Hearts and Flowers 2/2
Title: Hearts and Flowers
Artist: Merakieross
Author: Tifaching
Characters: Sam, Dean, OFC, OMCs
Rating: N/C 17
Word count:
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Summary: Dean stumbles across a case that spans generations in an old men of letters journal that leads to an evil Reverend in a time traveling church.
A/N: Written for spn_reversebang and Merakieross' fabulous art! Thank you so much to the mods for giving me time after I accidently deleted half my story on the day I was supposed to post. I felt like such an idiot. Thank you! And Thank you so much to the fabulous creator of this art! Everyone should go give their gorgeous, sexy pics lots of love. I was hoping to post earlier today (yesterday, now)but some last minute porn demanded to be part of it, lol. I hope you enjoy!
Art post: https://merakieross.livejournal.com/16082.html
The room is large and airy, the beds covered with brightly patterned spreads and sporting thick, fluffy pillows. A small kitchenette hides in an alcove along the outside wall and the bathroom, well, Dean approves. The shower isn’t huge, just a glass enclosed stall, but it’s just the right size for what he’s in the mood for. And there’s a tub. He runs his hand along the squeaky clean porcelain and fingers the whirlpool jets protruding from the sides. It’s big enough for both him and Sam and oh, yes, he’s got plans.
“Sammy, come check this out.” Dean drags his brother into the bathroom.
Sam lets out a low whistle at the sight of the tub. He opens the door to the shower to peer inside and turns to Dean with a grin. “Yeah. This will work.”
“Hell, yeah.” Dean begins to strip off his shirt and Sam grabs him by the arm and drags him out of the bathroom.
“Not until after, Dean.”
“After what? Dinner? Because now works for me.”
“After we’re done with the church.”
“That’s not for two more days! Dude, it’s been nothing but handjobs for weeks…”
Sam bodies Dean against the wall and drops his head down to kiss him. “Something wrong with the handjobs?”
“No,” Dean murmurs when Sam moves lower to suck a bruise into his neck. “Nothing wrong at all. But..”
“But nothing,” Sam says, gripping Dean’s face in his hands. “Don’t worry, Dean. The shower’s going to be put to good use. After.”
“After,” Dean sighs. Sam just smiles, hot and bright. “Yeah, I can wait for that.
“Good,” Sam says, stepping back. “Let’s eat.”
*
The library is on a quiet side street halfway through town. Dean pulls the Impala up to the curb and parks her, staring like Sam is, at the warding sigils on every door, telephone pole and fencepost in sight.
“We’re going to have to get some of those down if we’re going to trap those things,” Sam says, biting his lip.”
“We’re going to have to find someplace to trap them in, too. I’m sure this Mandy person has maps of the town in her library.”
The library is empty except for a woman standing by the reception desk. She’s in her late forties as far as Dean can tell, dark hair shot through with gray. Her hands are clasped in front of her, white knuckled and her gaze darts between them and a table neatly stacked with papers and books.
“Mandy?” Sam steps forward and offers his hand. “I’m Sam and this is my brother, Dean.”
Dean gives the woman a nod as she grips Sam’s hand. “Nice little town you’ve got here.”
“Thank you,” she says with a small smile. “We’d really like to keep it that way.
“We’re here to help with that however we can.”
“Are you really men of letters?” She sweeps her gaze over each of them in turn. “James said…but we’d given up expecting you. It’s been over sixty years since we heard anything.”
“We really are men of letters.” Sam gives her his most reassuring look as he heads for the paper covered table. Deciding not to tell her why the letters had stopped coming is definitely the way to go. “And we’re also hunters. So we’re doubly good at getting rid of things like your haunted church monsters.”
