(no subject)

[askellington]

Part Four

They drove into Fitchburg, Wisconsin, just past sundown. They cruised down street after street, past motels and hotels until finally a squat little motel hunkered down between an old fashioned five-and-dime style store and what looked like a boarding house met some criteria known only to Dean.

Parking in the lot facing the motel, Dean tossed Sam his backpack, grabbed a dufflebag from the trunk, and motioned Sam to follow him into the tiny office. The motel was shabby, but not the kind of shabby that meant filthy rooms. The narrow lobby was age-worn, but clean, even fresh-smelling; a vase of fresh flowers sat on one end of the long counter. Behind the counter, through a wide doorway, Sam could see what looked like living quarters-a couch, an overstuffed chair, some books and what looked like toys scattered across the floor. This was definitely not a chain motel, more of a family business, which accounted for the small, homey touches.

There was a very short person behind the counter. When he turnedaround to face them, Sam raised an eyebrow. "What the hell?"

It was a kid who looked to be no more than-thirteen? A short fourteen?-behind the counter. Where the hell were his parents? Sam wondered. Said kid turned a very unimpressed eye on Sam and drawled,"Yeah? Can I help you-" He glanced over at Dean, browsing through the magazines on a stand near the door, just tucking a cigarette behind his ear as the kid looked at him. Dean looked up and winked, lip curling up at one side, his collar sliding so that his neck tatts were on view, light glinting off his piercings.

The kid turned back to Sam and smirked.

"We don't rent by the hour," he sneered.

"What-no-no, he's my, my. Brother," Sam stuttered and cursed internally at how fake that sounded. "Really," he insisted, until it occurred to him he was trying to convince some punk little kid whose business it definitely was not.

"Hey, I don't judge. We don't judge here. So...you two want a king?"

"No! Two beds. Two queens."

The kid shook his head. "Sure, two queens. Gotcha." He printed out a receipt and slid a pair of keys over. "Room 12. Sorry it's not the honeymoon suite."

"Whatever, kid," Sam growled, curling his hand over the keys. "Isn't it past your bedtime? Who lets a kid run a place like this anyway? Where're your parents?"

Dean came up behind Sam, and to his great annoyance, rested a hand on the small of his back. Great, now the little punk was really going to assume the worst about them. But the kid was staring at the counter, frowning as he shuffled papers and cards and pointedly tuned Sam out.

"Hey." Dean leaned around Sam and smiled at the kid. "How's it going? My brother irritating you? What's your name?"

"Michael," the kid muttered and rubbed his eyes before going back to sorting papers. Dean came from behind Sam and slid the room keys from under his hand. He planted his elbows on the counter, which pulled his leather jacket tight across his shoulders and arms. Sam couldn't help but notice how the worn, probably butter-soft leather almost strained around Dean's biceps; he put a little distance between Dean and himself when Michael gave him a knowing look.

"So. Your folks left you in charge, hunh?" Dean's voice was soft, casual and Michael responded to it. The boy spread his hands on the counter and pushed back from it, looking up at Dean.

"My mom. Just my mom. An' I'm not in charge. I just came out to turn on the 'no vacancies' sign. But you guys were here and I know she needs the guests-anyway she'll be back soon. She's at the hospital. My little brother's sick." He scowled hard, but Sam could tell the scowl was his effort not to appear weak in front of them. He had a feeling if the kid had been alone, he'd have been crying.

Dean nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that. I bet she trusts you leave you in charge, though. You did a great job checkin' us in." The kid brightened a bit at Dean's casual acceptance. "Alright, we're gonna head out to our room. Any food places open around here? Me and my brother haven't eaten all damn day and we're starvin', dude."

Michael gave them directions to a bar two blocks down that served food as well as booze, information that had Dean all smiles. And why not, Sam thought, when it probably combined two out of his three favorite things.

They schlepped their bags to their room, Sam standing quietly behind Dean as he unlocked the door. "Did you notice what he said? His little brother was sick," Dean said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"It can be a sign of the shtriga. It goes after siblings, the easiest first."

"You mean like...me. Because I was alone."

"Sam...yeah. Like you. Because I left you by yourself and fucked up my job."

"Dean, you were a kid! You couldn't be on me twenty-four/seven. Dad should have warned you what was going on, not just leave you with some vague instructions. Besides, there was no way you could have succeeded. He's the one that screwed up-well, shit, you know what I mean, not him, the, the thing that was in him…"

"Yeah, I understand what you're saying. Listen, I'm gonna grab a smoke real quick. I'll bring us back something to eat."

Sam sighed as he dropped his bag at the side of one of the beds. He didn't need to have grown up with Dean to know that right now, his brother was feeling his supposed fuck-up hard and taking all of the blame for it. He could hear the click of Dean's heavy, old-fashioned lighter. He heard him inhale, and exhale, and the smell of smoke crept around the door frame. He could hear Dean's boots hitting the pavement, getting fainter as he headed across the parking lot.

