Losing Sam, Arc 2, Parts 11-16, Supernatural, Keeper Verse, R to NC-17

[phantisma]

Title: Losing Sam, Arc 2
Characters: Sam/Dean, John, Dana(the daughter)/OMC, Aristotle (the dog)
Rating: R to NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine - just playing.
Summary: Written by my friend M.
Losing Sam consists of a Prologue and three complete arcs.
Prologue set in July after Dana's high school graduation.
Arc 1 goes back a bit in time to June after Dana's high school graduation.
Arc 2 jumps up to July and Arc 3 continues where arc 2 leaves off.



Whole Lotta Love

Note - Thank you to blues songwriter Willie Dixon for this chapter title (and to Led Zeppelin for making it famous). You may want to listen to the song while you read the chapter. *g*
It thrills me to no end that this chapter is the Christmas Eve one. *hugs*

You've been learnin, baby, I been learnin,
All them good times, baby, baby, I've been yearnin,
Way, way down inside honey, you need it,
Im gonna give you my love,
Im gonna give you my love.

Wanna whole lotta love?
Wanna whole lotta love?
Wanna whole lotta love?
Wanna whole lotta love?

~Willie Dixon~

Dean nodded off slumped over in the chair. He woke six hours later spread out on the couch with Aristotle tucked under his right arm, a pillow under his head and a blanket tossed over his back.

He was parched. His mouth felt like the Mojave on a 120 degree day. He heard voices, arguing, in the kitchen. Dad and Dana. He jerked realizing that Sam was alone and that he had to go help him. He grabbed for the arm of the couch to prop himself up and promptly knocked the lamp to the ground.

The kitchen door swung open and Dana strode into the living room. “Hello Sleeping Beauty. How are you feeling?” Her tone was teasing but the tension around her eyes reflected her true concern. She reached to steady him.

“Sam?” Dean managed, wiped at his eyes, covered thickly in crust from way too much sleep.

“Scott is upstairs sitting with him while I make us a decent meal. Papa was helping me.”

Dean looked at her oddly. That wasn’t helping that he heard. “Arguing.”

Dana put an arm around his waist. Dean shrugged her off.

“Yeah, Papa and I have been going at one another for hours. He overdoses you, could of killed you, and he somehow doesn’t think it’s a problem. He’s a piece of work.”

“Gotta go help Sam.” From the moment he had opened his eyes, Dean remembered that he needed to get into Sam’s head, find the healing power, get him back. He’d been dreaming of nothing else for the past six hours.

“We’re gonna help Sam. After you’ve showered, consumed some liquids, eaten a meal. You gotta be strong and stable to do this. Must be sure that horse strength dose of tranquilizers is out of your system.”

John walked into the room. “It was not a horse strength dose, young lady.” John looked Dean up and down. “Good to see you on your feet son. Let me help you upstairs.”

Since John rarely offered that type of support, Dean took it as the apology it was.

“Dinner in Sam’s room in fifteen minutes.” Dana called at them as they headed to the staircase.

Dana, Dean, John and Scott ate prime rib and scalloped potatoes at a table set up in the bedroom, in order to keep a close eye on Sam. Dinner talk was purposefully casual. Discussion of Scott’s summer job at the local camp running the sports, Scott’s training regime, the hot weather, summer league basketball, old man Harper’s crappy Impala engine.

Sam’s name wasn’t mentioned although Dean snuck continuous looks in his direction. Sam looked gray and, overall probably worse, since the bruises on his face and arms were developing that ugly, deep purplish-black color. Yet, his breathing was slightly less labored and his blood pressure and heart rate were low but not dangerously so. He was hanging on.

Dean reached out and stroked his feet a few times during the meal to provide Sam with some connection to them.

After they all consumed seconds, Scott and Dana picked up all the plates and headed downstairs. John called after them, “Lovely meal Dana.”

When the kids were out of hearing range, Dean looked at his father. “Scott?”

“Called this morning, wanted to know how Sam was, asked if he could come over. From what I could gather,” Dean raised an eyebrow. John continued, “Ok, from what I overhead while shamelessly eavesdropping, Scott told her that they could work it all out after the crisis is over. He kissed her on the forehead and asked to see Sam.”

“Amazing kid,” Dean stated.

“I’d say so. See your girlfriend do some freaky mind stuff and not even demand an explanation. He should be canonized or something.”

Dean laughed. “If I remember correctly, you wanted to castrate him a couple of months ago, in my kitchen.”

John looked fake-shocked at the suggestion but quickly capitulated. “Funny how things change, huh?”

Dana bounded back into the room. “Scott said to say ‘bye’.”

Dana examined Dean up and down, as if he were a prized stud at auction. “You look okay, nice pink glow to your skin, eyes are responsive.” She twisted quickly and moved to kick him in the gut. He blocked her foot with his arm. “Reflexes good.”

Dean cocked his head at her weird inspection. He had no desire to wait one moment more. “Let’s do this.”

She rubbed her hands over her face and then pointed to the armchair. “Sit, there’s a bunch of shit you’ve got to know.”

Dean sat down in the arm chair while John took Sam’s vitals, logging them dutifully in the chart next to the bed. Aristotle uncurled herself from Sam’s feet and leapt into Dean’s arms. Dana pulled up another chair to sit directly across from Dean and looked uncharacteristically serious.

“Dad. I’m going to deposit you into Sam’s head. And it’s a bloody mess in there. Think of how the backyard looks and translate it into how Sam’s mind feels. Chaos and destruction. You can’t let the misery in there slow you down. You have to shield and move forward.”

“How am I supposed to do that Dana?”

“Just float until you come to the vault. I’m guessing but I suspect he’ll pull you toward it like he sent me the dream. It’s the only strong part of him left. He’ll want you there.”

“Ok, I can do that.” Dean moved to dislodge Ari and stand up.

Dana put a hand on his knee to stop him. “Not done yet.”

Dean settled back into the chair, glanced over at John, who was changing the saline bag, before redirecting his focus to Dana.

Dana’s posture had changed from straight to slightly slouched into herself. “You won’t be able to just walk in. He’s got padlocks on it.” Dana stopped, a flush crept up her cheeks.

“What is it Dana? Are the locks a problem?” Dean studied her face, uncertain what to make of her sudden demeanor change.

“Well, you know how you pick a lock? Well this lock you have to…” Dana muttered the final word so softly that Dean didn’t hear it. Dana turned a slightly deeper pink, a shade of cherry blossom.

“You’re embarrassed Dana. I get that. And most days I’d tell you that I don’t really want to discuss sex with you. But, I have to get myself into Sam’s sex memories so out with it.” Dean demanded, knowing there was no way to skirt around this. He was anxious to get in there, felt the desire for activity tighten his shoulder blades. Too much time had been wasted with his drugged-out marathon sleeping session.