“Things,” Mandy repeats in a tone that’s not at all up for finding out what those things might be right now. “Okay. We’ve prepared as well as we can. The wards are done. We set up the school bus garage at the end of Market Street to try and trap them. It’s at the edge of town and there aren’t any houses around it. We’ve got axes and chainsaws cached away there. But, everything after getting them there, it’s just… Some of us took self defense classes but I don’t know if we can…” Her voice breaks and Dean puts a hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t worry. We’ll take care of chopping things into little pieces and filleting the hearts out. You just point us in the right direction and we’ll do the rest.” His smile isn’t as reassuring as Sam’s but he gives it his best effort.
“Well,” Mandy shrugs a little and her lip twists up at the corner. “We actually had the hearts covered if we somehow managed to do the chopping. John and Sarah Romano, two of the top trauma surgeons at Johns Hopkins, retired here about ten years ago. They’re huge history buffs and really into haunting lore. They’re all in, scalpels, rib spreaders, the works, to get the hearts out. If, you know, we can kill them at all. And they have ribs. And hearts. Can you kill things that aren’t really alive?”
“You can sure put them out of commission. And, man, that’s good news about your doctors. I don’t mind sharing the carnage in this case. Anything that makes this go quicker and easier is fine by me.” Dean picks up a diary from the table and leafs through it. “You guys did great with the warding sigils too. I mean, they’re everywhere. How did you get every single person in town to put them on their door?”
Mandy finally smiles back. “Got the town council to pass an ordinance to beautify the town. There was some pushback, but eventually the fines for non-compliance got everyone in line. Tom Martins and his brothers made the iron frames. They’re direct descendents of Prudence Blackwell, the first woman to be murdered by Reverend Platt and they still do metal work in town. No one was going to hang just the frames on their doors so we made the flowers a group project. The kids got extra credit for plaiting them onto the frames after school. It took years, but it’s not like we didn’t know exactly when we’d be needing them.”
Sam hands the final letter to Dean who begins to read. I’ve broken a dozen rules corresponding with you like this. My order frowns on making our knowledge public. But one hundred years is a long time and no one can foresee the future, so I am ensuring your town has can at the very least attempt to protect itself should we be unable to. Hopefully the next generations of my family and yours can work together to end your nightmare. Sincerely, J.H. Winchester. Dean grins at Sam. “Henry’s dad? Winchesters, saving people, hunting things and breaking rules. The family business goes way back.”
Mandy looks at them in confusion. “You knew Jonathon’s son?”
“Briefly,” Sam says. “He was our grandfather. Sam and Dean Winchester, at your service.”
“Next generations,” Mandy says, letting out a shaky breath. “Let’s pray we can pull this off.”
“Well,” Dean says with a shrug, “none of it’s been tried but the brains behind the theories were first rate students of the supernatural and ‘figure things out as you go’ is straight out of the modern Winchester operational handbook.”
“There isn’t anything in these letters that wasn’t in the journals back at the bunker.” Sam takes the letter back from Dean and gently places it back on the pile. “Can we have copies of these?”
“Of course.” The letters go carefully back in a lined envelope and the journals in a wooden box before being placed in a drawer in a large oaken filing cabinet. “After tomorrow. It’ll be like a talisman. We’ll meet back here after we win and you can have them.”
“You’ve got a deal,” Sam says, and they shake on it.
*
The school bus garage is only a few blocks away and Mandy leads them through the warm sunshine down the sidewalk. The wards disappear from sight after they make the turn onto Market Street and Sam nods approvingly. Once they get into town it’s the only place the creatures can go. Empty lots and storage buildings line the pavement. There aren’t many people left in Keller but it’s unlikely any will accidently wander into the action in this part of town.
“You all did good work here,” he says. “Getting people to believe something bad is going to happen isn’t easy.”
“Well, I need to thank my grandma for that. She convinced me to believe. And a few other grandmas and grampas in town got their grandkids believing too. We few were enough to get the ball rolling. Though I’ve got to say, I hope tomorrow comes and goes and nothing happens at all.” She looks at them and sighs. “Do you think that’s possible?”
“Anything’s possible.” Sam shoots a look at his brother. “But preparing for the worst is usually the best bet.”
