The Homewrecker Chapter 1
Title: The Homewrecker Chapter 1
Author: JCRGIRL
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: R
Warnings: Wincest, AU, BabyFic (Non-MPreg)
Word Count: ~ 3700
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: What happens when the monsters are not the supernatural kind?
Author Notes: Joey Verse, set on Joey's 1 year birthday. Chronologically follows 'He Knows When You've Been Naughty'. Un-betaed.
A/N 2: This didn't start out as a multi-chapter, but a minor storyline decided it wanted a more major part. FYI - IUSB is Indiana University at South Bend.
Dean quietly turned the knob and pushed open the door to the bedroom. Standing in the doorway, his eyes took in the moonlit room and the blanket bundled forms on the bed. Footsteps silenced by plush carpeting, he moved forward until his thigh pressed flush to the side of the mattress and peered down at Sam curled tightly around the other man in his life. It wasn’t the first time Dean’d come home late to find this someone in his place, snuggled into his brother’s warm embrace, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last.
Sam’s companion made a sleepy snuffling sound and Sam shifted closer, draping a possessive arm over his stomach. In response, his bedmate gave a contented sigh and fisted his left hand into the front of Sam’s shirt while his right rested over the scars on Sam’s left upper arm - scars that before had only known Dean’s touch. Just like the other times Dean had witnessed these two, his heart stuttered in his rapidly tightening chest. He glanced back at the door, contemplating leaving without disturbing them, but thought better of it. This person had their time with Sam, now Dean wanted his.
Reaching over he curled fingers in the edge of the sheet and pulled it back, hands moving to the body of the intruder. He moved Sam’s arm and carefully pried fingers from jersey knit. Dean gathered the bed warmed and sleep pliant baby in his arms and cuddled him close to his chest, shushing and jostling the small child gently when he made wakeful noises. Sam shifted on the mattress, instantly alert to the absence of his son by his side.
“Dean,” he slurred sleepily.
“Yeah, Sammy. I’m home. Go back to sleep. I’ll be right back after I put Possum to bed.”
Sam buried his head in his pillow again and mumbled something that sounded like ‘not a possum’ as Dean crossed to the door. He cradled his son tighter, nose nestling in the soft, baby fine hair at the crown of his head, and inhaled the familiar, comforting smell that was uniquely Joey. The last call of the night, the reason he was four hours late getting home, had been tough - a deliberately set fire destroying the home of a young family. During his rehab period, he’d looked over at the soot streaked face of the small son wrapped in the protective circle of his father’s arms and he couldn’t help but think of Sam and Joey. It was a hazard of the job - projecting your family’s face over those of the victims - and even with Dean’s amazing ability to compartmentalize his life sometimes it still happened.
Softly humming his childhood lullaby, he swayed Joey back and forth before bending over the crib railing to lay him down. He pressed a light kiss to Joey’s forehead and smiled when the baby’s thumb found his mouth with pinpoint accuracy. Two turns of the knob on the mobile started the dangling balls, bats and gloves spinning in slow revolutions to Brahms. Sam had won the great debate over the nursery theme and Dean had to admit it turned out perfect - even with the cutesy sports uniformed bears.
He looked over his shoulder at the clock hanging on the wall next to the door. It had taken him three months of scouring the internet before he finally found the round light blue clock with the clouds painted on the face and the moon pendulum, but it was the only item he’d insisted on in the room. The white hands, glowing faintly in the moonlight, pointed out the time - 12:03. The dawning of a new day and Dean had yet to put the old one to bed. Sighing heavily, he ran the back of his fingers over his son’s cheek and smiled.
“Happy Birthday, little man,” he whispered. “Sleep tight, Possum. Your family is watching over you.”