Quietly but enunciating clearly, Dana repeated, “Seduce. You have to seduce your way past the locks.” She rushed to add, “Don’t know for sure exactly but it’s a safe guess.”

Dean actually laughed and John joined in. “Like flowers and candy and Marvin Gaye?” John asked.

Dana shook her head, obviously not finding it the least bit funny. “I’m guessing whatever move you use when you want some, and Sam doesn’t, is probably a safe bet. Convince him.” Dana’s color had become distinctly fuchsia.

Again, Dean replied, “Ok, I can do that,” and moved to dislodge Ari and stand.

Again, Dana put a hand on his knee to keep him seated. “Not done yet.” She exhaled loudly. “And this is the hard part.”

Dana was a full-on beet red. Dean felt terrible for her, realized he need to grant permission. “Dana, it’s okay. You can’t offend me. Just say it so we can do this.” A ghost of a grateful smile appeared on her lips.

“You’ll be surrounded by the memories with no control from Sam. And I’m guessing they will feel really good. The temptation to sink into a memory and relive it will be…,” she struggled for the word before settling on, “overwhelming.”

“I can only imagine how great it would be to feel Sam up close and personal after the last few days. And he’ll be desperate to feel you as well. He has to be terrified knowing he’s a vegetable right now.”

Dean’s gut clenched. He would feel Sam, his Sam. And Sam would be reaching for him, desperate. But Dana was telling him he couldn’t succumb. “Why not Dana? What’s the problem? Why can’t I reassure him, comfort him?”

“I can’t afford for you to get trapped in there. Remember, I can’t get you out. Sam isn’t ‘Sam’, all reasonable and balanced. He’s scared. Plus, you’re essentially going to abscond with his healing power. He trusts you but you’re going to grab and leave with the one thing he fought to keep safe.”

Dana held up a hand to stop Dean’s next question. “I’m speculating here but I really strongly suspect the whole attack had to do with ripping Sam’s healing power out of his mind. That filthy thing wanted it bad. Sam’s struggle was all about protecting it. And I’m sending you in to seduce him, get into the vault, avoid wonderful memories, grab the power and run like hell back out.”

“So, after I do all that, what then?”

Dana smiled. “That’s easy. I’ll reach in and together we’ll activate the power. Then, I’ll pluck you out of his head.” Dana reached over and whispered into Dean’s ear. “Really try to avoid getting trapped in a memory, Dad. I really don’t want to sit here and watch you get off.”

Dean flushed crimson.

After a bit of deliberation, they agreed it would be best for Dean to lay down next to Sam. Dean stretched out and grabbed Sam’s hand, pulled it to his lips, scooted close to Sam’s ear. “Hey babe. I’m coming in to help you. You have to let me in, help me out, ok?” Holding Sam’s hand to his lips, he kissed it soothingly, before pulling the hand down and surrounding it with both of his.

“Relax Dad. Close your eyes and relax.”

“Am relaxed Dana. Let’s do this thing.” Dana huffed at him, put her hand on his forehead and put a chokehold around his thoughts.

Dean gasped, couldn’t suck in air. Dana conveniently had failed to mention that surrendering his psyche felt a hell of a lot like suffocation.

From a distance he heard, “Relax…don’t flail…relax…sit still damn it…relax,” in Dana’s voice and John voice uttering something he couldn’t discern.

Suddenly, he was sucked in a huge lungful of air followed immediately by a blankness, complete absence of emotion, just a vast open space, then an agonizingly loud pop.

Then - utter and complete agony and chaos all around him. Dean felt like he was inside the Normandy invasion scene from Saving Private Ryan, bullets flying everywhere, men shouting and swearing, blood turning the water red, men writhing, seemingly no rhyme or reason.

But, it wasn’t Omaha Beach on June 6, 1944. Dean had arrived smack dab in the middle of Sam’s destroyed mind.

He quickly erected every shield he had ever learned and the explosions dampened. He could think.

Executing the cocooning shield that Dana had demonstrated, Dean created a soft buffer around himself that floated. Dana was convinced that Dean would be dragged to the vault. Dean just had to wait and do his best to block off the constant noise.

He didn’t have to wait long.

In just a few seconds, Dean felt he was floating, purposefully downward, dragged by something. The urge to reach outside the shell to examine the sensation was so enormously tempting. But, he resisted, trusted that Dana was right, that he was being delivered to the correct destination.

A soft splash of color crossed in front of Dean’s eyes as he bumped into something. Dean lowered the shell and tentatively reached out and touched a wall, of sorts. The wall wasn’t solid, more like a series of vapors woven together into a psychedelic pattern. And it wasn’t damaged. Chaos surrounded it but the wall itself seemed unaffected. Dean felt a surge of pride in Sam’s ability to shield this piece of himself.

Dean caressed it then and the vapors shifted, ended up a bit denser. Sammy, let me in babe. He caressed some more. The pattern flowered and emitted a sweet rosy glow.

Hi Sammy. Yeah, I missed you too. Need You. Want You. Let me in babe.

The wall altered again, the vapors slightly less thick, the color more a faint yellow now.

Come on Sam. I’ll do whatever you want. Give you whatever you need.

Dean felt a warmth suffuse him, from his neck down his spine. Arousal. Although he was unclear as to whether it was his or Sam’s.

Sam, don’t leave me hanging man. Need You.

The vapors became wisps then and the color deepened to an amber. The center of the wall continued to soften and Dean psychically stepped forward, through the hole, and into Sam’s secure vault.

Calm. Dean was struck by the peace of this place, like a Shinto shrine. Just outside, there was nothing but pain and suffering. Inside, the calmest place Dean had ever ventured. Dean walked two steps forward and was suffused by the presence of Sam. It knocked him to his knees.

Sammy, I love you so much.

Dean held out his hand and felt a memory tug at it, pulling Dean towards it.

Succumbing was forbidden. Dana had made that abundantly clear. But he had no ability or desire to resist feeling Sam surround him, stroke him, love him. Dean headed toward the memory, forgetting all he had been told. Dove in head first and arrived with a splash.

He was at Yosemite. Drunk. Laughing. Somewhere in the forest, pushing Dean up against the tree, biting his neck. Waterfall off in the distance.

With a start, it dawned on Dean that the memory was Sam’s. Sam’s perspective, Sam’s passion, Sam’s desire. Dean knew this scene. It was only a few weeks old. That night in Yosemite, in the forest, the rock, dominant Sam, Dean fucked to senselessness. Dean smiled. Couldn’t wait to see exactly how that night felt to Sam.