The garage comes into sight as they round a corner. The area around it is clear except for a bus parked about fifty feet away, bright red flowers on iron bars decorating the doors.
“For us to retreat to if we couldn’t fight them,” Mandy says, shrugging slightly. “Which is the outcome we pretty much expect. At least they can’t get to us and would have to go back empty handed. If the wards actually work, that is.”
“The men of letters did not steer you wrong with the wards,” Sam says, walking over to peer inside the warehouse. It’s a wide open space and he raises an eyebrow at the axes and chainsaws hanging from sigil covered walls. “They’re powerful and they will work. That’s a lot of weapons, though. Might be a bit much for just the two of us and we don’t want the bad guys grabbing any.
“We’re more machete guys anyway.” Dean wanders into the garage and pulls a chainsaw off the wall. “How are we going to make sure they even come this way? I mean, there’s nowhere else they can get to, but they might just decide to wander back out of town.”
“Well, I’ll be here,” Mandy says, grimly. “And Sarah will be here. And a few other women from the town. Bait, you know. But since we won’t have to stay in the building to fight, we’ll be right out the back door and onto the bus.”
“Discretion being the better part of valor and all,” Dean says with a laugh and Sam and Mandy join in.
“Exactly,” she says, before rubbing a hand across her eyes and letting out a shuddering breath. “You don’t have any idea how happy I am you two showed up.”
“We get that a lot,” Dean says waggling his eyebrows.
Mandy just shakes her head and pulls out her cell phone. “I’m going to call some people and get the weapons cleared out. Can you make it back to the library?
Sam nods and takes Mandy’s number. “We’re going to head back to the motel for some sleep and then we’ll stake out the church grounds. When things get popping we’ll call you.”
“We’ll be ready.”
*
It’s dark in the hour before dawn, fall’s warmth switching to chill overnight. Dean upends the thermos to drain the last bit of coffee into his cup. “Why can’t these things ever happen at high noon,” he grumbles, and Sam side eyes him.
“According to the journal, it appeared at nine thirty-six a.m. last time. You’re the one who wanted to sit here all night to make sure it didn’t pop in early.”
“Can’t be too careful, Sammy. All we need is for it to show up while we’re sacked out back at the hotel. We’ve only got a day to deal with whatever comes out to play.”
“If that,” Sam says, staring out the window. “if they grab their quota they could blink out any time.”
“Quota.” Dean lets out a muffled growl. “Nope. They’re not getting anything this time. Walking right into a trap if they get by us.”
“The plan is to let them get by us, remember.”
“Yeah, yeah. Lure them into the warded area, close them in and forty whacks.” Dean makes a chopping motion with his hand and Sam snorts.
“Grab the hearts, do the spell, send that psycho priest to hell.”
“Huh,” Dean says with a laugh. “Maybe we should use that instead of the Men of Letters mumbo jumbo. It even rhymes.”
“Probably should stick with the spell we’ve got, Dean.”
“Yeah, like we’re sure that one works and all. Hey, you think this thing makes noise when it comes in for a landing? You know, like the Tardis?”
“Nope,” says Sam staring out the window where the church has appeared, dark shadows painting the walls in the rising sun.
“Son of a bitch.” Dean grabs the EMF detector and it begins wailing and spitting like the whole graveyard has erupted with spirits. “See anything moving?”
“No.” Sam’s head swivels around. “Probably coming from the church.”
Dean slowly opens the door and gets out, shotgun in one hand and the detector in the other. He circles through the graveyard shaking his head at Sam. When he nears the church the screeching begins again. The windows are dark, the doors wooden and ominous in their heavily carved wood.
“Probably not a good idea to go inside, huh?” Sam comes up beside his brother, his own shotgun in his hand.
“You think?” Dean slaps Sam across the chest with the back of his hand. “all we need is for it to take off unexpectedly and we’re skeletons in some weirdo dimension and building of the damned here is back in this spot in a hundred years.”
“Hey.” Sam raises his gun as the door creaks open. There’s a man in the doorway, short and stocky, wearing a black frock coat and breeches. Thick grey hair falls to his shoulders and his eyes are dark shadows beneath his brows.
