Fic: Run, Run As Fast As You Can - (Sam/Dean, NC-17) Part 2 of 2
Back to Part 1
****
The small student housing apartment they ended up living in on the Stanford campus wasn’t really big enough for two men of their size. The place was really meant to be used by married students, i.e., couples, so there was only one bedroom with one bed. They had to wrangle campus housing to replace the queen-sized bed with two twins. The workers who came in to switch the beds out gave them all kinds of speculative looks that set Dean’s teeth to grinding. Sam tried to laugh it off, but tucked that funny expression on Dean’s face away to examine later.
Sam immersed himself into the new world of college, spending most of his time studying or going to extra classes. Dean found several jobs that kept him busy, working part-time at a classic car shop, bar tending late on the weeknights and occasional gigs with a moving company on weekends. With the housing subsidy from Sam’s scholarship they had more luxury and stability than they’d had in their whole lives. It made Sam feel so good that Dean wasn’t giving up his food to keep him fed. It was the little things.
A few friends found their way into Sam’s new life, a pre-med student named Brady, and an art major named Jess, both tall and blond and beautiful. Sam had several classes with each of them and ended up being study buddies with them both, which turned into an alternating casual friends with benefits thing. Sam tried to only have them over when Dean was out at his bar tending job, but sometimes Dean would come home early and he would have to spend the night out on the couch.
“Should have kept that queen size after all, huh, Sammy?” Dean teased one Sunday morning over his plate of pancakes, eyes flashing with something Sam couldn’t place for a while.
Sam just concentrated on finishing his own pancakes and didn’t say anything. He dreamed about it though, that expression of Dean’s, slowly he came to realize it was the look Dean had given him on that hike, back when they’d first talked about the whole college thing. At the time, Sam had been so focused on Dean’s physical proximity, he’d missed it, the extra softness in Dean’s eyes, that deeply hidden vulnerability. He stopped having sex with both Brady and Jess once he realized it was bothering Dean. It didn’t feel right to do that in their home or anywhere else really.
After giving up that physical connection with his friends, whenever Dean came home covered in the scent of perfume Sam tried his best to hold back his reaction, his brother deserved some joy after all. But it was maddening, the jealous beast inside of him growled mine and Sam had to feed it with as many Dean hugs as he could risk without making his brother worry. He did notice that Dean didn’t do it very often any more, and postponed asking him about it until he could get his jealousy under control.
Sam’s dreams became dark and fiery soon after he turned twenty-one, night after night he woke up gasping for breath, coughing out black smoke that wasn’t really there. Someone was on fire, on his ceiling, just like mom. He didn’t say anything when Dean asked him about his nightmares, not knowing what to say that wouldn’t worry him even more. They didn’t feel like just dreams, but he didn’t know how to explain that even to himself.
It got harder and harder for Sam to concentrate on school when the nightmares came every night, increasing in their intensity. It felt cumulative somehow, all of the images locked together solidly into a horrific story, a fate that he couldn’t escape. Out of desperation, Sam got drunk one night, hoping to be able to get a dreamless night of sleep. Dean wasn’t home yet from his bar tending job, so with no one to stop him, Sam quickly polished off the rest of the bottle of whisky that they kept in the house more out of habit than anything else.
He didn’t remember anything until he abruptly woke up, too hot, soaked in sweat, wrapped up tight, contracted, contained in someone’s arms. A sound finally got through to his drunken brain, a familiar tone, soothing, along with the familiar weight of his brother’s hands in his hair and on his back. Dean was home, he was taking care of him. Loving him, like he always always had. He felt so safe, He knew Dean could keep him safe from anything, the fire from his dreams, their father with his horrible yellow eyes. The blood, there was so much blood on the shovel.
“Sssh, Sammy, c’mon, you’re okay. Don’t think about all that stuff, I’m right here, I’ve got you, I’ve always got you,” Dean said in a soft, croon that made his insides happier than they had any right to be. That shriveled black twist of his heart soaked it up like a dry sponge.
“Mine, Dean, all mine,” Sam mumbled into the hot skin of his brother’s neck, clutching at his shoulders, holding him closer than he usually dared.
“Yeah, Sammy, yeah I know,” Dean soothed.
It got through to Sam that Dean hadn’t questioned it, or protested, just accepted the word mine as how it was between them. “I mean it, Dean. ’s not jus’ ‘cause ‘m drunk,” Sam slurred, wishing more than anything that he wasn’t.
Dean didn’t say anything, but he didn’t move away or let go of Sam, just held him tightly and kept murmuring those soothing nonsense words that had always worked like a charm. Sam fell back into the dreamless sleep he’d been chasing.
In the morning he woke up before Dean, immediately aware of how very hard he was and how closely tangled together they were in his twin bed. No, they were in Dean’s bed, because the Zeppelin poster was over his head. Why were they there? Oh god. He remembered it all in a rush, drinking all of that whisky, collapsing into Dean’s bed because he’d missed him so much. At least he could smell him on his bedding, and then Dean had come home and he’d held him all night long. Sam realized that he’d slept all night, without waking up from a nightmare. But it had come at a cost, how was he going to ever going to explain what he’d said last night?
“Mornin’ sunshine, your brain woke me up,” Dean grumbled.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Sam apologized, not thinking about what Dean had just said.
Dean gathered him in closer to his whole body, wrapping him up tightly again. “Go back to sleep, Sammy. Not time for pancakes yet.”
Sam felt it then, Dean was hard against him, they had slotted together perfectly and the small motion of friction made him groan before he could stop himself. He could feel Dean smile against the top of his head and then gasped in surprise when Dean pulsed his hips up in a gentle motion that felt even better than he’d imagined. He grabbed at Dean’s hips and pulled them in closer, pressing them together so Dean couldn’t mistake how much he wanted this.