Sam inhaled, pulling in the combined scents of pine tree and Dean’s sweat. Sam’s dick lengthened as he pushed Dean into the tree, covered Dean’s back with his front, whispering filth into his ear. Sam’s hand dove into Dean’s jeans and stroked his cock. Reacting to the feel of Dean’s hard cock, heat suffused his neck and shoulders.

Sam wiped the pre-come off the tip and pulled his hand out, offered it to Dean to lick. “Saw that rock earlier. Gonna lay you across it and have my way.”

Sam yanked Dean up and off the tree by the hair and marched him further into the forest. Sam was panting for air, cock hard and aching in his jeans.

They arrived at the rock and Sam released Dean. “Strip.”

Sam kept his eyes locked on Dean’s as Dean pulled his sweatshirt up and over his head. Unbuttoned his plaid shirt and let it drop to the ground. Yanked his t-shirt off and threw it. Kicked his boots off, shoved his jeans down to display his cock, red and standing straight out at attention, cock ring in place.

“Gorgeous. Absolutely fucking gorgeous. Now suck my cock, slut.”

Sam groaned as Dean sunk to his knees, unzipped Sam and extricated his dick. At the first touch of lips, Sam reached for Dean’s head and stroked approvingly.

“Fucking love your mouth.” Sam shoved down the desire to fuck into Dean’s mouth, wanted to fuck into his ass more.

Somewhere, from far away, Dean heard something, faint, a warning. Dean ignored it, plunged back into the smooth velvet ecstasy of the memory.

Sam was close, felt the familiar tightening in the gut, didn’t want it to end. Roughly pushed Dean’s mouth off his cock.

“Up. Turn around.”

Sam watched, enthralled and aroused beyond reason, as Dean turned, agonizingly slowly, to display a purple butt plug embedded in his perfect ass. Sam reached into his jacket pocket and turned the switch on. Felt his dick twitch at the sight of Dean tensing up at the sensation.

“Bend over that rock.”

Dean walked forward, lowered himself down, spread eagle over the rock.

Sam kneaded his fingers into Dean’s ass, gave it three quick slaps, admired the heat generated.

Sam turned the butt plug up to its highest level. Stepped back to watch Dean writhe and started to undress.

Something was desperate to distract Dean. Dana. Felt like bees buzzing around his head in a frenzy. She wanted him out of the memory.

With a start, he knew she saw his arousal. She knew he’d succumbed. He pushed his way out.

Dean reached back to stroke the edge of the memory, shimmering gold and ruby red in its desire for him to return. Can’t Sammy. Don’t be mad. Have something else to do. Want to but can’t. Love you.

With a pit of regret, Dean moved on. The memories started to bombard him, tempting him from all sides, but he voyaged on. There - off in the distance.

Dana had explained it often enough. Solid, unlike any other psychic element. Silver and shimmery. Dean thought it looked a bit like an alien ship in an old B movie.

Dean moved close and reached out to it. Warmth and security.

Got to come with me. Need to help Sam. Follow me, ok?

Dean had no idea if it was prescient in any way. He headed toward what he believed to be the exit. It followed. Joy permeated through him.

He was within a few yards of the vaporous wall when Dean was lashed by anger. Sam was reaching for the healing power and pulling it back inside.

No babe. It has to come with me. You gotta trust me Sammy. Want to make you better. Please babe. Don’t fight. I know you’re scared. Got to heal you Sammy. Please.

Dean felt Sam’s sense of betrayal, saw the silver drift away from him.

Dean broke out in a cold sweat. So close. Maybe only three or four yards to an escape, to healing, to getting his Sam back for real.

Dean resorted to basic pleading, tears streaming down his face.

Please baby. It’s Dean. I’ve never lied to you, ever. I’ve always had your back. I would never betray you. You are my everything. Trust me Sammy, please.

Dean sobbed, fell to his knees, opened himself completely to let Sam feel his complete honesty.

With a groan, the hole in the wall re-opened. Dean lunged for the healing power and ran through the hole. With no shields in place, the pandemonium of Sam’s mind clobbered him from all sides. Dean was slammed onto his back, grief slicing at his gut.

He felt a hand and he struggled to grab for it. Dana. She wrapped her hand around his and reached them out to the healing power. They touched its shimmery exterior and dove their hands in. Pulsating warmth. Linked together, they nudged its core, told it to go to work.

Dean legs gave way, nothing left emotionally to hold him up. Dana tossed him up into the mental equivalent of a fireman’s hold and headed up and out.



Waitin' on a Sunny Day

Note - Thank you to Bruce Springsteen for this chapter title.
A Very Merry Christmas to all of you - thank you for reading. *hugs*

I'm waitin', waitin' on a sunny day
Gonna chase the clouds away
Waitin' on a sunny day
~Bruce Springsteen~

“John, what the hell did you or your boy do?”

Dave was standing over Sam, having just finished taking his vitals and checking his wounds.

“What’d you mean?” John replied in carefully measured tone.

Dave turned around to face down John Winchester and stated through clenched teeth. “You know exactly what I mean. His heart rate and blood pressure are normal. His lungs sound incredible. And maybe, just maybe, I could accept that improvement alone. But, his chest wounds are almost closed. Not to mention, the bruising, which was only getting to full bloom, is in complete fade. What the hell did you do in the last twelve hours?”

John smiled, despite the heat in Dave’s voice. “Can’t tell you that Dave. But, he’s looking good, isn’t he?”

“Good? He looks fucking great. Skin is pink. He’s warm to the touch. I’ve been struggling for days trying to figure out when to tell you that you had to resign yourself to letting him go and now, this?” Dave pointed to Sam, who looked like he was napping peacefully.

“Glad to hear it Dave, really glad. Think he’ll wake soon?” John’s tone was light, airy.

“John Winchester. I sew up hunters all the time but you know my rule, no dark stuff. I don’t believe in it and won’t have anything to do with it. This reeks of a spell or a deal or some evil. I’ve looked the other way quite a bit for you Winchesters but I can not overlook this.”

Dave’s face was stone cold fury, jaw tight, eyes locked on John.

John shook his head, trying to diffuse the situation. “Dave, no dark stuff. I swear. I can’t tell you what did happen but I can assure you, no dark stuff. Really an organic thing.”

“Organic? Like from a vegetable garden? I wasn’t born yesterday.” Dave looked ready to ready to pop John squarely in the nose.

Dean strolled into the room, rubbing his wet head with a towel. “How is he?”

Dave’s head jerked toward Dean. “He’s amazing. I wouldn’t be in the least bit surprised if he’s awake by morning.”