“Pastor Willie, I presume,” Dean says, his own gun trained on the man like Sam’s is. “You’ve been gone a long time. Why don’t you come on out and let us fill you in on what’s been happening while you were away.”
“Reverend Platt, if you please.” His gaze shifts to the guns and past Sam and Dean to the Impala, shining in the morning light. “And nothing would please me more than to join you on this fine morning. So many changes every time I return. But, alas, I cannot.”
“Alas”, Dean echoes. “I’ve got salt, Sammy. What do you have?”
“Silver,” Sam says. “And sanctified iron.”
“Guess it’s you, then.”
The shotgun roars as the rounds fly, but the man doesn’t flinch. The bullets bounce back as they reach the doorway and fall to the steps with a clatter. Salt rounds follow with the same result and Platt laughs.
“Your weapons will not work from out there. In my sanctuary I am immortal.”
“We’ve heard that one before.” Dean aims his most annoying smirk at the reverend. “You’re not more special than any other monster we’ve ended. Immortal is just a word, pal.”
Platt laughs. “My time away is not measured in years as you know them. I am old beyond measure.
“Are you older than angels?”
“Don’t blaspheme, young man.” Platt stares at Sam with narrowed eyes.
“That would be a no, then?” Sam laughs. “Sorry, we’re not impressed.
Platt’s face darkens, even in the shadows of the church and he gestures behind him. “There is still life in this cursed town, I can feel it. Perhaps you will be impressed when my servants bring me companions for the long nights ahead.
“Not happening, dude. Not this time.” Dean pops another set of shells into his shotgun and holds it ready.
The sun is up completely now and the doorway is bathed in light as the first creature exits. It’s followed by another and another until eight are spread out across the grass. The figures are tall and thin, pale faces with scars where their eyes and mouths should be. Small flaps in the middle of their faces flick open and closed as they appear to scent the air. Dean fires first as they head his way, with Sam following right after. The bullets don’t bounce off, but they seem to disappear into doughy flesh, leaving thin trails of red liquid running down the dingy white pants that are their only clothing. Sam swings at the creature nearest him and its head rocks back minutely before it backhands him into the side panel of the Impala.
“Okay,” Dean says, grabbing the arm that isn’t wrapped around Sam’s ribs and thrusting him into the car. “Time for plan B.”
“Plan A, Dean.” Sam turns to look behind them and Dean doesn’t miss the barely audible hiss through gritted teeth. “They’re following us. Slow down so we can be sure they don’t stray.” He punches Mandy’s number into his phone. “We’re heading in.”
“This road only leads to one place, Sam.” But Dean eases up on the accelerator until they all reach the outskirts of town then speeds the Impala to the warehouse. There’s a small group milling around nervously and Mandy makes hurried introductions.
“Show time,” Mandy says in a shaking voice as her phone rings. James is keeping watch from a warded house across from Market Street and his panicked voice is audible to all nearby.
“They’re here.”
Dean grabs a machete from the trunk for each hand. Sam’s already gripping an axe. They slip into the building and get out of sight, one on each side of the door. Mandy and Sarah enter with a few other women, all tightly gripping each other’s hands. They cross to the far door but stay in plain sight. Sarah checks the handle to make sure it will open and Dean gives her a thumbs up. A tremulous smile comes back his way, but only for a moment before her mouth opens in silent horror. The first creature crosses the doorway and when the screams begin the whole group crowds its way in. Warded metal doors bang closed behind them and Mandy wrenches open the back door and shoves the other women through before slamming it closed behind her.
“Hey, uh, fellas.” Dean sidesteps the first creature to come for him and neatly lops off its head. Sam’s holding the axe in both hands, but he’s slightly hunched to the right, ribs obviously re-injured since his collision with the Impala earlier. Dean automatically moves to that side to cover his flank. With his longer reach, Sam swings for the legs, sending one after another crashing to the floor while Dean moves in to behead them.