They rocked together for a while, Dean’s hands moving up and down Sam’s back, tangling in his hair. Dean sped up the small thrusts of his hips, making noises that Sam wanted to keep forever. He felt the touch of Dean’s soft lips against his neck, then moving against his ear in a whisper that blew his world apart. “Mine, Sammy, mine.”
Coming down from the high of it, from having finally had what he’d always imagined, Sam wasn’t sure what to say or how to act. Shouldn’t Dean be freaking out or worse? Dean chuckled and kept hold of him.
“Guess I should have gotten that drunk a long time ago, huh?” Sam finally asked, Dean didn’t say anything, so Sam had to check. “You really okay with this?”
“I am. It’s been a long time coming,” Dean said.
“But, everything will change, what if-” Sam asked, sputtering when Dean interrupted him with a kiss that did change everything, almost instantly, more than getting off together had. The feel of Dean’s lips and tongue devouring his own finally satisfying the black twist of his heart.
Dean sighed into his mouth, “We’ll figure it out, just like we always do.”
****
Later that night, Sam remembered that he had promised Jess that he’d come over to her place to study for their Medieval History mid-term, and even though he didn’t want to go anywhere without Dean, not after the perfect morning and day they’d just spent together, he forced himself to go. When he got to her apartment, he heard the shower running, but she’d left him a plate of his favorite cookies. He laid down on her bed to wait and shut his eyes, replaying that morning in bed with Dean, only opening them when something wet hit his forehead. He opened his eyes, knowing already what he would see above him. He was in the worst of his dreams, Jessica was pinned to the ceiling, mouth frozen open in a silent scream, with a burst of sudden flames all around her. He’d only ever seen this part though, he’d never seen what happened next, what the hell was he even supposed to do? But then Dean was there, pulling him off the bed, out of the burning room and down the stairs.
After the paramedics and the firefighters and the police finally were done with them, Dean bundled Sam up into the Impala, getting them going back towards home.
“How, Dean, how did you know to be there tonight?” Sam asked, curled up against Dean in the Impala’s front seat.
Dean took one hand off the steering wheel and put his arm around Sam. “I just did, Sam, it’s a thing.”
Sam struggled out of Dean’s hold and sat up, leaning against the passenger side door. “It’s a thing? Wait, you have, what, some psychic super power you’ve never bothered to tell me about?”
“Yeah, it’s not much, seems to just work on you mostly,” Dean said with one of those infuriating shrugs.
“You’ve got to be kidding me right now. My friend just burned up on the ceiling, exactly like in my possibly psychic dreams, just like mom did and now you’re telling me you somehow knew ahead of time!” Sam yelled, feeling like he was losing what was left of his sanity with every passing second.
Dean winced at the noise. “I didn’t know about like you did, not ahead of time. But I knew you were in trouble. So I came for you, end of story.”
“You can read my thoughts?” Sam asked, forcing himself to try to maintain some calmness so Dean wouldn’t clam up.
“Not always, just when you’re yelling them at me,” Dean said, steering them into the driveway of their apartment building.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Sam asked, surprised at how hurt he felt at this revelation. He thought they knew pretty much everything about each other by now, but apparently not.
Dean parked in their designated spot and shut off the engine. He twirled the keys around his fingers for a long moment. “What was I supposed to say? It’s not like we learned having psychic anything was ever a good thing, right?” Dean said, doing that answer with a question thing Sam hated.
“You mean you were worried what Dad would have done about it,” Sam said, imagining how bad it could have gone for Dean if Dad had known. Dad had hated psychics almost as much as witches. And yeah, he was thinking about Dad in the past tense, because, as far as they knew he was gone.
“Yeah, it was mostly that, but it was more that I didn’t want you to feel like, uh, like I was prying or something,” Dean said, holding the back of his neck in that gesture of hesitation he always used when he was spilling a long-held secret.
“What do you think it means, that I dreamt something that just happened, and you have some kind of psychic power too?”
“Not sure, but I have a feeling it has something to with what happened with Dad, probably Mom too.”
Sam gasped, because they’d never spoken about it, not in all these years. But here, in the safe insulated space of their car it seemed like it was finally the right time. “That mean we have to leave now? Like we did before when we ran?”
“Maybe, we have to be ready for that. But I want to go back to Jessica’s place tomorrow and look around before we do anything,” Dean said.
“But if it’s back, and it killed Jess, shouldn’t we already be gone?” Sam asked, heart contracting at the loss of his friend and the fear that ran through him at the thought of whatever had killed her being after them now.
“No, you’re going to talk to your professors about skipping classes for like at least a week so you can recover and we’ll decide after I’ve checked her place out.”
Dean opened his door and got out, slamming it behind him, decision made, that’s final. Sam sighed and got out on his side. Dean helped him out of the car, supporting him like he was an invalid. It felt nice though, to have Dean’s hands on him so he didn’t protest.
“Should we call Bobby?” Sam asked as they shut their apartment door behind them.
The phone rang then, which made both of them jump, the shock of the abrupt noise like a bucket of cold water. Dean answered and picked up the salt canister to refresh the line at the doorstep.
Sam let himself into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He splashed cold water on his face and tried not to look at himself in the mirror. He undressed and took the hottest shower he could stand, washing his hair three times to get the smell of smoke out of it. He tried not to think about it-how the smoke was the last of his friend, a horrible reminder of how she’d died, and he’d never tried to warn her. He’d failed her, he should have done something. His tears washed away in the warm water and the next thing he knew he was being wrapped up in one of their bath sheets, Dean holding him as he sobbed into his brother’s shoulder.