He slipped back into his bedroom, quickly disrobed and slid under the sheets next to Sam. In his absence, his brother had rolled onto his side and Dean slotted his body flush against Sam’s muscled frame. Fingers ghosted over scarred flesh, carrying out their nightly routine of their own volition - the movements no longer under the control of Dean’s conscious mind. Pressing a kiss to the meat of Sam’s shoulder, Dean’s hand snaked over the sleeping man’s waist and caressed over stomach and chest coming to rest over the beating heart beneath. He tightened his arm around Sam, pulling him closer, and brushed another kiss to the knob at the top of his spine. Sam’s large hand reached back and Dean felt its warm presence on his thigh.
“Bad shift?” Sam turned his face toward his brother, the play of light and shadow across his profile reminding Dean of the Batman villain Two-Face.
Dean nuzzled his nose into the crook of Sam’s neck and inhaled the scent of home and love and Sam. “Yeah.”
“The Homewrecker,” Sam asked quietly, unwilling to disturb the quiet of their bedroom. The Homewrecker, as the media had labeled him, was an arson whose aggressive streak of fires had plagued South Bend’s finest and bravest for the last month. Sam knew each one weighed heavily on his brother.
“Yeah.”
“Wanna’ talk about it?” Sam shifted until he was lying on his back, bringing his arm around Dean’s shoulders to draw his brother into the comfort of his body.
“Not really.” Dean placed a chaste kiss to Sam’s chest and laid his head down on the smooth expanse, ear listening to the steady beat and fingers tracing the triple scars marring the skin. Images of that father and son from tonight’s call ran through his mind and his body tensed.
“Okay,” Sam said simply, fingers lifting Dean’s chin slightly so he could steal plump, enticing lips in a mind-numbing kiss.
Dean groaned into the kiss. Sam liked to talk, encouraged the open expression of feelings before they had time to fester, but he also knew his brother and understood what he needed better than anyone ever had or would.
It was late and Dean was tired, hours in bunker gear and hauling hoses taxing muscles to the point of exhaustion, but he needed this, needed Sam. He craved the younger man right now more than air, more than sleep - had to feel him alive and safe beneath him. Kisses were exchanged as hands roamed lazily, removing any obstructive clothes they encountered. Dean’s lips, tongue and teeth worked their way down Sam’s torso, mouthing into warm, live skin prayers of thanksgiving - for Sam, for Joey, for one more day - to whatever deity claimed guardianship over the Winchesters. He worshipped at his little brother’s body like it was the temple Sam worked to create.
His own need becoming increasingly desperate, Dean ground into the mattress seeking friction and turned his attention to Sam’s turgid length and puckered entrance, both twitching in anticipation.
He rose up to retrieve the lube from the nightstand drawer, looking into his brother’s mischievously glittering eyes when he felt a cool bottle press into his palm. Sam’s head dropped back on a moan as slick fingers breached him and began a slow, thorough internal exploration that stretched his muscles in the best ways possible while warm, wet heat encased his engorged member.
When his lover’s pants and pleas became too much, Dean positioned and entered the willing body below him in one smooth thrust. Muted moans and breathless gasps filled the air, legs and arms surrounded sweat-slick bodies and fingers and teeth dug into flushed flesh. Dean found his release in Sam, little brother accepting and embracing it all - his seed, his fear, his tension - and giving back love to fill the emptied places.
Sated and whole, Dean kissed Sam then rolled off to clean them up. They came together in a tangle of limbs, bodies molding into a familiar pattern with Sam’s head on Dean’s shoulder and his body tucked against the older man’s side in strong arms.
Dean rolled over and stretched out languidly in the bed. The sun streamed in through the curtains, casting a warm orange glow through his closed eyelids and warming his skin. Jaw cracking on a yawn, he pried his eyes open and glanced at the digital display on the bedside alarm clock.
Jesus! Sammy let him sleep until nine o’clock.
Rising, he stumbled to the bathroom to take care of his morning ritual and then down the stairs toward the kitchen. Leaning against the archway, Dean huffed a laugh. Sam stood at the counter, hips undulating as he sang along with Steven Tyler coming from the speakers of the cabinet mounted CD player. Singing while he cooked was a habit he’d picked up from Casey and it never ceased to amuse Dean. Joey sat next to him in his highchair, a wooden spoon clutched in each fist, and pretended to be Joey Kramer. Sam leaned over, voice cracking over the chorus, and the smallest family member cackled in delight at his father’s antics. Dean laughed at the sound of Joey’s unrestrained joy and his two loves turned to face him with twin, dimpled grins.