“Not so tough now, are you,” Sam says with a grunt as he hacks off the arm attached to the hand wrapped around his ankle. “Paint a few runes on the wall and lock the doors and you’re toast.”
Dean ducks and rolls as the last construct reaches for him, coming up to slash across the back of its knee. Sam’s there, swinging his axe with an audible groan, taking the head clean off and sending it bouncing across the concrete. Headless bodies lay strewn across the floor, those with intact limbs still struggling to get back up. Dean drops his machete by the door, grabs an axe off the wall and joins his brother in dismembering the creatures. The axes bite into not quite flesh as the brothers move through the carnage, adding to it until torsos, heads, and bits of arms and legs have all gone to their separate quarters.
“Mmmmrgh.” Dean sinks to his knees and rests his forehead against the axe handle.
“You okay?” Sam limps over and hovers, staring with worried eyes.
“I’m fine, dude. Just tweaked my shoulder a little. Man, I can’t wait to go soak in that tub back at the motel.
Sam snorts and rubs his side. “Man, I feel you. Got a few things left to do first, though.
“Yeah.” Dean pushes himself to his feet and turns in a slow circle, staring at the runes and sigils on the walls. “At least one of them worked to make these suckers choppable.”
Sam bangs the all clear on the door. “Let’s hope things go as well when we get back to the not so good reverend.”
The bolt slides back with an audible clang and the door swings open. Everyone except John and Sarah, already gloved and digging into their medical bags, goes pale at the sight that greets them.
Sam starts to go out to shepherd them away, then looks down at his gore spattered clothes and thinks better of it. “Uh, why don’t you all sit down over by the bus until we’re done here. You probably shouldn’t go home until this is completely over.”
They straggle back to the bus, collapsing on the grass beside it and leaning on the tires. Mandy disappears into the bus and returns with a case of bottled water. She leaves it by the bus but brings two bottles, to Sam. She extends them at arm’s length, runs a quick glance over his blood streaked clothes then stares past his left shoulder.
“I can’t believe they bleed,” she says, voice shaking. “They didn’t look real. I mean, like people.”
“Men like Reverend Platt can make horrible things real.” Sam tosses a bottle to Dean and twists the top off of his, taking a long swig. “Or, they might be a version of whatever people are where ever he goes when he’s away.”
“And unless he monologues while we’re exiling him permanently, we’ll probably never know.” Dean’s standing in the doorway, dividing his attention between his brother and the surgeons about to begin cutting. He pours half of his water over his head before chugging the rest down in a few gulps.
“Seems terrible to saddle even those creatures with him permanently.” She shivers as she looks from Sam to Dean..
“We don’t know what the spell will do or where it will send him. Hopefully it traps him in a big pile of nothing for the rest of eternity.”
“Hey, we’re ready to go in!” Sarah calls. Dean turns to go back inside, Sam trailing behind him. Mandy lingers in the doorway for a moment before beating a hasty retreat.
Sarah and John kneel on the blood soaked floor on either side of the closest torso. They’re wearing hip waders and rubber gloves cover their arms up to the elbows. Sarah holds a scalpel, ready to cut. She peers up at them through the hard plastic of her face shield.
“This isn’t really surgery,” Sam says. “More of an autopsy. Just get them out intact and we’ll take care of the rest.”
She nods and takes a deep breath before making a neat incision down the center of the chest and peeling back the thick spongy flesh. There are ribs of a sort underneath and John cuts through them with a small power saw, exposing the chest cavity. The heart is there, twitching muscle and red with blood. Sarah dissects it out neatly and holds it uncertainly.
“Where do you want me to put it?”
Dean runs out to the car and rummages through the trunk for the cooler before remembering it’s at the hotel. Swearing under his breath he empties out the weapons duffle and hauls it back into the garage.
“In here, I guess.”
“Really?” Sam shakes his head.