Shaking his head, Sam reached into the bag and pulled out the new pair of sleep pants and...a really large t-shirt that had been tucked under he rest of his new clothes. The thing was purple, with what looked like a lilac greyhound on the front-it was weird, and made no sense, but Sam smiled, instantly loving it. There was a Wal-mart tag still hanging from the shirt. So, Dean had bought him a gift-and then hidden it. He was an interesting guy, his brother, apparently sentimental, but shy about it. Sam laughed, pulled the tee on and laid out on the bed, stroking over the soft material. Dean looking out for him like this was nice, and something he think he could get used to.

~o0o~

Breakfast was a nice surprise. They'd dropped by the office and ran into his mother. After checking with her on her son's condition and finding he was stable, the conversation had turned towards local attractions and places to eat. The place she'd recommended served one of the best breakfasts Sam had ever eaten. He did his best not to moan as he forked up some truly delicious corned-beef hash, and he didn't even like corned-beef hash. Dean squinted at him and growled, "I'd have got you your own, but I thought you weren't a carnivore." He pushed Sam's hand away from his plate. "Eat your pancakes and leave my grub alone."

Sam snickered. "You're such an old guy in a young guy's body."

"A smokin' hot young guy's body," Dean said, and Sam blushed and hid behind his bangs, because, yeah...Dean was smoking hot.

"You're so cute, Sammy," Dean laughed. "C'mon, you're a college boy-casual sex is required, isn't it? Get drunk, get laid?"

"No, for god's sake. All you know about college comes from crappy '80s movies, doesn't it? I didn't...I…" Sam's cheeks went red-hot. He opened his mouth to say it was none of Dean's damn business, but what came out was, "Except for...for...y'know…" They both blushed, Dean hiding his mouth behind his hand, but meeting Sam's eyes. "Anyway, I've only ever been with one girl, ever, and that was Jess."

"Really? Wow. That's, unh, that's nice. Good for you, I guess?" Dean was certainly trying, but he didn't sound convincing. Having technically had only one partner ever probably seemed like an impossibility to him.

Again, Sam's mouth blurted out things without his permission. "You know about my parents, how strict they were. They were...smothering was the way I began to describe it when I left home. So along with everything else they required...yeah, total virgin until Jess."

His eyes pricked unpleasantly, remembering how he and Jess used to be. They'd had so much fun, and sex had been a revelation with her. It had been so happy between them, so loving, so intimate...until gradually it hadn't been. Sam felt himself go hot with embarrassment. The last thing he wanted to think about was everything Jess had introduced him to in the last few months, not with Dean sitting across from him, not with the memory of the so-much-better sex he'd had recently

"Smothering, hunh?" Dean chuckled. "Yeah, good, old Uncle Bobby, not so much; the man gave me a bag of condoms and a lecture." Dean shook his head. "So I slept with a lot of girls."

Sam paused, fork full of pancakes in the air and a confused look on his face. "I thought you were, y'know…?"

"Oh well, yeah, girls are nice, too. Besides, I was in high school, in a little town where everyone knew everyone's else's business. I mean, not like I didn't like sex with women. It's just, my preference got clearer to me as I got older." He winked at Sam and Sam wanted to hide under the table. "What about, y'know, you? You said girl, what about other guys?"

Sam jerked so hard his knee slammed into the underside of the table and everything rocked. "B-besides you? Only that once..."

It was Dean's turn to blush now, probably remembering Sam's retelling of the circumstances. He looked sad, but smiled softly at Sam after a few seconds. "It's okay, Sammy."

Maybe, Sam thought, but he'd been eyeballing his brother's mouth during the entire meal and wondering when or if he can kiss him. The little voice told him that should make him feel like a pervert. It really should.

But it doesn't.

~o0o~

"So, tell me more about this shtriga."

"Umm," Dean tucked the end of a pen in his mouth, and Sam's eyes went there like lasers. He pouted around the end of it as he pulled up a file on his laptop. "Okay, so...Bobby sent me a bunch of info…" He clicked through a file, opened something Sam saw was labled a 'kill doc'. "This creature is a tricky sonofabitch. It's got to be feeding to be ganked. Feeding is the only time its vulnerable, 'cause it has to open itself in order to absorb a life force, which means its own life force is unguarded. The good thing is, once it is unguarded, almost anything can kill it. Iron, though, will cleanse it. If we can get a few iron rounds into it, that'll wipe it out-make it sure it stays dead."

Stays dead? Sam felt that weird swoop-flip in his gut, the feeling he got when things started flying off track...the feeling that signaled a panic attack on its way. What the fuck had his life become?

Dean looked up, eyes narrowing at Sam. "Hey, you gonna be okay?" He leaned over and gripped Sam's shoulder, his hand sliding up to cup his neck. "This is kinda crazy. Scary, even, I know. And you don't remember any of this-hell, we hadn't told you anything at the point you were taken."

