Their Blood Gets Thicker Than Water- Chapter Eight
Title: Their Blood Gets Thicker Than Water- Chapter Eight
Author: writersmirth
Pairing: Sam/Blair
Word Count: ~1336
Rating: NC-17
Summary: While Blair sneaks a peak into Sam’s Journal. Sam realizes that he has been betrayed by the wrong siblings.
Disclaimer: All Supernatural characters are the brain children of Erik Kripke, and are used here solely for entertainment purposes. No profit comes from the posting of this story. No copyright infringement intended.
Warning(s): Incest, Siblings, Personal Insertion,
A/N: I can no longer control my dirty mind.
How can I love you? If you just don’t talk to me, babe - Enrique Iglesias
Blair sat underneath the dull glow of the bedside lamp. Beside her the empty beds left unmade made he even more nervous as she slipped Sam’s journal out from underneath her pillow and rested it on her lap. With knees shaking, knocking together as they would a chilly night, Blair felt the first tingles of anticipation rising. It felt nice beneath her fingers the journal was made of expensive materials she could see that when she ran her finger over the well known brand of notebooks she had seen in some of the high priced book shops. Still this was unique and as she turned it over to caress the back she noted the embossed symbol that they all wore inked into their skin. Turning it back to the front, she unwrapped the string keeping its thick pages bound and cracked it open to the first page.
“Just like Dad,” she said, her eyes running down the length of the page. On its crisp, texture pages pictures in all types and colors of inks filled the page with words that blended together, seamlessly like a melody. Borders with ancient text she recognized and others she was yet to learn, and then she found it, something that her eyes could not waver from. There in a border at the corner of the page, a message in their own language. A native language known only to them, one they had created when Dean or their father or both had left them on their own to make their own entertainment, and that they had used to keep the fear from creeping up behind them and strangling them senseless when days would go by without a word. She ran her finger over the paper, delighting in the indentation the pen had made.
Outside the shrieking of a woman in another room hit her ears and made her stop. The noise died down when Blair realized that it was probably a couple having sex, and there was nothing to be scared of, and yet as she turned the next page the urge to reach for her own notebook and to write Sam a secret message was so powerful she felt the hit of inspiration in between her legs. What will I write? She asked herself, daring to put the journal down. Could I decode this message, maybe even leave him one inside the journal and see if he replies? She flipped through the pages, glancing briefly at newspaper clippings and business cards Sam had taped in there from their many hunts and haunts around the country. There on the page forty was a space unused and blank beneath an entry he had written in his secret code. It was dated only two days ago. It made some sense to her, but it had been a long time since she had decoded anything, and judging by the familiar sound of the impala in the distance she wasn’t sure if she would have much time to decode what he had written, but as she reached for her cheap ball point pens from the stationary store in town she put pen to paper, heart to the page and wrote the words she needed him so desperately to hear, but would never have the guts to say.
Eleho Sam. Eleho - I love you.
*
Standing at the cue for a local grilled chicken sandwich, Sam pulled his phone out and checked it for the hundredth time that hour. Nope- still no message from Dean or Blair, and although lunch with Blair had rekindled some sibling banter and gruff, Sam was still sure that there was more that Blair had wanted to say, and less than Dean ever and if they didn’t start talking together it was only going to go further downhill, and no one liked a weak hunter.
Taking his order as the man behind him stepped up to the counter Sam shrugged his bag over his shoulder and went to find a quiet booth, luckily tonight the diner was scarce of clients, and there were many free. He chose the one further towards the back near the bathroom doors and slid into the tacky white vinyl seats that were as close to boutique furniture that he was ever going to get. Once seated, he unwrapped the baking paper around his sandwich and made himself comfortable, in it for the long haul by reaching into his back pocket for his key. The key that he carried around with him at all times, the key that was that held the only belonging on him that was as close to privacy as he was every going to have. Around Dean it was hard, Blair kept to herself, and around Cas- well the angel seemed to know what he was going to write before he wrote it so there was no sense hiding it from him. He alone was the only one who knew about his secret Journal; A journal much like his father’s but even more personal, complex and in depth. Rarely in an entry did he ever go into documenting his hunts, no this one was more of a personal exploration and if the past few weeks were anything to write about, then he was in for a slug of a night?
“Need a top up?” a platinum blond waitress with thunder thighs asked as she clapped her way through the short distance from the counter to his table. She bent over, buttons straining in her too tight blouse. When Sam nodded, she smiled a sickly mouth full of unnaturally angel white teeth and swiveled around on her squeaky shoes, walking along each table to offer them more coffee.
“Now down to business,” Sam said, humoring himself as he took a bite of his sandwich with one hand and used the other to open the padlock on his front pocket. So he had trust issues. Sue me thought Sam, pulling it away from the zipper. He put the lock on the table, followed by the key and opened the front pocket fully. Sliding his hand inside the fabric he felt around, coming into contact with a handful of pens, a few loose packets of gum and what he knew to be a petty cash bag, but what he didn’t find and what he was looking for was his journal. Startled, he momentarily forgot about his sandwich letting the salad fall into the open paper and picked his bag up, dumping it on the table.
“This can’t be happening,” he said, sweat slick on his forehead despite the cool air rushing through in waves around the diner. Opening the bag wide, he looked inside the darkness of the bag but did not see the Journal. “How can?” Sam started, sitting back in his chair. His body grew tighter, as tension bound every muscle and made his chest ache, until- like a light bulb it hit him. He had left the bag alone, in the room while he was in town, while Dean was in town- surly it wasn’t dean who had read it. The thought flashed through his mind for only a second before the truth lit up his eyes and had him scoping up the remainder of the sandwich; heading for the exit in three long strides.
Blair.