Dean tucked him into his own bed, covers pulled up under Sam’s chin, his hand in Sam’s wet hair. “It’s gonna be okay, Sammy.”
His brother moved like he was about to leave, but Sam whispered, “Stay, please.”
Dean shrugged out of his jacket, and kicked off his boots, slipped his jeans and shirts off and crawled under the covers with Sam. Dean smelled smoky but mostly he just smelled like Dean and it was enough for right then. Home, safe, mine were the words and feelings that Sam fell asleep to, running through his mind and heart on a constant loop, either his mind or Dean’s he didn’t know or care.
Sam woke up a few hours later, surprised to see it was almost two in the morning, but he didn’t care what time it was. All he knew was that he had his brother nearly naked in his bed, in his arms and all that bare skin brushing against his own was driving him wild. He felt a wave of guilt about the loss of his friend and felt the tears threaten to return, but they were stopped by the feeling of Dean’s lips on his.
They kissed wild and passionate, then slow and steady, Dean slipping in words between their lips about how he had been so scared that he’d almost lost Sam that night. Sam reassuring him with hands and teeth and tongue. The moonlight came through their window and lit up their caresses with a soft light that reminded Sam of both the moonlight over the wheat fields and how it had shined over their trailer in Sonora.
Sam could feel his brother was as hard as he was, digging into his belly, he suddenly felt so empty inside. It wasn’t the black twisted part of his heart, that was all gone now, already transformed into the soft place where Dean belonged. “Want you inside me, Dean, need you there.”
Dean groaned and grabbed at himself, his hips bucking against Sam’s. “You can’t just say stuff like that, Sammy, god.”
“Please,” Sam moaned, rubbing his whole body against Dean’s, shamelessly soaking up the feeling of the shivers running through his brother’s body.
Dean pulled away from him then, digging in the drawer of the small table that was between their beds. Sam made complaining noises at the loss of contact and tried to pull him back under the covers.
Dean batted his hand away with a laugh. “Hold your damn horses.”
Sam writhed against Dean feeling unhinged with how much need was sweeping through him, he had never felt anything like this. And when Dean pressed a lube-wet finger into him, he felt himself come apart, all that space left inside him, empty, waiting for Dean to fill it. All this time he’d waited and wanted and he hadn’t known what it was and now that he felt his brother entering him, taking up all the space and air it was almost too much. He felt something between them shift as Dean rested inside him, waiting. The bond that they shared glowed in his mind and he could still see a reflection of it when he opened his eyes and looked up into Dean’s.
Dean’s face was transformed by the moonlight, unfamiliar and beautiful, coated in the softest dusting of light. Sam stroked one hand down Dean’s cheek as if he could feel the light, but it was just the soft skin of his brother’s face. That familiar, loved face became something even more.
“Can you feel it, Dean?” Sam asked, surprised that he was able to manage even those words.
Dean reached out and touched Sam’s cheek in the same way and nodded. “It’s like I can see your feelings or something.”
Sam felt his feelings harder at him, sending a wave of love and desire, all of it unchecked, nothing held back, there wasn’t any reason left, Dean needed to know what he meant. Everything.
Dean’s eyes widened as the wave of feelings hit him, he seemed to breathe it all in at once, holding still inside Sam. Then his face changed from questioning to acceptance then joy. Sam could feel it, see it coming back at him, amplified. Everything.
“Dean, you’re finally inside me, after all this waiting, I can’t wait any more.”
Dean planted his hands on either side of Sam’s head and thrust into him slowly, drawing out and pressing back in. Sam gasped with the feeling of stretching, overwhelmed with how much pain and pleasure there was all at once. He moved his hips in time with Dean’s thrusts, gasping at how good it was. Dean’s eyes never left his, and the steady stream of feelings coming through their bond was all tinged with desire and love, a heady mixture that sent Sam spiraling over the edge.
Sam came back to himself when Dean was cleaning him up with a warm washcloth. “You back with me, Sammy?”
He nodded, not able to speak, hoping that Dean could still see the feelings between them.
Dean slid back under the covers and wrapped him up in his arms. Sam laid his head over Dean’s heart and listened to it slow to match his own. They breathed in the silence, reveling in the feeling of perfect union. All those years, they had denied themselves the bond and attraction that had always been there between them, never letting themselves take each other apart as they’d wanted to, but finally they had. It was just them, together, they finally had everything.
And that’s when their dad walked in, the horribly familiar shovel over his shoulder. It had been four years since they’d seen those yellow eyes that were now flashing from the darkness of their bedroom doorway.
“Hey, Dean-o, if you’re finally done plowing the munchkin, we need to have ourselves a little chat,” the John-thing said, tapping the sharp edge of the shovel on the doorframe.
Dean sat up and managed to hide most of Sam behind him. Sam wormed one hand into Dean’s wrapping their fingers together and squeezing tightly. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Your dear old dad of course!” The John-thing chortled with unhinged glee, tapping the shovel again.
“I don’t know what you are, but you are not our father,” Sam said in a growl over Dean’s shoulder.
“Of course I’m not, Sammy, and you’d be the one to know better. I’m the one that sent you all those dreams about pretty little Jess burning on the ceiling. But Dean-O, you screwed it all up, roasting Jess was supposed to push our Sammy boy here off the beam. Damn if you weren’t there to catch him, boy! Hey, it worked with John back when I torched your mom.”
“What the hell do you want?” Dean asked, edge of steel in his voice. Sam sent his feelings of support into their bond, hoping it would help.