"No, I'm okay. I want to know about it. How to...to kill it, so it doesn't hurt any kids again. So, um...who's it gonna feed on, you or me?"

Dean made a face like he'd bitten into something bitter. "I...the shtriga feeds on the youngest first. But neither of us make good bait. For one thing, it'll catch on that we're hunters-well, I'm a hunter-right off the bat. Plus, we're too old. We need..." Dean's voice trailed off and Sam's gut went cold.

"Fuck, Dean, no. We can't...can't ask some kid to be bait! That's so fucking twisted."

"And that's the fucking life, Sammy. It sucks sometimes, so fuckin' hard. But if we can save kids, if we can kill some evil sonofabitch, it's all worth it."

"And what happens if it kills the kid? What then?"

"That's not gonna happen, Sam. I won't let it."

Dean sounded so convinced, so confident, that Sam just mentally threw up his hands. He had to put his trust in Dean, trust that things would work out the way he said it would.

~o0o~

Sam rifled through the dozens of print-outs Dean had spread over the table, and scoured his files. So far he'd found out that shtrigas were probably the source of the old-hag-witch image. They tended to take on the images of elderly women, probably because in the old days, the old and infirm were left behind as the healthy, stronger members of the community went out to gather food or hunt. They naturally took care of the children...and that's where a monster able to look like a sweet, little, old lady had it made. It could pick through the children at their heart's content-or whatever thing was inside it that made it go.

He was worked his way through a decent BLT while idly poking at Dean's laptop. Across the table, Dean scarfed down a cheeseburger and belittled Sam's dietary choices. Again. It was a good thing Sam got that Dean teasing him was practically the same as Dean declaring his undying love, so he restrained himself from tipping Dean's chair over.

Out of curiosity, Sam brought up the hospital the kids had been taken to, looking through the website. He was basically killing time, just doing it to have something to do. He clicked through the website, clicked on pediatrics. There were shiny, cheerful photos of parents and babies, nurses and babies, happy tots...and in a small inset picture, a grandmotherly woman with a baby. Cuddlers Sam read.Giving sick children the extra support and intercation to help... "Holy shit," he whispered.

He called Dean over from where he was industriously filling one of his bags with, hopefully, shtriga-killing stuff. He ambled over, a Twizzlers trapped between his teeth. "Tryin' not to smoke," he muttered and Sam went warm all over. He knew Dean was doing it for him, and that was...was really nice. He wanted to lean over and snatch that Twizzler away, give Dean his mouth instead. Sam tucked his desperate, inner-teenage girl away, and swiveled the laptop so that Dean could see it too. "So, get this," he said, making the picture bigger. "The local hospital here has a program called Cuddlers-grandmotherly-types who volunteer to hold babies, read little tots bedtime stories...you know, interact with the kids."

Dean reared back, the forgotten Twizzlers hitting the desk. "Sonofabitch, boy. I think you got it. Goddamn, Sam, you got it."

Sam felt a ridiculous degree of pleasure at that. His whole body thrummed with warmth when Dean looped his arm around Sam's neck and muttered, "Damn good work," into the side of his head.

~o0o~

"Yeah, we went in for a check-up, and Asher got sick pretty soon after that," Michael said, suspicious eyes on Sam and his brother. "Why?"

Dean sneaked a quick look at Sam and Sam gave him a microscopic shrug. This was Dean's show. He was the one who had a-a bond or something with the kid. For some reason, the kid did not like Sam.

Dean huffed out a breath, rubbed his hand over his head. "Look...Mike. Your brother, he's not sick like regular sick. Some...thing is making him sick. It got into your room and it. It made your brother...okay, crap, this really sounds crazy, I get it. You got no reason to believe me--"

Michael chewed his lip, looking up at Dean through a long fringe of blonde hair. He hesitated and then asked, "Does...does this thing have, like, long, skinny, black fingers, like sort of twiggy lookin'?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded his head, his relief evident. "Yeah, Mike, it does. It's a monster, a kid-killing monster, and me and my brother are out to stop it."

Michael looked surprised for a moment, and Sam nodded at him. Yep, kid. Brothers. Instead of snickering like Sam expected, Michael shook his head slightly, gave Sam and Dean both a somewhat sympathetic look before turning his attention back to Dean.

"How?"

"Well...that's where you come in, I hope. We need someone to draw it out...someone to play, uh, play…"

"Bait!" Michael's eyes went wide. He took a few steps back, putting himself out of arm's reach. "You want me to be-no. Fuck you, in fact."

"Dude-language," Dean said, like he was on parent duty, then "Hey!" as Michael stomped away. The door to the family's apartment slammed, and Dean and Sam both jumped.

Dean turned to Sam, an unhappy grimace on his face, his hand sweeping back over his head. "Damn it. So...screwed the pooch on that, I guess."

"What did you expect, Dean? Did you really think it was gonna go any other way?"