Dean’s face broke into a huge smile, truly like the sun shining down. He crossed over to the bed and placed a hand on Sam’s cheek. “Glad to hear it, Dave.”

“You two are something else. Standing there like complete innocents. How could you?”

Dean’s face scrunched up. “How could we what?”

John turned to Dean, wanted to put out the fire before the match was lit. “Dave thinks one of us did something dark to help Sam heal. I reassured him that wasn’t true.”

Dave huffed, clearly not buying a word of it. “I’m gonna talk to Missouri. You better hope she backs your story.”

Scott and Dana sat across from one another on her bed, both cross legged, knees touching.

“So, what do you want to know?” Dana asked. She never wanted to have this conversation. Yet, Scott deserved to have his questions answered as truthfully as possible.

“Part of me wants to know everything and another part of me knows that probably isn’t wise. So, I guess I don’t know what I want to know.”

Dana inclined her head. “Ok, I get that. How about I tell you what I can and if you have any questions, you can ask?”

Scott nodded.

“First of all, I want to thank you. You’ve been great, so helpful. I really thought I’d never hear from you again after the day of the attack.”

Scott pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it. Dana felt tears behind her eyes. Pushed them down.

“You know the rule, no talking about Sam. So, there will be holes here. But the super short version, Sam found Dad eighteen years ago. It was intentional on Sam’s part. A group he worked for wanted me, for my abilities. I was a baby.”

Dana paused, considered what to say next. “The way things worked out, we came to live here. Sam and Dad were already in love, just had a bunch of stuff to work out. Sam has some powers of his own and he helped me with mine, Missouri too.”

Scott looked deep in thought. “You and Sam have some kind of connection, right?”

Dana smiled. “Yes. We do…at least, we did.”

“Can you tell me why he was attacked?”

There it was. The million dollar question. She replied, “No, not without talking too much about Sam.”

Scott’s forehead wrinkled. “Was it after you, not Sam?”

Dana was puzzled before the light bulb went off. She raced to reassure him. “No, Scott. Whatever it was, it was after Sam, not me.”

For a second, Dana thought Scott was done, satisfied. She exhaled and went to crawl off the bed. Scott’s hand held her in place. “And your powers? What haven’t you told me?”

The dreaded question. Basically, Scott wanted to know how big a freak she was. “You knew I could move stuff. I can touch minds Scott. But, I swear to you that I have never peeked inside your head. Swear on all that I love.”

He seemed satisfied with that. Pulled her toward him. She settled into his warmth. But, then pulled back.

“Scott, what the hell is that beeping noise? So annoying.”

Scott scrunched his face. “There’s no beeping Dana. You okay?”

“You can’t hear that? …oh Christ…” Dana jumped up and flew out the door.

Dana stood frozen outside the doorway of her Dads’ bedroom, staring gratefully at the scene in front of her, suppressing her tears.

Dean was cradling Sam in his arms and kissing the side of his face over and over, Sam’s head tightly pulled into his shoulder.

Sam’s eyes were open - fat, watery tears soaking his face and creating trails down his neck.



No One Like You

Note - Thank you to The Scorpions for this chapter title.
And YAY! I found a WI-FI connection so here's today's chapter!

Just imagine the things we'll do
I just wanna be loved by you.
There's no one like you!
~The Scorpions~

Dana felt Scott’s arms encircle her and his head rest on her shoulder. She leaned into his embrace, savored this moment of Sam’s awakening, of Sam securely wrapped in her Dad’s arms.

Dana was thankful beyond reason. She wasn’t convinced of a god or many gods or any god but she was grateful to each and every one of them anyway.

Scott whispered, “I need to get home. I’ll call you in the morning.”

Dana inclined her head in a small affirmative nod, not trusting herself with words. Scott kissed her cheek before releasing her and heading down the stairs.

There was barking and the sound of Aristotle’s little feet racing up the stairs. She had been out with John for a short walk. Ari flew between Dana’s feet, across the bedroom and leapt up and onto the bed. She jumped up, front paws on Sam’s shoulders and licked at the wet on Sam’s face, tail wagging at a hundred beats a minute.

Dana rushed across the room and grabbed at Ari’s belly, pulling her back.

“I’m thrilled too Ari but I don’t think he’s ready for your weight on him,” Dana kissed the words into Ari’s forehead while rubbing her belly. Ari squirmed, desperate to get next to her Sam.

Dean lowered Sam back down to the pillows, adjusted Sam’s body, kept a hand on him for contact.

From the staircase, John called, “Aristotle, what the hell got into you, you silly animal?” Dana turned to tell him to quiet down and saw him stop dead in his tracks at the threshold to the room

John’s right hand grabbed for the doorway and leaned a bit of his weight into it. His deep, age-worn smile creased his face. “Well, hello my son.”

Sam’s eyes reacted, attempted to track that voice. John crossed the room, sat on the edge of the bed, stroked Sam’s hair out of his eyes. Tears resumed their trail down Sam’s cheeks, now dripping off his chin onto his chest.

“Don’t cry Sam. I know you’re hurt and confused but you’re going to be fine. We got you this far and we’ll get you the rest of the way. It‘s great to see those eyes of yours.” John continued to stroke his hair as Sam’s eyes got heavy and gradually closed.

Dean placed his head down on the bed, a slump from the bitter batter of exhaustion and utter relief.

Dana pulled Aristotle close into her body and hugged her for all she was worth.

Dana walked into the bedroom the next morning to find her Dad, eyes wide open, curled around a sleeping Sam in the bed.

“Did you get any sleep?” Dana asked, rubbing her eyes, hoping that someone had remembered to set the coffee maker last night, sniffing to detect if the pleasant scent of java was in the air.

Dean didn’t reply, didn’t even turn toward her, just kept his eyes trained on Sam.

“Um, Dad?” Dana cleared her throat.

“He woke every couple of hours. Always agitated. And I can’t sense him.” Dean sounded bereft.

Dana grabbed the rocker, pushed it close to the bed and tugged to get her Dad to turn toward her. “Listen. You were in his mind. It’s completely torn up. It’s going to take a long time for him to be really better, even with his awesome power. I have no idea how long it’ll take before he can move or talk.”

Dean eyes were unfocused, exhaustion and disappointment weighing them down. “Do you hear me?” she prodded.

Nodding his head, Dean replied, “I’m not surprised Dana. I just hate that he’s so damaged and I can’t reach him, assure him.”

“But he knew us Dad. That was obvious immediately. He knew us and was happy and that’s so good. His psychic injuries are severe. His memories are torn to shreds. It will heal though…in time.”

“Want to feel him Dana. Want to talk to him and know he understands.”