“Hell…hah! Funny that you mention it, Sam here’s got a big job to do for me in Hell. He’s going to lead my army, we demon-kind are going to get this shit-hole of a world ready for our Lord Lucifer’s return.”
“No, I Am Not!” Sam yelled across the room, his words pushed out of him in a focused blast of power he didn’t know he had. All he knew was that it was wrapped up and amplified with his bond with Dean. The power flowed out of the place inside him that had formerly been black and twisted, but was now filled up with Dean. It was a limitless source, powered by the love and bond between them. It was just what they needed, it was everything.
The thing wearing their father stumbled back as the force hit him. “I think I’ve got him, boys, say the words Bobby gave you,” their father said as the door slammed closed in his surprised face.
They heard the sounds of a struggle in the hall, their father’s body slammed into the door a few times, a cut-off shout that sounded a lot like he was in pain. “Hurry boys-!” Then the shovel began pounding at the door, battering at the handle but it couldn’t get through. Somehow, together with their bond and their father struggling from inside himself they were holding it back.
“It’s a demon, Sammy. That’s what Bobby said on the phone, he gave me an exorcism for us to say, if we do it right, it’ll send the thing back to Hell.” Dean quickly switched the bedside lamp on, grabbing up a piece of scrap paper with his neat scrawl and held it up for Sam to read.
In unison they read the unfamiliar latin words, voices twining together and becoming something else, something more. Becoming everything.
As they finished the exorcism, the pounding of the shovel stopped abruptly and crashed to the floor. A bright orange glare briefly flared under the door, black smoke poured through the space under it, roiling along the floor of their bedroom in an oily flood and disappearing into the floor air vent.
Dean was up and out of the bed in an instant, gun in his hand and across the room. “Stay there,” Dean ordered as he opened the door.
Sam ignored him of course and peeked over Dean’s shoulder, his knife raised just in case at their empty hallway. Empty except for a bloody shovel and the completely still body of something that looked exactly like their father.
“Is it dead?” Sam whispered.
Dean knelt down beside the thing and checked for a pulse. “I guess so, yeah.”
“Is it just Dad now?” Sam asked, hating how the words sounded so final.
“Yeah, that’s what Bobby told me. He said the thing had probably already killed Dad and was just wearing him like a suit of meat.”
Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Dean, that he’s gone.”
“He was gone for a long time already, Sammy. And it’s nothing for you to be sorry about. Dad chased that demon until he found him, and now we’ve all sent it back to Hell where it belongs.” Dean stood up and pulled Sam into a hug, they both shivered at the coolness of the night air against their bare skin.
Sam let himself melt into Dean’s arms but then stepped away from him, intent on getting Dean to understand. “What it said about me though, Dean, it’s my fault. It wanted me to lead a demon army, and what the hell was that thing I first did when he told me that? I have no idea how I did that!”
“Calm down, it had to be the psychic thing we’ve got going on, right? I mean we kept the thing on the other side of the door together. It’s not just you is what I’m saying here, okay? And you heard Dad was fighting it from inside. We all did it together, you, me and Dad too.”
“Do you think we still need to leave?” Sam asked.
“I…I’m not sure, Sammy. I mean, demon army implies there’s more than one of these things around, right? And they’d be upset with us for sending one of them back to Hell. Maybe it’s better if we get out of here for a while until Bobby figures some of this stuff out.”
“Can we go visit him?” Sam asked, hating how he sounded like he was five years old agin, begging to go visit Unca Bobby.
Dean nodded and began pulling on his clothes. Sam watched Dean closely for signs of a breakdown, but he’d slipped into competence-mode to avoid dealing with any emotions. That’s how they’d been trained, and there would be time for grieving once they were somewhere safer. Or maybe never.
While Sam got dressed Dean dragged the body of their father into the bathroom, heaved it into the tub and covered it up with the shower curtain. Dean stood there, unmoving, staring at the body until Sam tugged at his elbow, gently pulling him out of the bathroom. Sam grabbed their bathroom kits, turned the light off and shut the bathroom door trying not to think about how wrong it was to leave him there, dead in the bathtub. He began packing his duffel bag with the bare necessities, leaving his school books behind was a lot easier when he remembered what could possibly be coming for them. Within fifteen minutes they were out the door and taking off in the Impala.
Dean still hadn’t said anything as they neared Sacramento, the car was too quiet without any music on and the feelings coming off of him in waves were so jumbled it made Sam grind his teeth with frustration. “Dean?”
Dean scowled and nodded.
“You’re not blaming yourself for Dad, right?”
Dean rolled his eyes and shrugged.
“If it wasn’t my fault, it sure as hell wasn’t yours,” Sam said, crossing his arms and glaring at the side of Dean’s face.
Dean didn’t say anything, but Sam could see his face soften slightly, the feelings coming off of him changed to a constant deep sadness. He pulled off to a gas station soon afterwards, silently going through the motions of filling up the Impala on auto-pilot. Sam bought them some road snacks and walked back, stopping when he saw Dean leaning against the car and staring up at the almost dawn sky. There were shiny tracks of tears running down his brother’s face. Sam set the bag of snacks down on the hood and pulled Dean into his body. Dean wiped his face against Sam’s shirt and actually let Sam hold him. That was a whole lot more than Sam had expected.
“We’re going to be okay, Dean, as long as we stick together,” Sam said, believing down to his core that he was right, that it was the key thing that they had to not fly apart into a million pieces here under the buzzing sodium lights of the gas station parking lot.
Dean looked up at him, eyes still filled with tears and nodded. He wrapped his arms around Sam’s shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss that was both an agreement and a promise. That was all Sam had ever needed.