Dean shook his head, and headed out to the parking lot. Sam sighed when he saw Dean flip the cigarette pack into his hand. Sam couldn't think of anything better to do, so he headed back to their room, thinking about Dean and his incredible belief that the whole world was full of knights in shining armor, full of guys like him willing to sacrifice it all to save a single person and consider it a deal well played.

Dean came into the room an hour later, holding a six-pack and a bag that smelled like tacos. Sam scooted up from where he'd been laying on the bed, trying to read a book he'd found in the nightstand drawer. It was...odd. Kind of erotic in a weird way, and it was making him feel...not uncomfortable, more...yearning. And now that Dean was back in the room, Sam knew exactly what it was he was feeling, but had no way of asking whether Dean was feeling the same. At this point, he was afraid to ask. Dean was a closed book.

Sam watched his brother move around the room, taking his coat off, the way it pulled his shirts tight across his shoulders, bending to take off his shoes and the way his jeans framed a perfect ass.

"I'm so screwed," Sam muttered under his breath, and tried to be subtle about sliding his pillow into his lap.

Dean launched into a vivid description of the bar he'd bought the six-pack from. More to the point, one of the bartenders he'd bought it from. "And she kept putting her tits in my face like that meant something. Now, if the other bartender had wanted to shove his chest in my face, well…"

Sam struggled to keep his face blank, but he couldn't keep a leash on his mouth. "I guess that's why you took so long. Nice of you not to deprive her. Or him. That's your MO, right?"

Dean froze mid-sentence. He fixed Sam with a look that sent a shiver up his spine. "Okay, I don't know where the attitude is coming from or why-"

Sam huffed, and rolled his eyes. Of course he didn't.

Dean sighed. He carefully put the six-pack and the taco bag down on the table. "Look, you don't really know how I work, okay? You don't get to make any kind of judgment on my life, like I don't get to make any judgment on yours. So, we're going to rewind this moment, and you're going to sit down with me and we're going to eat these fuckin' tacos and make nice conversation-got it?"

Sam nodded, short and quick, and slid into place at the little table. Dean passed him a couple of tacos, and opened a beer and set it in front of Sam. "So, talk," he said.

"I, uh, I uh…"

Dean snorted, losing a few bits of lettuce when he did. He swallowed. "You're cute, Sammy. Don't worry about it, go ahead and eat up."

Sam promptly snatched up his taco and bit down. "S'good," he mumbled around his mouthful. "Thanks for this, I was getting hungry."

"It's alright, Sam, it's my job to feed you, right? And Sam…" Dean waited until Sam met his eyes, said, "I flirt a lot, but it doesn't mean anything, okay? Just...a lot of bark, not much bite." Sam snorted, and Dean shot him a smile. "What say after this, we go check out those grandmas? I think you're right, one of these old broads just might be the thing we're looking for."

Sam felt that ridiculous wave of warmth sweep him again. The goofy part of his mind woke up and rolled over. You're so easy to please! it crowed. But it does feel good to be appreciated, doesn't it? it said, before fading away.

~o0o~

They went into the hospital under the guise of reporters for a small, local-type of paper, looking for feel-good stories. The elderly ladies were like most elderly ladies everywhere. A little shy, proud of what they were doing but not obnoxious about it. Sam watched them holding the babies, singing to them, gently bouncing crying little bits of human beings and it hit him that if anyone had done that for him, it had been probably been Dean. Dean was watching them too, his gaze hawk-sharp, but there was something else in there too. Dean turned and caught Sam looking at him. Dean smiled, a little half-smile that softened his eyes, then glanced back at a grandmotherly version of Missouri, all curves and softness. She had a tiny, tiny human in her arms, and smiled as she looked up at Dean.

"This little sweetheart reminds me of my own grand-baby. She was a teeny bit of a thing too."

Dean nodded. "So, how long have you been doing this?" he asked.

"Oh, quite a while now. Probably...three, four years? Soon as the program started," she said. "Most of us here came on as soon as they put out a call for volunteers. We're all old friends here. Well, except for Maude. She's new."

Sam could see Dean shift subtly into Doberman mode. Sam stepped up next to him, tablet in hand. He'd been taking 'notes' with the grand-moms' permission, and taking dozens of photos-everything Dean pointed out to him. Dean glanced at him and asked the woman-Gloria-if Maude would mind talking to him.

"Oh, she's not here today. Strange, she usually is."

"So, she's new? How long has she been here, then-a year or two?" Dean smiled at her and Sam had to admire the way he went about getting info. Gloria was only too happy to correct him.

"Oh no, more like two months. She's from out of town...honestly, I'm not sure from where, but she's so caring. She really loves these babies. Not only that, she volunteers on the children's ward. Reads to the toddlers, brings them little things she's knitted." Gloria went quiet, and sighed deeply. "So many little ones on that ward are sick right now. Some kind of thing, what my gran used to call a wasting disease, is going 'round. Maude's brave enough to deal with it. Me, I'm not that good a person. I stay right here with the babies. Let the stronger, braver ones deal with the children."

