back to Stanford? Sam had said himself that nothing was keeping him there so he would just take off again.
Sam yawned for the millionth time and stretched his long ass body out. "I better hit the sack," he said, actually sounding kind of regretful. "It's been a long, looong day."
Dean smiled. "You just couldn't tear yourself away from my sparkling personality."
Sam laughed. "Yeah, I suppose... Thanks man, for... you know... everything."
"Now don't talk like that dude, makes me all teary eyed," Dean responded feeling pleased none the less.
"Yeah, whatever," Sam said. "Bye."
"Bye," Dean answered, watching as Sam got up and grabbed his jacket. He couldn't remember the last time he had just talked to someone except for his dad. Sure, he came across other hunters occasionally and they'd spend the night talking about kills they'd made, but it wasn't the same. That was bragging, this had been talking. Sam gave him one last look before walking out the door and Dean was damned if he didn't miss him as soon as he walked out.
TBC
Authors: sasskitten and jeyhawk
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Summary: Dean is a hunter ever on the look out for things to kill. Sam is an innocent with his mind set on tracking down the thing that killed his girlfriend. When these two men are thrown together, they realize that their lives might not be as different as they first thought.
Disclaimer: We don’t own Supernatural, we make no money from it, it’s just for fun.
Note: It's time for a little explanation since a few of you may have noticed the name change. :) The Journey is an ongoing series written in 'episodes' of about five chapters. So every five chapters or so it will change its name according to the new adventure they are setting out on. Just wanted to let you all know.
Chapter Two
"I'm not afraid of the dark," Sam told himself as he made his way through the woods. He hadn't thought ahead enough to bring a torch with him and was thankful for the moon's light filtering through the trees.
He neared the old mill and stopped, looking it over. It didn't look any different at night, what exactly was he supposed to see there anyway? There was a very strong chance that this B. guy was going to jump out and kill him, and he was walking right into it. He pulled his gun out of his jeans and let out a deep breath. With the gun in his hand, hanging loosely at his side, he went up the steps to the front door, pulling it open. It was dark inside the room, dark enough so that Sam couldn't see a thing at first and he supposed that a flashlight really would have been a good idea. It wasn't like the ghost was going to run from it, but at least he might have been able to see where he was going. He regretted not going in earlier in the day, at least he would have known if there were any great gaping holes in the floor or something like that.
Swallowing, he stepped in through the door, carefully making his way further into the house. A few times he nearly stumbled over things before he walked right into something that felt like a chair and went tumbling to the floor. He was just trying to regain his bearings when he heard a dripping sound from near by, right before he felt something wet hit his face. He scrambled to his feet and held out his gun, panting heavily in fear. He couldn't see anything so he did the logical thing. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, concentrating on the sounds around him. Something screeched across the floor and Sam aimed his gun in that direction. Before he could move again something knocked him from behind, sending him flying to the other side of the room. He cried out in pain as he hit the far wall and turned quickly. He could see movement but he couldn't make out the shape. Aiming his gun again he fired it twice, the shockwaves going up his arms.
"Oh fuck," he whispered, as the thing kept coming at him. There was no way for him to escape, he was backed up against the wall and for a moment he didn't mind it ending here. He had already lost everything he had to live for and getting his throat cut would at least be fast. Swallowing he let the gun drop to the floor and raised his head. "Come on then, you son of a bitch."
There was the sound of a shotgun being cocked and then a great bang, this time making the ghost disappear. "Normal bullets won't stop it idiot," a familiar voice said to the right of him. "And that fucking stunt you just pulled certainly won't."
A hand reached down and grabbed his wrist, pulling him quite forcefully to his feet. In the moonlight, spilling in through a broken window, Sam could clearly see Dean's mightily pissed off face. "Would you hurry?" He hissed. "It’s still around somewhere."
"I thought you killed it," Sam answered as Dean half dragged him back the way he'd come in.
"I just shot it with rock salt, they don't like it but it doesn't kill them."
Stumbling, Sam tried to pick up speed but one of his ankles was hurting more with every step and the flares from the guns had made him all but blind. A second later they tumbled out through the front door and down the steps, Dean still leading the way until they were standing a few feet from the house.
"Now what the fuck are you doing here?" Dean yelled. "And what were you thinking?"
Sam flinched and looked down at his feet, suddenly feeling ashamed of himself. He remembered how he had felt in there all too well, how ready he'd been to die and in a way he felt cheated.
"I... I don't," he confessed. He suddenly slumped and Dean's arm went around his waist, pulling him back up.
"You gonna hurl?" Dean asked completely unsympathetically.
"You're not a reporter," Sam accused, breaking free of Dean's hold and taking a few steps back.
"No, I'm a hunter," Dean told him, looking back up at the house. "And earlier you disturbed me and I had to escort your ass safely home so now I gotta go looking for a grave in the friggen dark!"
Sam flinched and realized that he had dropped his gun in there, not that it did much good. "Wait, the woman in the bar, she said John Hoppich and his family were buried by the stream."
Dean looked towards where he knew the stream was. "All right, go wait in my car," he told him, tossing Sam the keys. "You even think of driving off in her and I will hunt you down."