Dean just shrugs and holds out the bag so Sarah can drop the heart in it. They move to the next body, and then the next, until all eight hearts are in the bag. Sarah looks at the last empty chest cavity, rises slowly to her feet and runs outside to vomit. John follows more slowly and gathers her up to take her over to the bus and some water.
Sam grabs the bag, leaking blood from bottom and wraps it in plastic in the Impala’s trunk. Dean follows him with the axes they’d used. Sam eyes them but Dean just shrugs.
“You never know,” he says, grabbing the gas can from the trunk and soaking every body part in the building.
“Wait, you’re going to burn them?” Mandy looks at the concrete floor and walls. “Will the whole place go?”
“Won’t be a total loss,” Dean says, motioning her back from the door. “But these need to be burned and we don’t have time to take them somewhere else right now. We’ve got to get back to the church.”
“You all get out of here,” Sam says as Dean tosses a match into the garage and flames spread across the floor. “But stay together until we give you the all clear, understand?”
“C’mon,” Mandy says, herding the others in front of her. “We’ll all go back to the library and wait there.”
*
They park the Impala down the road a bit from the church and walk through the long grass among the gravestones to the church. Sam’s got the bag in his hand, dripping and heavy with plastic wrapped hammers and iron spikes along with the hearts. Each carries an axe, tips still red with blood, evidence for Reverend Platt that his monsters can be killed. Sam’s in pain, his hitched steps tell the tale and Dean puts his hand on his brother’s back to help him up the path.
Reverend Platt is still in the doorway, flickering light from inside the church casting his shadow on the steps. He’s staring toward the town and his mouth twists in anger when he sees Sam and Dean approaching and not his creatures.
“Hey, Reverend Willie!” Dean hoists his axe over his head and swings it around. “Guess whose blood this is?”
“Impossible,” the reverend shouts, raising his fists.
“Nothing’s impossible,” Sam says, unzipping the bag as they reach the church. He hands Dean a hammer and a handful of spikes before dropping the bag on the ground and pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “And now we’re going to make sure you never hurt anyone again either.”
Dean picks up a heart from the bag and hammers a spike through it into the side of the church. There’s a thrum in the air and the wall trembles slightly. Sam begins to read the spell, each word clear and loud and the walls tremble more.
“No,” the reverend cries from the doorway. “No, you will not do this.” He retreats into the church and a counter chant begins.
“He’s trying to make a break for it, Sam!” Dean moves further down the wall and slams another heart onto it. He moves around the corner, the hearts must be two on each side for the spell to work. He can’t see Sam now, but the words still ring out and the power in the air grows with every spike he hammers home. He covers the back and the other side of the church before all that is left is the front. The doors.
Sam catches his eye before he heads up the steps. “Hammer the last one home and get out quick.”
“Don’t worry, Sammy, I’m not going anywhere with this douchebag.” Dean darts up the stairs and gets a good view into the church. Reverend Platt is kneeling in the center of a pentagram, black candles guttering in a circle around him. He stares at Dean with manic eyes.
“You will not trap me.”
Dean stares right back as he nails the next to last heart to one door. He tosses the last one in the air and catches it before impaling it on the other door just as Sam finishes the spell. The quaking earth splits the stone stairs beneath him as he throws himself back to solid ground. Sam grabs him by the arm and drags him away from the building as it bursts into flames. The church shimmers behind the fire, seeming to expand and then contract until it explodes into countless tiny bits of light that shine for just a moment before shooting off in every direction possible before blinking out.
“Wow.” Dean blinks against the dots dancing on his retinas. “So, that did it, right?”
“Should. He’s in about a million pieces now and they all went in a different direction. I’d say he’s not going to be a problem again.
“Awesome.” Dean stares at his blood soaked hands. “Man, let’s get out of here.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Sam calls the library with the all clear and they head back to the hotel.
*
The hotel office is empty. James is staying in town for the night.
“Got the place to ourselves, Sammy,” Dean says, waggling his eyebrows. He stops at the door, running his fingers along the flower covered ward. “Hearts and flowers, bro. Works every time.”