Dana bit at her nails, pondering the problem. “Well….I can link you to him, I think, but…”

“No buts. Do it.” Dean’s tone was adamant, eyes converted into a sparkling emerald green.

“But, it will hurt you Dad. He’s in pain and you’ll feel it.”

“Don’t care Dana. Do it.”

Dana bit some more. There wasn’t much nail left. “It’s really not wise.”

Dean scoffed, “And when in your eighteen years have you done anything particularly wise?”

Dana ignored him, shook her head. “Don’t want to hurt you Dad. Sam wouldn’t want that either.”

“My decision Dana. Do it.” His eyes on fire, fueled by hope and yearning.

Dana threw up her hands and stood, “Lemme get some coffee first.”

“Dad, listen to me. When I told you to stay out of the memories, you dove right in. You have to pay attention to me.”

Dean looked at Dana. He hated when his eighteen year old daughter saw fit to lecture him.

“Stop it Dana and just link us up.” Dana’s need for coffee had expanded into a need for a run, then a shower and then a chat with Scott.

It was noon now. Dean finally had exhausted every ounce of patience, pulled her by the hair, sat her down and ordered her to get on with it.

“Shield. You don’t have the skill to deal with the constant onslaught of pain.”

“And he does?” Dean was sick of her acting like he couldn’t tolerate pain. She was stalling and he wanted to connect with Sam right the fuck now.

Dana threw up her hands. “Fine. I didn’t think it was possible to out-stubborn Papa. Jesus.”

Dana reached for Dean’s hand and Sam’s hand. Placed Sam’s on top of Dean’s. Dean felt a sizzle behind his eyes followed by a buzzing, the bee sound again, circling his head. Sam’s eyes popped open, puzzled look across his face.

Then a glow, soft yellow like the rising morning sun in spring, and the sense of Sam flooded through him with a roar. Pain too but Dean didn’t care in the least. Full bore Sam, his scent, his touch, Dean swore he heard his laugh. Dean studied Sam’s face, which transformed from puzzled to serene.

Sammy?

Ddde. Ddd. De.

Hi. You feel great. You’re gonna be fine.

Sam wasn’t exactly convinced, of that Dean was certain. Dean however was sufficiently convinced for both of them.

Dean reached out to mentally assure Sam. Sam washed across him, circled him, raced into Dean’s arms, rested his head on Dean’s chest, sighed in psychic joy.

Dean cuddled Sam close, physically and mentally.

Out loud, Dean said, “Thank you Dana.”



When the Levee Breaks

Note - Thank you to Kansas Joe McCoy and Memphis Minnie for this chapter title (and to Led Zeppelin for making it famous and to [info]pyroblaze18When the levee breaks I'll have no place to stay.
Mean old levee taught me to weep and moan,
Lord, mean old levee taught me to weep and moan

John entered the kitchen, arms full of groceries. Dana was right behind him holding three more bags.

They had purchased all of Sam’s favorite foods. It was a week today since Sam awakened. He was on a liquid diet for a few days and then soft foods. He wasn’t eating much, just swallowing consumed a significant amount of his effort and concentration, and, although he had no choice, he seemed to hate being spoon fed. Plus, just keeping him awake long enough to get down eight ounces of dietary supplement was a chore.

John had decided they should take the infant food approach, cook foods Sam loved and puree them. So, it would taste like real food and Sam would eat more. At least theoretically.

It was tough not to be a bit discouraged.

Sam was alert for only short bursts of time. And when he was, he was so wrapped up with Dean that John was unsure if he realized anyone else was even there. Dean was his lifeline, his relief, and Sam was clinging tight. Sam only managed blinking, slightly moving his head and swallowing, no other motion than that. His nightmares were horrific, causing Dean to retch from the backwash through their connection.

John was unsure if Dean was getting any sleep at all. Yet, Dean never complained. He tended to Sam unfailingly, patiently. Fed him, teaspoonful after teaspoonful. Massaged his arms and legs. Did the physical therapy exercises every three hours during the daytime. Washed him, dried him, read to him.

Now that John thought of it, he wasn’t actually certain of the last time Dean actually ate a full meal.

Dana put away all the groceries, pulled out a soda, popped the top, swallowed down a big gulp. “What do you want for lunch Papa?”

John shrugged. “Gonna go and relieve Dean. I’ll see what he wants. He needs to eat a solid meal.”

John left the kitchen, headed to the staircase. Heard a soft thumping. Instincts kicked in. He reached for the gun tucked into his jeans behind his back, removed the safety. Spun around to locate the direction of the sound. Stepped carefully toward the dining room.

The sound became slightly louder.

He rounded the corner cautiously and saw Dean’s form huddled in the far corner, banging his head rhythmically against the wall, bump, bump, bump, bump.

“Dean?” John moved gingerly across the room, not wanting to startle him, secured the gun and stuck it away. Bent down inch by inch until he was crouched next to Dean. There was blood flowing from Dean’s ears, eyes, nose, mouth, tiny rivulets of red marking up his head. His hand was in his mouth biting down into the fleshy part of his palm. Eyes scrunched shut. No sound, just the bumping over and over and over.

John was afraid to touch him, worried too that shouting for Dana might harm Dean in some way or push him wholly over the edge.

“Dean?” he repeated, lifted his hand to Dean’s face to turn it toward his own. John used his other hand to pry open Dean’s left eye. Bloodshot, pupils blown. No recognition.

Choosing that moment, Dana shouted loudly and impatiently from the kitchen, “Papa, what does Dad want?” Dean flinched, curled up tighter, head flinging loose from John’s grasp and banging harder.

John clutched Dean’s head to stop the motion. Turned his head and hissed as loud as he dared, “Hush Dana. Get over here.”

Dana, not quiet in the least, came tearing around the corner. Threw herself at them. Reached for Dean’s pulse. Gasped, “Oh god,” and flew back out of the room, dashing upstairs.

Sam. Oh god, had the thing come back for Sam? John’s heart seized up in his chest.

John held Dean’s head in his hands. Didn’t breathe while waiting for Dana to return. Prayed to his Mary.

She was back down in under a minute, the touch of anger obvious from the set of her jaw dissolving his worst fear.

“Sam’s fine. Better than fine actually. Moving his arms and alert, smiled at me, and gave a small wave.”

“What the hell?” John didn’t understand at all.

“I knew that goddamn connection was a shitty idea. Dad doesn’t have the skill, or the desire for that matter, to deny Sam anything. Sam always controlled their connection, you know.” Dana was standing there, hands on hips, pissed off.

“Don’t be cute Dana. Tell me what’s going on here.” John used the Marine voice, his fear resurrecting his tried and true patterns.