"What? No, I'm coming with you. Why do you wanna find the graves anyway?" Sam said, following Dean as he walked away from him.
Dean turned and glared at him, picking up a shovel that he had dropped the second he heard Sam scream inside. "I gotta dig the bastard up, then salt and burn his bones. And I can't do this while I'm worrying about your ass."
"Well if you'd spent a little less time earlier worrying about at my ass then maybe you could have done that during the day," Sam retorted. Dean stared at him hard and Sam just looked back at him, not backing down. Finally Dean cracked a grin.
"All right, you can come, if you walk in front of me," he said with the most lewd smile Sam had ever seen.
"You gotta be kidding me," Sam said, only for Dean to shrug.
"Take it or leave it."
"Fine, enjoy the view," Sam spat as he began walking off in the direction of the stream.
Dean produced a flashlight from somewhere but he wasn't pointing it at Sam's feet that much was for sure. Sam's ankle still hurt, but it was getting better and he had no problem putting his weight on it, which was good because the path down to the stream was rocky and uneven. He doubted that anyone had walked down it for years.
"Dean," He said when a root almost sent him tumbling. "Would you mind pointing that at my feet?"
"What?" Dean sounded like he'd been deep in thought. "Oh... right."
The flashlight moved downwards until Sam could actually see the ground in front of him. "Thank you," he said sarcastically.
"You're welcome," Dean responded cheerfully.
It took a few more minutes of evading roots and stepping over stones before Sam got down on the streambed. Dean came right after him, almost walking into him before he stopped. The other man moved the flashlight back and forth until they saw a set of stones in a row, three of them in total. The stones were old, normal stones too not real gravestones and side by side they walked up to them.
The largest stone had a crude inscription saying ‘John Hoppich’ and Dean threw the shovel down on the ground before Sam's feet. Sam looked up at him with a frown. "You got to be kidding me," he said.
"You said you wanted to help," Dean pointed out. "You better start digging."
Giving Dean an angry look, Sam picked up the shovel and put it to work. By the time he hit something hard, his arms were aching with the strain and he was all out of breath. "I think I got something," he said, directing the words towards Dean who was reclining in a half lying position on the nearest grave, holding the flashlight and getting some sort of cheap thrill out of watching Sam work.
"Open it," Dean told him, sitting up to look inside. He chuckled when Sam opened the coffin and all but choked on the smell.
"All right, Sammy, get out," Dean said only for Sam to glare at him. He held out his hand and let Dean haul him out before Dean pulled a bottle of lighter fluid and a big box of salt out of his bag. He stood back, almost in awe of what was happening. He watched Dean scatter the salt over the bones before squirting the fuel and setting fire to it.
"This is so illegal," Sam said as he watched the body burn, a feeling of satisfaction that he had helped end this thing. That no one else would die because of what they had done.
"What're you a lawyer?" Dean said sarcastically, packing up his stuff again.
"A law student actually," Sam confessed, not meeting his eyes. He was shocked into looking at him when Dean's hand cupped his face. "What're you doing?"
Dean looked into his eyes seriously. "I'm going to kiss you." Sam froze for a second before Dean started laughing to himself. "Relax, I'm just looking at your eye, you're bleeding."
Sam put his fingers to his eyebrow and brought them away bloody. "Yeah, and my ankle’s not feeling so great either."
"Right," Dean said, handing him the flashlight and taking both the bag and the shovel. "We go back to the motel, get you patched up and then you can tell me why a law student from California is out in the middle of nowhere getting his ass kicked by Casper."
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The ride back to the motel was pretty uneventful compared to the rest of the night, even when Dean sang along to Metallica, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel despite the fact that they were still moving. It turned out Dean's motel room where only a few doors down from Sam's and that he had a kick ass first aid kit. Sam flinched when Dean started cleaning the wound over his eyes, but the other man's fingers were gentle and soothing against his skin.
"So tell me, Sam," Dean said as he cleaned away the blood and taped the eyebrow together. "What happened up there?"
"I fucked up, you saved my ass... Then you made me pay by digging up a fucking rock streambed and thanks to that my palms are now full of blisters." Sam held his hands up to show Dean the proof.
"Hmm," Dean answered, catching one of Sam's hands and taking out more gauze. "You know that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about you throwing away the gun and baring your neck like a fucking submissive dog."
Sam licked his lips and turned his head away, shivering when Dean started cleaning his hands with a cool cloth. "It's complicated okay... but the bottom line is... my girl... Ouch, stop that." Sam pulled his hand away from Dean who had brought out a pair of tweezers.
"I got to take out the splinters," Dean said patiently snatching Sam's hand right back. "I wouldn't want your desk clerk hands to get all scarred and ridged now, would I?"
Sam managed half a smile, but he didn't pull his hand away again.
"So this girl of yours... She died right?"
"Yeah," Sam responded, biting his lip. "Yeah, she did."
"I'm sorry man that's gotta be tough."
Sam looked up in time to find Dean giving him a sympathetic look, sympathetic not pitying for once, and he bit his lip to keep the tears at bay. "It is," he murmured. "She was all I had and now... There's nothing left."