"Don't put yourself down, Gloria. What you're doing is just as important." Dean leaned a little closer. "So, no babies getting this wasting disease? That's a blessing, ain't it?"

"Yes, it really is. Maude...she looked so worn when she first came here. But working with the kids has given her strength and life again. She positively glows now. It's a calling, you know? Her working with the kids? They love her."

"I'm sure they do," Dean said, but his voice had gone so cold that even Gloria noticed. At her startled look, Dean sighed. "I hate for kids to hurt, ma'am. Hate it."

The sincerity in his voice reeled Gloria back in. "You should talk to Maude. She's in on Tuesdays and Thursdays. You can come in and talk to her, if you have time?"

"I think we'll make time," Sam said, his hand on Dean's arm. "Thank you kindly."

~o0o~

"Fucking Maude. She's the one, Sam. It's gotta be her."

Sam nodded. Pretty plain that Maude had to be the shtriga, but how did they stop it? "How do we stop her without help?"

Dean shook his head. "We'll just have to try and catch her on her hunting grounds. Sounds like she's nibbling snacks at the hospital."

Sam grimaced at his brother's decidedly indelicate way of putting things. "So, that means...what, we hang around the children's ward like a pair of especially creepy-ass creeps?"

Dean huffed, and threw his file across the table. He took a pull on his beer. "Yeah...and we blew coming in as anything else. We have to figure out when this bitch is coming after the kids. If it's at night, maybe we can pass ourselves off as janitors?"

"Maybe," Sam said, and got up to make a pot of coffee. "You want some, I'll make enough for two-"

"Make enough for ten," Dean said, gathering up his papers again. "Gimme your notes too, maybe one of the grannies mentioned the times killer Maude shows up."

"Yeah, okay." Sam reached for the coffeemaker in the tiny cabinet above the sink and searched around for the packets of coffee grounds. He jumped as the silence was shattered by someone banging on the door like they hated it. Dean swung up out of his chair, his hand going to the back of his pants as he moved, other hand flipping his shirt out of the way. Sam caught the luster of ivory as Dean's fingertips grazed the grip of a nickel-plated handgun.

"Get behind me, Sam," he hissed and Sam bristled at his tone. Not being an idiot however, he got behind Dean as ordered. A voice called out. "Are you guys gonna open up or are you too busy doing each others nails?"

"Mike!" Dean dashed to the door and yanked it open. "Kid, stop making up stuff about us, willya? Sam's the only one paints his nails." He ignored Sam's affronted 'Hey!' and glanced up and down the hallway before stepping back. "C'mon in, sit down. Don't drink my beer."

Michael rolled his eyes and stomped inside. "If you kill this thing, will Asher get better?"

"We hope so. Yeah," Dean said hesitantly. "That's the plan." Sam could see he wanted to say, yes, unequivocally, it will, but Dean was honest with the kid, and Sam could see the kid respected that. Michael nodded, eyes on the floor. After a second, he said, "You say you're brothers...well...would you do what you had to? To protect your brother, would you do anything for him?"

Michael raised his head then, and locked eyes with Dean. Sam watched the two hold some kind of silent communication. Yeah, Sam got that Dean would do anything for him-he'd already sacrificed the most important thing he could for Sam, had been younger than Michael when he'd done it. Sam wondered if Dean knew just how much that went both ways now?

"Yeah, Mike. Anything."

Michael nodded again-conversation over. "Tell me what to do, then."

~o0o~

Sam tracked Dean on his laptop as Dean set up remote cameras in the corners of Michael's room. He'd been surprised when Dean pulled them out of the trunk of his car, though he supposed he shouldn't have been. The Chevelle's trunk had to be bigger on the inside, what with all the compartments and the things Dean pulled out of it as a matter of course: shotguns, handguns, knives and axes, shovels; he swore there was a thing that looked like a rocket launcher or something in there-and spy cameras. He'd mentioned his 'bigger on the inside' theory in an off-hand way to Dean, not expecting any kind of reaction, but was surprised when Dean burst into laughter.

"What, like the Tardis?" he'd chuckled, shaking his head, and had slapped Sam on the back. "Nerd, but you've got good taste."

On the screen, Dean reached up and twisted the camera, then grinned into the lens. "How's that? I look good, right?"

"Whatever...little bit to the left, the left. More left-got it." Michael was sitting in his bed, fully dressed under the covers. He looked sick, a lone kid defenseless against a thing Sam couldn't even imagine. Dean turned towards the kid and Sam could clearly hear him tell Michael what came next.

"Okay, so. This thing has to get close. I'm sorry. But when it gets to the bed, the minute it touches, you drop down, roll under the bed, you hear? Me and Sam will come right through that door, blasting guns. It's gonna be loud-much louder than on TV, okay? You just dive; you close your eyes, cover your ears and don't move til we say so."