****
The small student housing apartment they ended up living in on the Stanford campus wasn’t really big enough for two men of their size. The place was really meant to be used by married students, i.e., couples, so there was only one bedroom with one bed. They had to wrangle campus housing to replace the queen-sized bed with two twins. The workers who came in to switch the beds out gave them all kinds of speculative looks that set Dean’s teeth to grinding. Sam tried to laugh it off, but tucked that funny expression on Dean’s face away to examine later.
Sam immersed himself into the new world of college, spending most of his time studying or going to extra classes. Dean found several jobs that kept him busy, working part-time at a classic car shop, bar tending late on the weeknights and occasional gigs with a moving company on weekends. With the housing subsidy from Sam’s scholarship they had more luxury and stability than they’d had in their whole lives. It made Sam feel so good that Dean wasn’t giving up his food to keep him fed. It was the little things.
A few friends found their way into Sam’s new life, a pre-med student named Brady, and an art major named Jess, both tall and blond and beautiful. Sam had several classes with each of them and ended up being study buddies with them both, which turned into an alternating casual friends with benefits thing. Sam tried to only have them over when Dean was out at his bar tending job, but sometimes Dean would come home early and he would have to spend the night out on the couch.
“Should have kept that queen size after all, huh, Sammy?” Dean teased one Sunday morning over his plate of pancakes, eyes flashing with something Sam couldn’t place for a while.
Sam just concentrated on finishing his own pancakes and didn’t say anything. He dreamed about it though, that expression of Dean’s, slowly he came to realize it was the look Dean had given him on that hike, back when they’d first talked about the whole college thing. At the time, Sam had been so focused on Dean’s physical proximity, he’d missed it, the extra softness in Dean’s eyes, that deeply hidden vulnerability. He stopped having sex with both Brady and Jess once he realized it was bothering Dean. It didn’t feel right to do that in their home or anywhere else really.
After giving up that physical connection with his friends, whenever Dean came home covered in the scent of perfume Sam tried his best to hold back his reaction, his brother deserved some joy after all. But it was maddening, the jealous beast inside of him growled mine and Sam had to feed it with as many Dean hugs as he could risk without making his brother worry. He did notice that Dean didn’t do it very often any more, and postponed asking him about it until he could get his jealousy under control.
Sam’s dreams became dark and fiery soon after he turned twenty-one, night after night he woke up gasping for breath, coughing out black smoke that wasn’t really there. Someone was on fire, on his ceiling, just like mom. He didn’t say anything when Dean asked him about his nightmares, not knowing what to say that wouldn’t worry him even more. They didn’t feel like just dreams, but he didn’t know how to explain that even to himself.
It got harder and harder for Sam to concentrate on school when the nightmares came every night, increasing in their intensity. It felt cumulative somehow, all of the images locked together solidly into a horrific story, a fate that he couldn’t escape. Out of desperation, Sam got drunk one night, hoping to be able to get a dreamless night of sleep. Dean wasn’t home yet from his bar tending job, so with no one to stop him, Sam quickly polished off the rest of the bottle of whisky that they kept in the house more out of habit than anything else.
He didn’t remember anything until he abruptly woke up, too hot, soaked in sweat, wrapped up tight, contracted, contained in someone’s arms. A sound finally got through to his drunken brain, a familiar tone, soothing, along with the familiar weight of his brother’s hands in his hair and on his back. Dean was home, he was taking care of him. Loving him, like he always always had. He felt so safe, He knew Dean could keep him safe from anything, the fire from his dreams, their father with his horrible yellow eyes. The blood, there was so much blood on the shovel.
“Sssh, Sammy, c’mon, you’re okay. Don’t think about all that stuff, I’m right here, I’ve got you, I’ve always got you,” Dean said in a soft, croon that made his insides happier than they had any right to be. That shriveled black twist of his heart soaked it up like a dry sponge.
“Mine, Dean, all mine,” Sam mumbled into the hot skin of his brother’s neck, clutching at his shoulders, holding him closer than he usually dared.
“Yeah, Sammy, yeah I know,” Dean soothed.
It got through to Sam that Dean hadn’t questioned it, or protested, just accepted the word mine as how it was between them. “I mean it, Dean. ’s not jus’ ‘cause ‘m drunk,” Sam slurred, wishing more than anything that he wasn’t.
Dean didn’t say anything, but he didn’t move away or let go of Sam, just held him tightly and kept murmuring those soothing nonsense words that had always worked like a charm. Sam fell back into the dreamless sleep he’d been chasing.
In the morning he woke up before Dean, immediately aware of how very hard he was and how closely tangled together they were in his twin bed. No, they were in Dean’s bed, because the Zeppelin poster was over his head. Why were they there? Oh god. He remembered it all in a rush, drinking all of that whisky, collapsing into Dean’s bed because he’d missed him so much. At least he could smell him on his bedding, and then Dean had come home and he’d held him all night long. Sam realized that he’d slept all night, without waking up from a nightmare. But it had come at a cost, how was he going to ever going to explain what he’d said last night?
“Mornin’ sunshine, your brain woke me up,” Dean grumbled.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Sam apologized, not thinking about what Dean had just said.
Dean gathered him in closer to his whole body, wrapping him up tightly again. “Go back to sleep, Sammy. Not time for pancakes yet.”
Sam felt it then, Dean was hard against him, they had slotted together perfectly and the small motion of friction made him groan before he could stop himself. He could feel Dean smile against the top of his head and then gasped in surprise when Dean pulsed his hips up in a gentle motion that felt even better than he’d imagined. He grabbed at Dean’s hips and pulled them in closer, pressing them together so Dean couldn’t mistake how much he wanted this.