"Right, I get it, I really do, but that doesn't explain why you're here," Dean told him, grabbing some antiseptic cream and soothing it over Sam's hands. Their eyes met and for a second Dean could swear he saw Sam's darken a little.
"She was murdered, by something, I don't know what," he said looking back down at his hands.
Dean nodded slowly. "So you're looking for answers. You know this Hoppich guy couldn't have done it right? Unless your girl was one of the victims."
"No, I searched on line, trying to find out more about these things. I ended up chatting to some guy who told me I'd find answers here." Sam flinched as Dean grabbed his foot and put it on his lap before easing off his sneaker and pulling out a bandage. He was about to argue that he could do it but it felt nice to have someone touch him if he were honest.
"So you think it was a ghost who got your girl?" Dean asked him, his voice low as he worked on strapping up Sam's ankle.
"I don't know, I know hardly anything about all this stuff, I just wanna find the thing that killed Jess and make it pay."
Dean snorted. "Oh that's healthy. But I guess if you gotta choose between fighting and dying then you made the right choice."
"And what about you? You said you were a hunter. A ghost hunter?"
Again Dean laughed and shook his head. "Do I look like Bill Murray to you? I hunt all things evil, spirits, werewolves, demons."
Sam froze and looked at him. "Werewolves are real? And demons? Jesus Christ."
Dean looked at him sympathetically and patted his leg just above the injured ankle. "I know... It's a bit much to swallow at first, but you'll get used to it."
Sam gave Dean a look and made a face. "Would you not talk about swallowing while doing that thing to my leg? It weirds me out man."
Dean looked down at his hand like he'd never seen it before, finding that his fingers had crept in under the hem of Sam's pants,. "Oops," he said, removing his hand.
"Thanks," Sam responded, pulling his foot from Dean's lap. "So how does this hunting thing work then? You check out every ghost story there is, or..."
Dean chuckled. "Hell no. Sometimes my dad sends me coordinates, or calls with some freaky shit for me to sort out, or I scan the local papers until I find things that don't check out as normal." He shrugged. "This case I stumbled on by accident while stopping for a coffee and some food."
Sam nodded. "And you kill things. Bad things."
"Hell yeah, and I get laid too."
Sam laughed. "Not by the evil things I hope, or is there maybe something you're not telling me."
"Very funny," Dean stuck his tongue out and Sam wondered what it tasted like for a whole millisecond before flushing beet red.
"Now do tell me where that kinky little mind of yours just went," Dean said with a grin. "There's no mistaking a blush like that."
"I don't blush," Sam argued, reaching for the glass of water Dean had placed there for him earlier.
"Oh really." Dean's grin widened, he took that as a challenge. "So you wouldn't blush I was to tell you how much I'd enjoy dropping to my knees and pulling that rapidly growing hard on of yours out." He stopped talking as Sam's eyes followed the path of Dean's down to his crotch, finding that he was in fact semi hard.
Sam quickly stood up and grabbed his jacket. "Look I already told you-"
"Okay, okay," Dean quickly said, holding up his hands to show he meant no harm. "Come on, sit back down, I'm just messing with you. Come here and I'll tell you everything you need to know."
Sam stood there for a second before tossing his jacket back over the chair.
"But I did make you blush," Dean said confidently.
They stayed awake all through the night while Dean, who was on his best behavior now, informed Sam of everything he had ever come up against. He told Sam that he was most likely looking for a demon and that if he went blundering into things unprepared like he was tonight then he'd get himself killed. It was almost seven in the morning and Dean knew if he wanted to get back on the road today then he would need a shit load of coffee to stay awake, though a part of him wanted to stay, just to linger around Sam a little longer, but even he knew when to admit defeat, he was getting nowhere fast with this kid. Too bad, he was too damned cute for his own good while having that bruised look about him that made Dean itch to just hold him and Dean never wanted to just hold anyone.
Still he couldn't deny that the thought of Sam out there, hunting by himself scared the crap out of Dean. The guy had come up against one ghost so far and he'd bared his throat to that one like a fucking virgin sacrifice. Sam would get himself killed the next time he faced a vengeful spirit, it was as simple as that and Dean didn't want to have that on his conscience. But what could he do, tie the guy up and send him back to Stanford? Sam had said himself that nothing was keeping him there so he would just take off again.
Sam yawned for the millionth time and stretched his long ass body out. "I better hit the sack," he said, actually sounding kind of regretful. "It's been a long, looong day."
Dean smiled. "You just couldn't tear yourself away from my sparkling personality."
Sam laughed. "Yeah, I suppose... Thanks man, for... you know... everything."
"Now don't talk like that dude, makes me all teary eyed," Dean responded feeling pleased none the less.
"Yeah, whatever," Sam said. "Bye."
"Bye," Dean answered, watching as Sam got up and grabbed his jacket. He couldn't remember the last time he had just talked to someone except for his dad. Sure, he came across other hunters occasionally and they'd spend the night talking about kills they'd made, but it wasn't the same. That was bragging, this had been talking. Sam gave him one last look before walking out the door and Dean was damned if he didn't miss him as soon as he walked out.
TBC