Dean walked over to the bed, clasped Michael's shoulder. "It's going to be okay. Promise."

Michael just nodded. "Just...don't shoot me."

"Don't worry about that. I'm a great shot. And Sammy is...not gonna aim in your direction."

"Hey!" Sam yelped. "I heard that!"

Michael grinned at Dean, and seemed a little less tense, which Sam knew was just what Dean had been going for. Dean aimed a smirk at the camera closest to him, and winked. Sam felt his cheeks heat up. Damn Dean. No wonder everyone did whatever he wanted.

~o0o~

They watched Michael try not to fidget on the bed; Dean fidgeted in the chair next to Sam's. He looked too alert-his freckles stood out like cinnamon on snow, and he rolled his lower lip in his teeth repeatedly, until it was dark pink and glistened in the low light of the laptop's screen. Sam fidgeted himself until Dean reached over and clamped his hand over Sam's thigh.

"Hey. It's going to be alright."

"Yeah, okay...how about you believe that too?"

Dean snorted, eyes never leaving the screen. He squeezed Sam's thigh a little tighter, and Sam cursed himself when his knees automatically tried to spread. He caught Dean's slight hitch of breath, the way his eyes danced over, a lightning quick glance, coupled with a slightly harder squeeze, before his eyes returned to Michael. This is where we should deflect, Sam thought, and picked the topic most likely to steer Dean's attention away from Sam's semi-slutty reaction to his brother's touch. "Hey. I...I get it now, Dean. I understand what you went through. And that you did what you had to, to...save me. And Dad. You saved him, Dean. I'm convinced of that. He wanted you to stop that-that thing inside him."

"Sam-"

But whatever Dean was about to say was lost. Something was in Michael's room-a dark shadow, crossing the room, wavering in the thin light coming through the window. Sam jumped up, the Glock he'd been training with shaking in his hand. He steadied it by force of will. "That's it, isn't it? Do we-"

"No, no...wait a bit. We need it to get closer…"

A tall, lean woman was crawling inside Michael's bedroom window, white hair tumbling messily around her shoulders, streaks of dirt on her skirt and sweater. Michael lay stock-still on the bed as she crept closer, her hands shrinking, lengthening, to skeletal thin, her hair shimmering, melding into a hood, growing longer and shifting into a hooded robe. The features shifted as well; pink, lined cheeks going paste-white and deeply wrinkled, eyes going from chocolate-brown to a lusterless black, set deeply in its skull. Sam watched it, shock making him waver on his feet; on the edge, but not shutting down. He was not going to shut down when Michael, when Dean needed him.

The shtriga bent over Michael, its maw opening wide. A slight, blueish glow gathered over Michael's body, rising towards the shtriga's open jaws.

"Now!" Dean shouted, and Michael dropped to the ground, rolling under the bed at the same moment Dean, Sam close behind him, kicked open the door. Dean snapped off a shot, Sam shooting right after him, and the double tap staggered the shtriga, who uttered a weird, warbling wail as it dropped.

"Good fuckin' job, Sammy, good goddamn shot!"

Sam felt like he'd just been handed the sun and told it was his forever. Dean sounded proud of him, and he fought to keep a goofy grin off his face. The little voice, quiet for so long, spoke up then. Easy, boy, easy. But yeah, you deserve this.

"Mike," Dean called out as he edged towards the monster who was tumbled in a heap on the floor. "You okay?"

At Michael's tremulous yes, Dean ordered him to stay put for now. "Let us take out this trash first, okay? Just to be-"

The shtriga rose up and tossed Sam across the room. Sam hit the wall and slid down, and the shtriga was on him in the blink of an eye, with long, cold, clammy fingers wrapping around his jaw, and yanking his mouth open, the skeletal tips slipping inside to pull it wider. Sam gagged violently at the touch of them on his tongue.

The most excruciating pain he'd ever experienced flooded his body. It burned violently, but before he could react he was deflating, lethargic, the pain vanished but a void was opening inside him; a feeling of ice and fire combined filled him, then leaked out of him in painful fits and starts as the shrtiga began draining the life force from him. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream for Dean-and then his brother's voice broke through Sam's paralysis. The horror on top of him shuddered and jerked backwards as Sam took a deep, grateful breath. The sound of a shot registered at the same moment he realized he was totally free.

Dean yanked him to his feet, hands all over him. "You okay, Sammy, you okay?" His hands skimmed over Sam's chest and shoulders and came to rest on his face. "Sam."

His fingers moved over curve of Sam's jaw, thumbs coming to rest on either side of his mouth. Sam was frozen, staring at Dean's eyes, the fear, the concern...and heat. Sam was no fool. He knew what he was seeing. This was the moment he'd waited for, the moment that Dean would finally acknowledge what went before. This was a turning point..he leaned forward slightly, and then-

"Yeah, sure...brothers. Hey, guys, I hate to break into your make-out session but, can I move or what?"