They rocked together for a while, Dean’s hands moving up and down Sam’s back, tangling in his hair. Dean sped up the small thrusts of his hips, making noises that Sam wanted to keep forever. He felt the touch of Dean’s soft lips against his neck, then moving against his ear in a whisper that blew his world apart. “Mine, Sammy, mine.”
Coming down from the high of it, from having finally had what he’d always imagined, Sam wasn’t sure what to say or how to act. Shouldn’t Dean be freaking out or worse? Dean chuckled and kept hold of him.
“Guess I should have gotten that drunk a long time ago, huh?” Sam finally asked, Dean didn’t say anything, so Sam had to check. “You really okay with this?”
“I am. It’s been a long time coming,” Dean said.
“But, everything will change, what if-” Sam asked, sputtering when Dean interrupted him with a kiss that did change everything, almost instantly, more than getting off together had. The feel of Dean’s lips and tongue devouring his own finally satisfying the black twist of his heart.
Dean sighed into his mouth, “We’ll figure it out, just like we always do.”
****
Later that night, Sam remembered that he had promised Jess that he’d come over to her place to study for their Medieval History mid-term, and even though he didn’t want to go anywhere without Dean, not after the perfect morning and day they’d just spent together, he forced himself to go. When he got to her apartment, he heard the shower running, but she’d left him a plate of his favorite cookies. He laid down on her bed to wait and shut his eyes, replaying that morning in bed with Dean, only opening them when something wet hit his forehead. He opened his eyes, knowing already what he would see above him. He was in the worst of his dreams, Jessica was pinned to the ceiling, mouth frozen open in a silent scream, with a burst of sudden flames all around her. He’d only ever seen this part though, he’d never seen what happened next, what the hell was he even supposed to do? But then Dean was there, pulling him off the bed, out of the burning room and down the stairs.
After the paramedics and the firefighters and the police finally were done with them, Dean bundled Sam up into the Impala, getting them going back towards home.
“How, Dean, how did you know to be there tonight?” Sam asked, curled up against Dean in the Impala’s front seat.
Dean took one hand off the steering wheel and put his arm around Sam. “I just did, Sam, it’s a thing.”
Sam struggled out of Dean’s hold and sat up, leaning against the passenger side door. “It’s a thing? Wait, you have, what, some psychic super power you’ve never bothered to tell me about?”
“Yeah, it’s not much, seems to just work on you mostly,” Dean said with one of those infuriating shrugs.
“You’ve got to be kidding me right now. My friend just burned up on the ceiling, exactly like in my possibly psychic dreams, just like mom did and now you’re telling me you somehow knew ahead of time!” Sam yelled, feeling like he was losing what was left of his sanity with every passing second.
Dean winced at the noise. “I didn’t know about like you did, not ahead of time. But I knew you were in trouble. So I came for you, end of story.”
“You can read my thoughts?” Sam asked, forcing himself to try to maintain some calmness so Dean wouldn’t clam up.
“Not always, just when you’re yelling them at me,” Dean said, steering them into the driveway of their apartment building.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Sam asked, surprised at how hurt he felt at this revelation. He thought they knew pretty much everything about each other by now, but apparently not.
Dean parked in their designated spot and shut off the engine. He twirled the keys around his fingers for a long moment. “What was I supposed to say? It’s not like we learned having psychic anything was ever a good thing, right?” Dean said, doing that answer with a question thing Sam hated.
“You mean you were worried what Dad would have done about it,” Sam said, imagining how bad it could have gone for Dean if Dad had known. Dad had hated psychics almost as much as witches. And yeah, he was thinking about Dad in the past tense, because, as far as they knew he was gone.
“Yeah, it was mostly that, but it was more that I didn’t want you to feel like, uh, like I was prying or something,” Dean said, holding the back of his neck in that gesture of hesitation he always used when he was spilling a long-held secret.
“What do you think it means, that I dreamt something that just happened, and you have some kind of psychic power too?”
“Not sure, but I have a feeling it has something to with what happened with Dad, probably Mom too.”
Sam gasped, because they’d never spoken about it, not in all these years. But here, in the safe insulated space of their car it seemed like it was finally the right time. “That mean we have to leave now? Like we did before when we ran?”
“Maybe, we have to be ready for that. But I want to go back to Jessica’s place tomorrow and look around before we do anything,” Dean said.
“But if it’s back, and it killed Jess, shouldn’t we already be gone?” Sam asked, heart contracting at the loss of his friend and the fear that ran through him at the thought of whatever had killed her being after them now.
“No, you’re going to talk to your professors about skipping classes for like at least a week so you can recover and we’ll decide after I’ve checked her place out.”
Dean opened his door and got out, slamming it behind him, decision made, that’s final. Sam sighed and got out on his side. Dean helped him out of the car, supporting him like he was an invalid. It felt nice though, to have Dean’s hands on him so he didn’t protest.
“Should we call Bobby?” Sam asked as they shut their apartment door behind them.
The phone rang then, which made both of them jump, the shock of the abrupt noise like a bucket of cold water. Dean answered and picked up the salt canister to refresh the line at the doorstep.
Sam let himself into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He splashed cold water on his face and tried not to look at himself in the mirror. He undressed and took the hottest shower he could stand, washing his hair three times to get the smell of smoke out of it. He tried not to think about it-how the smoke was the last of his friend, a horrible reminder of how she’d died, and he’d never tried to warn her. He’d failed her, he should have done something. His tears washed away in the warm water and the next thing he knew he was being wrapped up in one of their bath sheets, Dean holding him as he sobbed into his brother’s shoulder.