Dana harrumphed, “Don’t know exactly but safe bet that Dad just opened himself up wide. And it felt good to Sam, damn good, safe, comforting. And Sam drank it in. Kind of like a psychic vampire. And he sapped Dad royally and, boom! a huge improvement for Sam and Dad,” her voice trailed off and she pointed to the lump that was her father.

“What do we do for Dean?”

“Kick him in the ass?” Dana tossed her hair like a petulant six year old. Then sighed and crossed the room, huddling in front of Dean. She put her hands on his cheeks, closed her eyes.

Dean’s eyes opened of their own volition and settled on John. He emitted a loud groan and slumped. John caught his weight. Dean’s breaths shortened into choked gasps. John stroked his forehead and repeated, “Slow your breathing Dean. In then out. Come on, you can do it. In, Out, In, Out.”

Dean’s breathing evened out, then he seized, a small tremor through his body. Dana reached out to his forehead and the tremors stopped. “Damn fool,” she muttered. “When I tell you to shield, you really should try shielding.”

John and Dana sat with Dean for an hour before the small seizures ceased entirely. John cleaned up his face and Dana headed off the seizures when they struck.

Every ten minutes, Dana went upstairs check on Sam. On her second visit, he was visibly shaking, reached for Dana and gripped her hard. She sat on the bed.

Dana smiled at him. “Look at you, moving that arm, good grip. Terrific Sam.”

Sam’s eyes were boring into her. Dana felt the beeping in her head increase, Sam was attempting to reignite their link and connect to her. But, Dana didn’t need their link. She knew exactly what he wanted to know. “Dad’s just resting. He’s fine, just tired Sammy.”

Sam’s eyes told her, clear as day, that he wasn’t buying it. Fooling Sam was never easy, even when he was barely himself.

“Ok, Papa and I drugged him to force him to sleep. He’s really worn down. He’s fine though, relax, ‘kay?” she said in her best forthright voice.

Sam seemed to buy that story a bit better. Probably it should bother her that Sam so easily believed they’d drug Dean. Instead, she was simply relieved that she got him to accept it. Agitating Sam unnecessarily was not on her list of to-dos.

After an hour, Dean opened his eyes. Dana put a hand out to stop any motion. “Gonna hurt like a bitch to move,” she said then added, “you dumbass,” under her breathe.

Dean gasped, “Sam?”

John replied wearily, “He’s fine, much better actually, used all the energy he stole from you and is alert and moving his arms and hands. You must have some good juju.”

Smiling, Dean disregarded Dana’s words and tried to push himself up and out of John’s arms.

Dana hastily put a stop to that. “Whoa, cowboy. What you did was foolhardy at best and probably suicidal at worst. Yes, it helped Sam but you CAN NOT do this. I will break your link if I so much as think you’ll do this shit again. And it will tear Sam up to have that link removed so you better straighten up and do as I say.”

Dean opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by John. “She’s being a bossy brat but she’s right Dean. You can not sacrifice yourself to speed Sam’s recovery.”

Dean gently nodded his assent, a contrite look firmly in place, eyes gleaming despite his beaten up state.

Dana eyed him, deeply skeptical. Her dad never gave in to her that easily, even when he fully agreed.

Dana resigned herself to maintaining a much tighter leash on the mental and physical health of her father. And it was a safe bet that Dana would happily beat some sense into him, if necessary.



It's My Life

Note - Thank you to Bon Jovi for this chapter title.

It's my life
It's now or never
I ain't gonna live forever
~Bon Jovi~

Dana walked out to the front porch, couple of mugs of steaming black coffee in hand. John was on the swing, neck tilted back.

“Looking at the stars?”

“Uh-huh,” John murmured as he cradled his mug into his chest.

“In Yosemite, the stars were so bright. Thought I could touch them. The whole sky was white. Stupid me thought it was cloud cover at first. When we go back, you have to come with us, okay Papa?”

John glanced her way but returned to gazing upward. “Haven’t spent enough time in my life star gazing. Always out hunting something or fixing an engine. This whole thing…” his words dropped off.

“This whole thing, what?” Dana asked.

“Nothing.” John turned, stepped out of his reverie and faced Dana head on. “We have some things to discuss.”

“Funny you should say that. Yeah, I’ve got some stuff too.”

“Well, I’m old so I go first. Let’s talk about that nasty bit of evil you exploded the fail safe with.” No beating around the bush with John Winchester. His face was stern, kind of a grandfatherly angry, not an ‘I’m going to tear you a new one’ fury.

Dana turned her head away, gazed upward. She had hoped, with all that had transpired, that she would somehow just get a hall pass on that one. Dumb on her part though. John Winchester never let anything escape its proper attention or punishment.

“I don’t know much about psychic energy, floating stuff around, fancy mental maneuvers, and all, but I know all about evil young lady. And you threw one nasty trick, smoothly, as if it were a natural part of you.”

“Papa. Please understand. I had no idea what would blow up that fail safe. I only had a tiny whiff of time to destroy it. I had to use the biggest and best thing I had. And it worked.” She didn’t want to sound twelve; she wanted to sound adult and secure in her action and motivation. She was fairly positive she wasn’t succeeding.

“Ah my dear. That is exactly what we are going to talk about. I don’t really care that you used it. Of course you use the biggest and best in your arsenal to blow up a threat to your family. The fact that you had it in your arsenal and you used it so seamlessly. That is what I’m here to talk to you about it. Spill, everything, now.” John commanded, demeanor shifted entirely into hunter mode.

Dana hung her head. She could try subterfuge or fudging the facts around the edges. But, other than Sam who knew because he had been in her mind since she was six months old, Papa always seemed to know when she was pulling a fast one. The truth then - and the consequences - whatever they would be.

“About a year ago, I picked out six things to learn that were tainted. Two of the six were true dark. The other four were varying degrees. The switchback was one of them. And Sam helped me with that. His version of it swaps out the worst chunk for a natural flip so it isn’t anywhere near as dark as Missouri thinks. It is very useful if you are pinned down and need to get out or need to make sure no one knows you’re there. Sam and I have been using it on each other all year, kind of a game.”

Dana pulled her legs up to her chest. “The other three mixed items are all subterfuge related too. I’ll show them to you, if you want, but nothing addictive, no after effects.”

“Fine,” John said, watching her closely. “What about the last two?’

“Rotten stuff, I admit. I wanted a ‘bomb’, a big nuclear bomb that I’d use if I had to. And I had to Papa, you saw that.” A flash of guilt washed through her, even if she wasn’t in the least bit sorry.

“How’d you learn it? You said Sam didn’t teach it to you.” John was curt, unyielding.