"Oh, fuck, Mike," Dean stuttered, "Yeah, yeah dude, you're safe. Everyone's safe." His fingers left Sam's face reluctantly...they drifted over Sam's lip, Sam shivered with how intense it felt. Dean mouthed, "Later," and Sam nodded, the thrill of expectation sending gooseflesh racing over his skin. He didn't think he was wrong to feel like later was a promise of something more.

Michael meanwhile had slithered out from under the bed and was walking gingerly, carefully over to stand behind Dean. "It's dead? Really dead?"

"Yeah. You did it, Mike. Helped us kill this fugly piece of shit." Dean threw an arm around Michael's shoulder, and somehow managed to wrap an arm around Sam's waist as well. Sam leaned into it gratefully.

None of them spoke as they watched the thing disintegrate until there was nothing left but a fine ash, which Michael stepped up to and spit on. "Screw you, we won; Sam and Dean beat your-your fugly ass," he snapped and Dean patted him on the back.

Sam shook his head. "Dean did it. Dean beat it," he said.

"Naw, Mike's right. We all did it. We put it down together. We make a hell of a team." He grinned at Sam, a wide, accomplished, happy grin.

~o0o~

They drove Michael to meet his mother at the hospital; she'd called with the good news that Asher had finally turned the corner and was now awake and asking for his big brother. There was no way they could explain to her just what had occurred, but from the way Michael clutched Asher's hand, smiling at them, Sam felt it had been worth every second.

By the time they made it back to their room Sam was done; he felt like he was dragging himself along step-by-step. He kicked off his shoes and let his jacket lay where he dropped it, barely aware of Dean snapping the TV on with the sound turned low. As the sole light, it cast deep shadows in the room, but that was okay with Sam. It made the room look intimate. Cozy. He dropped onto one of the beds and patted the space next to him, fixing Dean with a glare. "Sit. We need to talk. We're not dancing around this thing anymore. What we did at the shooting range-"

Dean groaned like Sam was disemboweling him. "I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't know...I mean, I thought you…I thought we were on the same page."

"You think I'm' pissed off about that? Don't be stupid, of course we were 'on the same page'! God, since we met, I felt this, this, connection between us. Not just, 'wow, here's my long-lost brother' and not just 'oh yay, fucking terrific, he doesn't want to kill me. '"

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. "Bitch…"

"Sorry. But it's been about you all along, about how...attractive you are. I mean, I've wanted to touch you. Have you touch me. And I'm sorry, but that's a stronger feeling than feeling like we're related. I know we're brothers. I know it. But I also want to touch every bit of you. Feel you, hold you.

"This isn't what I wanted to happen when I came to get you. This won't help protect you, or make your life better. Something's out to fuck your life up, Sammy. I can't help feeling like I'm one of those things you need protection from now."

"Protection? I'm not a kid, you know. I'm twenty-two years old, I've lived on my own and I've made my own decisions now for almost four years. And besides, in a way, I've been on my own most of my life."

"Sammy…"

"I'm not saying that to make you feel bad. I want you to know that I chose to make my own way. And now, I'm choosing you. You should stop worrying, Dean, because you know you want this too. This is what will make me happy, if you care about that."

Dean nodded, and head down, inched over until he closed the few inches between him and Sam. Sam huffed, grabbed hold of Dean and reeled him in. Dean looked surprised for a second or two, and then his frown eased into a smirk, and he wrapped his hand in Sam's collar. "Well, alright then."

Sam groaned and crashed his mouth against Dean's, too excited, so that for a few seconds, the kiss was painful and so awkward that Sam wanted to slide off the bed-possibly right under it. Dean just breathed a little laugh, and adjusted their position, coaxing Sam into tilting his head the way he wanted him, so that they fit together perfectly.

Melting into the kiss, Sam opened to Dean completely, letting Dean's tongue slide in against his. Slow, slick thrusts in and out, Dean grazing Sam's lip with his teeth, licking it smooth. When Dean cupped him and asked him, "Can I open these?" rubbing his knuckles over the already stiff length pressing against Sam's zipper, a full body shudder almost knocked Sam flat-the thought of Dean, touching him, naked against him, made him weak. Sam groaned again, and Dean let his mouth go, licked his lips, and said, "I'd really like to be naked with you. Is that okay?

"I think," Sam took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I think, yeah, that would be okay."

Dean started taking his clothes off, and Sam tried to follow suit, but he was mesmerized by Dean's every move, watching fascinated as Dean's tattoos came to light, all of them. His eyes were drawn to the skull on Dean's hip, and then by the dash of freckles dusted over Dean from head to toe, and Sam smiled.