Dean sheds his clothes as he crosses the room, not slowing down at all until he’s under the shower’s pounding spray. The water runs red as evidence of the day’s activities swirl down the drain. The heat’s soaking his muscles into relaxation and he shampoos his hair until the stiffness of blood is replaced by squeaky clean softness. He’s about to turn off the water and get out when the door clicks open behind him and Sam’s bulk crowds him against the wall. Sam’s still covered in gore, so Dean leans against the tiles and enjoys the show of Sam, slippery wet and soaped up.
“How’s the side,” he asks.
“A little sore.” Sam stretches his torso, one side to the other and Dean’s breath catches. “But I think it’ll be okay for what I’ve got in mind.”
Dean shivers as Sam grips his hips and turns him to face the wall. He spreads his legs but Sam’s foot nudges gently at his ankle until he’s out from under the direct line of the spray. The slick feel of his brother’s lubed fingers sliding down the crack in his ass to circle his hole makes him groan and Sam’s breath, hot on his neck makes his knees weak. Sam presses one finger inside and then another and Dean’s writhing as his brother works him open.
“Feel good?” Sam murmurs into Dean’s ear and huffs a laugh at his brother moan. “This will feel even better.”
Dean goes up on his tiptoes as Sam’s cock enters him, one slow, hip rolling inch at a time, then drops his head to rest on his forearm against the wall as Sam begins to pound into him. Dean’s hips rock in rhythm with Sam’s, and he’s ready to come just from the harsh gasps gusting past his ear. “Sammy, shit. Oh, god.” Dean’s babbling but that’s nothing new when Sam’s fucking him into next week. Sam can take it slow, too and does when he wants to drive his brother crazy. Dean babbles then, too. Generally he babbles whenever Sam’s inside him.
Sam’s sliding hot and heavy over Dean’s sweet spot and it’s just about doing him in. He’s not going to beg. He’s not. “Please Sam,” he chokes out and Sam licks his ear.
“Okay,” he whispers, voice like molten honey. He shifts his stance slightly and pounds straight into Dean’s prostate, wrapping his arm around his brother’s waist to keep him from moving.
Dean lasts about thirty seconds before coming, biting into his forearm to keep from yelling. Sam follows right behind, burying his head against Dean’s shoulder as he shudders through his own release. They lean against each other for a long moment, chests heaving until Sam pulls slowly out. The water is rapidly cooling so they clean up quickly and stagger out of the shower.
“Still want to take a bath?” Sam taps the side of the tub. “I could fill it up.”
Dean’s struggling to stay upright while he towels himself off. “Dude, right now we’d probably fall asleep and drown.
“Yeah,” Sam says, stifling a yawn. “You’re probably right. We shouldn’t chance it.”
Once they hit the bed sleep comes instantly for both of them.
*
They’re at the library the next morning as soon as it opens. Mandy is waiting with a pot of coffee and the letters from their great grandfather in a manila folder.
“I gave you the originals,” she says. “Seemed like we should have the copies.”
“Thank you,” Sam says, running his fingers along the folder. “We never even thought we had family, so finding out about Henry and now Jonathan, it’s just, well, it’s connection we never thought we’d have.”
“Well, we’ve got our notes here, so future generations will know about you too. And I’m sure you’ll be writing this up for your journals. So, we’ll all be immortalized, in writing, at least.
“There are worse ways to be immortalized,” Sam says and Dean just snorts.
“There are better too. Come on, Sam, daylight’s wasting.” He stands and turns to Mandy. “And thank you and your town for believing. It would have been a lot harder to get rid of Reverend Platt without all the work you put in beforehand.”
“We all did it together,” she says, shaking their hands. “You have a safe trip home, now.”
*
Dean puts the folder on the front seat between himself and Sam for the ride back to the bunker. He keeps one hand on the wheel and rests the other on the folder, thinking about connections and generations and responsibility. About ten minutes in, Sam puts his hand on the folder and twines his fingers with Dean’s for the long drive home.