“He’d never teach that Papa, even if he knew it, and I’m sure he doesn’t,” she rushed to defend Sam. This was her fault and she alone would pay the price.

“I found a guy online who answered my questions about it. I had tried it straight out of the book and got no where. After a few questions, I got it down fairly quick.”

John’s face tightened. She rushed to continue. “I know Papa, I know. I’m playing with hell fire here. I know. But, I’m capable and careful.”

John scoffed. “You can never be careful with pure dark. It seeps into you Dana. Tell me about the last one.”

Dana actually laughed mirthlessly. “The last one ties into what I need to tell you. I was learning a long distance connection. Knew I wouldn’t be able to stand not to be in touch with Sam so I was practicing a long stretch. Nothing pure can reach that far.”

“What?” John shouted at her, exasperation ticking up a level, or three.

“New Hampshire is far, Papa. And I agreed to go to Dartmouth but I never agreed to no contact. I just couldn’t go and not be ….” She didn’t want to cry. She wanted to be adult, prove she was competent to make the type of decision that she had made.

She sucked it up and proceeded. “Doesn’t matter for two reasons. One, I never got it to work. And second,” she stole a look at the stars, made a silent plea for strength from the heavens, held her head high and stated clearly, “I’m not going.”

“Oh yes you are,” was the reply.

“No, I’m not.” She said it, not in a defiant teenage voice, but in a clear, business-decision cadence.

A standoff. They stared at each other, headstrong v. headstrong.

Dana broke the silence. “If I had been at Dartmouth, Sam would be dead. Dad would be broken. You would be heart sick. And I’d fail every class from the pain.”

She let that sink in. She’d thought it all through, including this speech. She just had to execute it successfully.

“I never wanted to go. I know you all don’t want me to have a life tied inextricably to yours. But, tough. We’re tied. Deal. I’m not going to Dartmouth. I’ve already withdrawn, I faked Dad’s signature. I’ve registered at KU. That’s that.” She slapped her palms together to demonstrate the finality of her act.

John didn’t move. She pondered how awful his anger would be. How awful the punishment of their disappointment would feel.

Leave it to John to surprise the living hell out of her.

“Okay then. I guess you’re staying.” And he drank some coffee and resumed star gazing.



Jump

Note - Thank you to Van Halen for this chapter title. Just two chapters left in arc 2 after this one.

And I know, baby, just how you feel.
You've got to roll with the punches to get to what's real
~Van Halen~

Dean felt Sam nudge him, just a little mental jolt.

Dean opened one eye to check him. Sam was on his side, staring at Dean, hair flopped in front of his eyes, smiling warmly.

“Hiya Sam.”

Dean shoved down the instinct to yawn. Frankly, two more hours of sleep would be lovely. Scratch that, maybe six or eight more hours of sleep. Can’t let Sammy know how tired he is though. Got to keep his game face on.

Last night was disrupted in the wee hours by the onset of Sam’s dream-induced panic. Sleeping pills, pain medication, meditation - nothing so far had impeded the nightly crescendo of frightful events swirling in Sam’s head. Consequently, weeks had passed since Dean had slept more than four straight hours. It had been easier than this when Dana was an infant. Pop a bottle in her mouth and push her stuffed rabbit closer and she was lulled back to sleep. Maybe he should buy Sam a stuffed rabbit.

Scooting in close, Dean put his arms around Sam’s neck, clasping his hands together at the base. They did this every morning, first thing. Dean thought of it as Sam’s daily vitamins. Dean opened his mind completely and Sam swam around, taking what he needed. After letting this go too deep and too long, Dean had ended up an incoherent blob. So, he had taken to counting slowly to 120 and cutting Sam off. Dana was watching, being careful was key.

Sam shook his head. N-n-n-o-o Dddeeenn.

What do you mean ‘No’?

Dayyyna, tttold me. Must s-s-s-top.

Indignation rose up into Dean’s chest. No doubt, Dana told Sam that this was risky, or worse. She had no right. Sam was improving daily, by leaps and bounds. Providing Sam with the energy he needed to heal was vital.

“To hell with Dana. I’m being careful. It was just that once before I knew better.”

Too thin Sam got that across succinctly. Dean smiled. Too tttired. Must s-s-s-top. Sam sent it across the link with a jolt of finality.

Dean looked at him. “I’m not too tired or too thin and we don’t have to stop. How about I cut you off after one minute, not two? Easier on me and still good for you. Dana won’t know and, if she does, tough. We’re the adults here.”

Sam was pondering that idea when Dana sauntered into the room in her blue bathrobe, hair piled on top of her head in a giant ponytail pointing skyward.

Dean leveled his best ‘your ass is mine’ glare at her and she flinched.

“So, Sam told you that I gave him the scoop on what you’re doing.” He admired that she never skirted around a hot, potentially battle-inducing topic.

Still, he’d fix her.

“So, Ms. I Know Best, did you pass along any other information to your uncle?”

Sam looked at Dana now, giant question look on his face. To Dean, he asked, What d-d-don’t I know?

Again, Dean was thrilled by the clarity of Sam’s thought. To Sam, Dean said, “Good Sam, really clear,” and then, turning to Dana, he passed along the question with the sarcasm dolloped on thick, “Your uncle would like to know what he doesn’t know.”

Dana turned baby girl pink, a bit of deer in the headlights look with a touch of ‘how dare you’ thrown in. Dana tapped her foot on the ground. Dean suspected she desperately wanted to kick him in the shin and was trying to figure how to get away with it.

Again, she pleased him when she attacked it head on. She circled the bed to Sam’s side and sat down on the edge. Sam used his arms to flip his body to face her. She reached out to cup his face and she added herself to the Sam-Dean connection she had created.

Sam. You know I’d do anything for you. Anything. I love you so much.

Sam blinked his eyes in assent and, through the now three-way link, replied Yes s-sweetie, love you t-t-too

Dana gasped, not knowing Sam’s significant progress in constructing and communicating rational thoughts.

Ok, don’t be mad at me. Don’t you do that. I pulled out of Dartmouth. Can’t be that far away from y’all.

Tears welled in Sam’s eyes. He started to shake a little.

Dean rushed in to comfort him. Don’t cry Sammy, please. I’ve made her swear that she’ll go to the fanciest medical school that will have her. We’ll have to all go and live with her, of course, since she is adamant about never leaving us. Please don’t cry.

Despite the plea, tears dripped down Sam’s cheeks.

Dana was crushed, started to shake a bit herself.

N-n-n Sam tried to get something out, wasn’t succeeding, looked pained by his failure. Dean held his hand and squeezed in support.

N-n-not sad. Happy.

“It’s really okay Sam? Really?” Dana practically levitated off the bed.