Dean was beautiful naked. He wasn't starving model perfect, but he was everything Sam wanted, with his bowed legs, the little swell of his belly, his beautiful dick, the first dick he'd really looked at. Different than Sam's, a bit shorter, but thicker, with a slight purplish flush over to the head that Sam couldn't wait to get his tongue on. He wanted his mouth all over Dean, wanted to bite him, and lick him, and...Sam shuddered, his hand slid down between his legs to cup his balls, squeezing just a little as he looked his fill at Dean.

Sam was sure that compared to Dean, so fucking comfortable in his skin, he must look ridiculous; his shirt stuck over his wrists where it'd got caught when he tried to yank it off, his feet stuck in his pants, and his dick waving in the wind. Or maybe not, because Dean was looking at him like he was delicious, like something he couldn't wait to eat.

"Damn. Knew you'd be a big boy, Sam. Come here. Let me help you get the rest of your clothes off." Sam fell back on the bed, furiously trying to shake his pants off. He'd freed one foot when he froze; was that Dean giggling?

It was a such weird sound coming out of him, completely at odds with the person Sam thought his brother to be, but there was something about that helpless little giggle that just turned Sam on even more. That, and the way his eyes crinkled, his tongue slid between his teeth, was totally, fucking, unbearably hot.

Dean leaned back on the bed, legs splayed, beautiful dick and balls on display. Sam swallowed, licked his lips. He could do this. He would do this. He got to his knees and inched forward until he was between Dean's knees. His hands slid up Dean's muscular thighs, inch by inch. They were shaking, but Sam wasn't going to stop, not now that he'd finally gotten what he wanted. Dean groaned quietly, but put his hands over Sam's, stopping him. "You don't have to, Sam you need to be sure-are you sure?"

"Oh yeah, I'll probably be terrible at this, but I really do want to get my mouth on you…."

Dean flushed, a deep red from cheeks to chest. His eyes fell closed in a long, languid blink, and Sam thought how beautiful he looked like that, lashes thick enough to cast shadows on his cheeks. When he opened his eyes again, he sighed. "Then please do, Sammy. There's nothing I want more."

Sam wrapped his lips around Dean, gagging a little, trying to coordinate sucking and licking with breathing-sometimes he couldn't quite manage to do all at once, so there were moments when it was spectacularly bad. He grazed Dean with teeth once or twice, and Dean whimpered, but he kept encouraging Sam, praising him, and each word of praise, each moan, made Sam's dick jump. He was a leaking, drooling mess, and so fucking hard, just from blowing Dean, he wasn't sure if he'd come without a touch. He loved the heat and the weight on his tongue, the feel of Dean's skin, the way the crown bumped and slid over his lips-Sam loved it all, and couldn't wait for Dean to do it to him.

He drew back, hollowing his cheeks as he went, looking up the length of Dean's body and thought, 'all that is mine, and I'm going to explore every fucking bit of it.'

Dean shuddered as Sam swallowed around him. He moaned, "Sam, Sam, gonna come, you need to back off, now, dude-"

Fuck that. Sam lunged forward, forcing as much of Dean down as he could without triggering his gag reflex. Dean arched off the bed, letting out a yell, his dick swelled in Sam's mouth, jerked as he came, straight down Sam's throat. It was surprising, but not bad. He could get used to it.

Sam held Dean in his mouth through the aftershocks, humming lightly, until Dean gently pushed him off.

"I didn't want to do that your first time, I'm sorry, are you-"

He licked his lips, and leaned forward, waiting for Dean to either kiss him or push him away. Dean leaned right into Sam, and caught him up in a sweet, careful kiss, mindful of Sam's swollen mouth. Sam said, "I am perfect. Now, if you wouldn't mind," he said and gestured to his now painfully-hard dick.

Dean smiled and pulled Sam up on the bed, settling him right in his lap. "I'd love to help," he said, and wrapped his hand around Sam's dick. He squeezed him, and then slowly drew his hand upwards, tightly enough to send shivers racing through Sam, making his breath catch with how good it felt. "How about," Dean whispered into Sam's ear, "we start with me showing you how good a handjob can be, and go from there?"

~o0o~

Two days later, with the paper full of the news that the epidemic seemed to have ended, and Asher happily sitting at the Starlight Inn's check-in counter with his brother and his mom, The Winchesters pulled out of town. Sam couldn't help smiling at Dean, and Dean-he kept his eyes on the road, but kept one hand on Sam's thigh, a warm grip that made Sam feel like the world was his.

"That was the way a case should end, right?" Dean said. "Everything tied up all neat and nice, happy people, and a hell of a celebration afterwards."

"Oh yeah. You can't argue with a happy ending." Sam looked over at Dean, and blushed, "So what comes next? Does this mean more cases in my future?"

"Sam, I can't see any way that we can let you go back to Cali. Not now, not with that-that demon still out there, and not with the perpetrator of this evil still gunning for you. I'm sorry."

"Well...I figured that. But I'm not all that worried, because it's like you said, Dean. You and me, we make a hell of a team."

Dean glanced over at Sam, a smile lighting up his whole face. "We do, Sammy. That we do."

FIN