Dean tucked him into his own bed, covers pulled up under Sam’s chin, his hand in Sam’s wet hair. “It’s gonna be okay, Sammy.”
His brother moved like he was about to leave, but Sam whispered, “Stay, please.”
Dean shrugged out of his jacket, and kicked off his boots, slipped his jeans and shirts off and crawled under the covers with Sam. Dean smelled smoky but mostly he just smelled like Dean and it was enough for right then. Home, safe, mine were the words and feelings that Sam fell asleep to, running through his mind and heart on a constant loop, either his mind or Dean’s he didn’t know or care.
Sam woke up a few hours later, surprised to see it was almost two in the morning, but he didn’t care what time it was. All he knew was that he had his brother nearly naked in his bed, in his arms and all that bare skin brushing against his own was driving him wild. He felt a wave of guilt about the loss of his friend and felt the tears threaten to return, but they were stopped by the feeling of Dean’s lips on his.
They kissed wild and passionate, then slow and steady, Dean slipping in words between their lips about how he had been so scared that he’d almost lost Sam that night. Sam reassuring him with hands and teeth and tongue. The moonlight came through their window and lit up their caresses with a soft light that reminded Sam of both the moonlight over the wheat fields and how it had shined over their trailer in Sonora.
Sam could feel his brother was as hard as he was, digging into his belly, he suddenly felt so empty inside. It wasn’t the black twisted part of his heart, that was all gone now, already transformed into the soft place where Dean belonged. “Want you inside me, Dean, need you there.”
Dean groaned and grabbed at himself, his hips bucking against Sam’s. “You can’t just say stuff like that, Sammy, god.”
“Please,” Sam moaned, rubbing his whole body against Dean’s, shamelessly soaking up the feeling of the shivers running through his brother’s body.
Dean pulled away from him then, digging in the drawer of the small table that was between their beds. Sam made complaining noises at the loss of contact and tried to pull him back under the covers.
Dean batted his hand away with a laugh. “Hold your damn horses.”
Sam writhed against Dean feeling unhinged with how much need was sweeping through him, he had never felt anything like this. And when Dean pressed a lube-wet finger into him, he felt himself come apart, all that space left inside him, empty, waiting for Dean to fill it. All this time he’d waited and wanted and he hadn’t known what it was and now that he felt his brother entering him, taking up all the space and air it was almost too much. He felt something between them shift as Dean rested inside him, waiting. The bond that they shared glowed in his mind and he could still see a reflection of it when he opened his eyes and looked up into Dean’s.
Dean’s face was transformed by the moonlight, unfamiliar and beautiful, coated in the softest dusting of light. Sam stroked one hand down Dean’s cheek as if he could feel the light, but it was just the soft skin of his brother’s face. That familiar, loved face became something even more.
“Can you feel it, Dean?” Sam asked, surprised that he was able to manage even those words.
Dean reached out and touched Sam’s cheek in the same way and nodded. “It’s like I can see your feelings or something.”
Sam felt his feelings harder at him, sending a wave of love and desire, all of it unchecked, nothing held back, there wasn’t any reason left, Dean needed to know what he meant. Everything.
Dean’s eyes widened as the wave of feelings hit him, he seemed to breathe it all in at once, holding still inside Sam. Then his face changed from questioning to acceptance then joy. Sam could feel it, see it coming back at him, amplified. Everything.
“Dean, you’re finally inside me, after all this waiting, I can’t wait any more.”
Dean planted his hands on either side of Sam’s head and thrust into him slowly, drawing out and pressing back in. Sam gasped with the feeling of stretching, overwhelmed with how much pain and pleasure there was all at once. He moved his hips in time with Dean’s thrusts, gasping at how good it was. Dean’s eyes never left his, and the steady stream of feelings coming through their bond was all tinged with desire and love, a heady mixture that sent Sam spiraling over the edge.
Sam came back to himself when Dean was cleaning him up with a warm washcloth. “You back with me, Sammy?”
He nodded, not able to speak, hoping that Dean could still see the feelings between them.
Dean slid back under the covers and wrapped him up in his arms. Sam laid his head over Dean’s heart and listened to it slow to match his own. They breathed in the silence, reveling in the feeling of perfect union. All those years, they had denied themselves the bond and attraction that had always been there between them, never letting themselves take each other apart as they’d wanted to, but finally they had. It was just them, together, they finally had everything.
And that’s when their dad walked in, the horribly familiar shovel over his shoulder. It had been four years since they’d seen those yellow eyes that were now flashing from the darkness of their bedroom doorway.
“Hey, Dean-o, if you’re finally done plowing the munchkin, we need to have ourselves a little chat,” the John-thing said, tapping the sharp edge of the shovel on the doorframe.
Dean sat up and managed to hide most of Sam behind him. Sam wormed one hand into Dean’s wrapping their fingers together and squeezing tightly. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Your dear old dad of course!” The John-thing chortled with unhinged glee, tapping the shovel again.
“I don’t know what you are, but you are not our father,” Sam said in a growl over Dean’s shoulder.
“Of course I’m not, Sammy, and you’d be the one to know better. I’m the one that sent you all those dreams about pretty little Jess burning on the ceiling. But Dean-O, you screwed it all up, roasting Jess was supposed to push our Sammy boy here off the beam. Damn if you weren’t there to catch him, boy! Hey, it worked with John back when I torched your mom.”
“What the hell do you want?” Dean asked, edge of steel in his voice. Sam sent his feelings of support into their bond, hoping it would help.