Sam nodded.

“Oh thank god. Thank god.” She bent and kissed him smack dab on the tip of his nose. “I am going to live in the dorm, Dad insisted. I secured a room yesterday. I’ll be twenty minutes away, tops.”

They sat there a couple of minutes, sharing head space and happiness that Dana would stay close. Dana extricated herself from the link and rose.

“I’m going to make coffee.” At the doorway, she turned. “I can live with the sixty second thing, by the way.”



Rock and Roll

Note - Thank you to Led Zeppelin for this chapter title.
Just ONE chapter left in arc 2 after this one.

It's been a long time since I rock and rolled,
It's been a long time since I did the stroll.
Ooh, let me get it back, let me get it back,
Let me get it back, baby, where I come from.
It's been a long time, been a long time,
~Led Zeppelin~

A Week Later

Tired of this bed.

“I know Sam. You’re getting stronger every day. Your legs are just taking longer because they’re so goddamned long. But, your words are perfect now.”

Sam shook his head. Mentally, his words were fairly solid but, try as he might, he couldn’t verbalize. He made sounds but nothing approaching formed words. He had tried to trip through his mind to figure out what was gumming up his words. He succeeded only in giving himself a full-blown migraine with all the trimmings, head and neck pain, vomiting, diarrhea, light sensitivity, lasted twenty-four hours. Not to mention the horrid subsequent lecture from Dana to leave the healing to the healing power.

Across the room, Dean pulled on sweat pants. “Do you want breakfast or a bath first?”

Sam pushed the hair out of his eyes. The hair needed cutting way back when they were at Yosemite. Now, weeks and weeks later, it was ridiculously long, well below his shoulders in back and always in his eyes.

Part of him realized that it was good to be impatient about his words and his hair and just about everything. It signified he was more himself. Still, so much was crossed up in his head he tried sometimes not to think. Doing even simple things required a level of concentration that was painful.

Sam gazed at his Dean. And was struck by a feeling that he did immediately recognize. Lust. Dean was really skinny, almost frail, his ribs sticking out of his chest. Still, he was standing in a cascade of morning light flowing threw the window and he looked boyish and beautiful.

There was one thing Sam had been thinking of trying for at least two weeks but was reluctant, fearing he might fail. Today he would try. Sam reached out to the Sam - Dean connection Dana had created from them and snipped it.

Dean yelped and swiveled around, panic on his face. Sam held up a hand and held Dean’s eyes, inhaled deeply and stretched for it, pulled it up, blew life into it.

Dean laughed, a clear, serene bell of joy that filled the room.

Sam’s laughter joined his. Sam had succeeded in resurrecting his Sam/Dean link. The feel of it alone cleared thousands of cobwebs from Sam’s head, a dose of spring cleaning.

Dana’s connection had been fine but its texture was a tad manufactured, forced. This, them, their link was pure and organic, fueled by their bond, smoldering with energy.

Dana sat straight up out of a sound sleep.

It was gone; her connection created for Sam and Dean had been broken.

Heart pounding, she was half way through her door when it dawned on her. Oh. No negative vibes, no one or nothing intruding. Sam was fine, more than fine.

Sam had snapped the bond and reinstituted his own.

Dana clapped her hands, was proud of him, happy for them. Throwing herself back on her bed, she pulled Aristotle towards her.

She needed to ask Sam when he’d be ready to have the Sam-Dana link back in place. She knew she was a bit too much force for him while he healed yet she wanted him back, missed him like a lost limb. Later, she’d ask later. She twitched and dozed off.

Dean shut their bedroom door and turned the lock, crossed the room, giant grin firmly in place. The link communicated one thing loud and clear.

“Christ Sam, you’re horny.”

Blushing crimson, Sam nodded.

Dean crawled up on the bed and straddled Sam. Grabbed at Sam’s long locks and pushed them up and off his face, kissed his lips gently.

Taste good.

You too babe. Gonna suck you.

Oh god yes.

Dean licked into Sam’s mouth before lowering down, kissing and licking down Sam’s torso, stopping at his belly button while working the drawstring of the pants. Lowering them down, Dean met Sam’s very erect cock.

“Damn, you are horny,” Dean commented, partly in awe.

Sam writhed a bit. L-l-l-ess talking.

“Gotcha babe. I gotcha.”

Sam closed his eyes and relished the moment, the sensation of Dean’s lips kissing the tip of his cock, hand massaging his balls. So fucking good, so damn alive. That welcome tingle of pleasure flowed down his spine.

He was going to last about as long as a fifteen year old boy getting his first blow job.

Dana rolled over. What in the world was that steamy sensation? Rubbing her eyes, she caught a touch of Sam and then, oops. Dana threw up a barrier.

Scott always said that her dads were hopeless horn dogs. This was proof in the pudding. Sam unable to even utter a word and still they were down the hall having sex.

They really were too much.

She mentally shrugged. Good sign though. Things were definitely getting back to normal, well, Winchester normal.

Dana flipped over and really hoped they didn’t interrupt her slumber again.

Sam groaned, loudly.

“Let me hear you Sammy. Let it out.”

Less talking, more s-s-sucking

Dean nodded and put his hands on Sam’s hips. Swallowed down his cock and sucked, hard. Caressed his hips and thighs and continued with the intense sucking.

Pleasure ricocheted through Sam. Internally, a barrier was cracking, creating the effect of wind chimes echoing through his mind. Sam closed his eyes and focused both on the physical pleasure and the mesmerizing sound of soft, rhythmic clanging.

Sam moaned when Dean swallowed him to the root. Sam reached for Dean’s head, telling him that he was about to come when he was slammed to his pillow by a million tiny shards flying in front of his eyes.

The barrier in his mind that was cracking shattered. The teeny remains floated up and away in a silky steam. Sam was vaguely aware that he was screaming, his come still streaming out of him. His belly was very wet and warm and Dean was wiping quite a bit of come off his mouth.

“Holy shit, did you hear that?”

Dean didn’t respond at first then weakly asked, “Did you say that or think that Sam?”

Sam pried open his eyes and focused on Dean, saw the massive wet spot on his sweats. Dean obviously had gotten off as well.

Sam weakly smiled, “I think I said it.” He paused, “Yep, definitely said it, out loud.”

Dean whooped. “The power of the blow job. Damn I’m good. I can restore speech with the power of my wicked sucking skills. You think they’d write this up in the Journal of Medicine?”

Sam tossed back his head and erupted with a giant belly laugh.

Down the hall, the racket from her Dads’ room forced Dana to give up all pretense of getting any more sleep. She mumbled to Aristotle, “Will you go down there and bite them for me?”