“Hell…hah! Funny that you mention it, Sam here’s got a big job to do for me in Hell. He’s going to lead my army, we demon-kind are going to get this shit-hole of a world ready for our Lord Lucifer’s return.”
“No, I Am Not!” Sam yelled across the room, his words pushed out of him in a focused blast of power he didn’t know he had. All he knew was that it was wrapped up and amplified with his bond with Dean. The power flowed out of the place inside him that had formerly been black and twisted, but was now filled up with Dean. It was a limitless source, powered by the love and bond between them. It was just what they needed, it was everything.
The thing wearing their father stumbled back as the force hit him. “I think I’ve got him, boys, say the words Bobby gave you,” their father said as the door slammed closed in his surprised face.
They heard the sounds of a struggle in the hall, their father’s body slammed into the door a few times, a cut-off shout that sounded a lot like he was in pain. “Hurry boys-!” Then the shovel began pounding at the door, battering at the handle but it couldn’t get through. Somehow, together with their bond and their father struggling from inside himself they were holding it back.
“It’s a demon, Sammy. That’s what Bobby said on the phone, he gave me an exorcism for us to say, if we do it right, it’ll send the thing back to Hell.” Dean quickly switched the bedside lamp on, grabbing up a piece of scrap paper with his neat scrawl and held it up for Sam to read.
In unison they read the unfamiliar latin words, voices twining together and becoming something else, something more. Becoming everything.
As they finished the exorcism, the pounding of the shovel stopped abruptly and crashed to the floor. A bright orange glare briefly flared under the door, black smoke poured through the space under it, roiling along the floor of their bedroom in an oily flood and disappearing into the floor air vent.
Dean was up and out of the bed in an instant, gun in his hand and across the room. “Stay there,” Dean ordered as he opened the door.
Sam ignored him of course and peeked over Dean’s shoulder, his knife raised just in case at their empty hallway. Empty except for a bloody shovel and the completely still body of something that looked exactly like their father.
“Is it dead?” Sam whispered.
Dean knelt down beside the thing and checked for a pulse. “I guess so, yeah.”
“Is it just Dad now?” Sam asked, hating how the words sounded so final.
“Yeah, that’s what Bobby told me. He said the thing had probably already killed Dad and was just wearing him like a suit of meat.”
Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Dean, that he’s gone.”
“He was gone for a long time already, Sammy. And it’s nothing for you to be sorry about. Dad chased that demon until he found him, and now we’ve all sent it back to Hell where it belongs.” Dean stood up and pulled Sam into a hug, they both shivered at the coolness of the night air against their bare skin.
Sam let himself melt into Dean’s arms but then stepped away from him, intent on getting Dean to understand. “What it said about me though, Dean, it’s my fault. It wanted me to lead a demon army, and what the hell was that thing I first did when he told me that? I have no idea how I did that!”
“Calm down, it had to be the psychic thing we’ve got going on, right? I mean we kept the thing on the other side of the door together. It’s not just you is what I’m saying here, okay? And you heard Dad was fighting it from inside. We all did it together, you, me and Dad too.”
“Do you think we still need to leave?” Sam asked.
“I…I’m not sure, Sammy. I mean, demon army implies there’s more than one of these things around, right? And they’d be upset with us for sending one of them back to Hell. Maybe it’s better if we get out of here for a while until Bobby figures some of this stuff out.”
“Can we go visit him?” Sam asked, hating how he sounded like he was five years old agin, begging to go visit Unca Bobby.
Dean nodded and began pulling on his clothes. Sam watched Dean closely for signs of a breakdown, but he’d slipped into competence-mode to avoid dealing with any emotions. That’s how they’d been trained, and there would be time for grieving once they were somewhere safer. Or maybe never.
While Sam got dressed Dean dragged the body of their father into the bathroom, heaved it into the tub and covered it up with the shower curtain. Dean stood there, unmoving, staring at the body until Sam tugged at his elbow, gently pulling him out of the bathroom. Sam grabbed their bathroom kits, turned the light off and shut the bathroom door trying not to think about how wrong it was to leave him there, dead in the bathtub. He began packing his duffel bag with the bare necessities, leaving his school books behind was a lot easier when he remembered what could possibly be coming for them. Within fifteen minutes they were out the door and taking off in the Impala.
Dean still hadn’t said anything as they neared Sacramento, the car was too quiet without any music on and the feelings coming off of him in waves were so jumbled it made Sam grind his teeth with frustration. “Dean?”
Dean scowled and nodded.
“You’re not blaming yourself for Dad, right?”
Dean rolled his eyes and shrugged.
“If it wasn’t my fault, it sure as hell wasn’t yours,” Sam said, crossing his arms and glaring at the side of Dean’s face.
Dean didn’t say anything, but Sam could see his face soften slightly, the feelings coming off of him changed to a constant deep sadness. He pulled off to a gas station soon afterwards, silently going through the motions of filling up the Impala on auto-pilot. Sam bought them some road snacks and walked back, stopping when he saw Dean leaning against the car and staring up at the almost dawn sky. There were shiny tracks of tears running down his brother’s face. Sam set the bag of snacks down on the hood and pulled Dean into his body. Dean wiped his face against Sam’s shirt and actually let Sam hold him. That was a whole lot more than Sam had expected.
“We’re going to be okay, Dean, as long as we stick together,” Sam said, believing down to his core that he was right, that it was the key thing that they had to not fly apart into a million pieces here under the buzzing sodium lights of the gas station parking lot.
Dean looked up at him, eyes still filled with tears and nodded. He wrapped his arms around Sam’s shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss that was both an agreement and a promise. That was all Sam had ever needed.