“Morning, DeeDee.” Sam danced over to give him a quick kiss before returning to a pile of potatoes on the cutting board.
“DeeDee!” Joey squealed, spoons hitting the plastic tray of his chair.
“Hey, Little Man. Happy Birthday.” Dean dropped a kiss to the top of his son’s head.
“There are pancakes in the microwave and the coffee’s fresh,” Sam said over his shoulder, a thish thunk sound in the background.
Dean came up behind him, wrapping his arms around his brother’s slim waist and propping his chin on Sam’s shoulder. “God, you’re a good little wife.” He nosed through the curls at Sam’s nape, lips seeking skin. “Been up long?”
“Rooster cooed at 6:15.” Sam shot a playful glare at Joey who babbled unintimidated. “It’s okay. I wanted to get this stuff ready for the bar-b-que before Bobby got here.”
“Oh so you can call him Rooster but I can’t call him Possum?” Dean squeezed Sam’s stomach, letting go in search for coffee.
“That’s because,” thish thunk, thish thunk, “my nickname didn’t come from one of the most sleepless nights I’ve ever experienced.” He dumped the pile of julienned potatoes into a container of water, picking up another spud.
Dean chuckled under his breath. After years of sleep deprivation from hunting nocturnal nasties and early morning drills, it was amazing that it was a baby that drove them both to their knees. They’d taken turns rocking and jostling the cranky infant and every time they’d thought he was finally asleep, he’d pop his head up still fully awake. Sometime around three in the morning, Dean heard Sam, through the baby monitor, begging Joey to ‘quit playing opossum’ and go to sleep. He teasingly started referring to him as Possum and, much to Sam’s chagrin, it stuck.
Dean pushed the buttons on the microwave to start the plate of pancakes warming and leaned back against the counter, watching his little brother manipulate the sharp kitchen knife through the vegetables with precise and knowledgeable hands. Who knew that hunting skills were so easily transferred to domestic tasks?
“Need any help,” Dean asked out of habit much the same way Sam did when Dean was working on the Jeep or Impala. They’d come to an easy, silent agreement that the garage was Dean’s domain and the kitchen was Sam’s.
“Nah. This is the last potato and the hamburgers are already pattied. Go eat your breakfast.”
Dean went into the dining room and set his coffee on the table, making two more trips to the kitchen - one to get his breakfast from the microwave and the second to get his Possum. He cut a small bite from his stack of fluffy pancakes and popped it in Joey’s waiting mouth, spreading the newspaper across the empty space next to his plate. Cutting a few bites for both him and Joey, he placed Joey’s on his tray and poured syrup over his own. Dean smoothed down the crease in the paper and smiled absently at the ‘mmmm’ from the little boy next to him as he read the emboldened headline.
THE HOMEWRECKER STRIKES AGAIN
Just below the thick, black letters was a picture of the father and son against the backdrop of red lights and orange flames. He devoured the article, mind picking apart the reporter’s details. He felt a reassuring pressure on his arm as Sam passed by, taking his seat on the other side of Joey.
“Hey, Sam…”
“I’ve pulled the engine run, Fire Marshall and police reports for each fire and I can’t find anything out of the ordinary. I’ve crossed referenced the origins with every type of fire demon I can find and nothing matches.” Sam interrupted, handing a bottle of juice to Joey.
Dean stared down at his plate, trying to make shapes out of the syrup puddles pooled on the porcelain. Guilt prickled at the back of his mind for even considering that Sam hadn’t looked into already. Mysterious fires engulfing the homes of families with small children, families just like theirs. Of course, Sam had checked into it. Their old life wasn’t so far behind them that the pattern hadn’t caught his brother’s attention and with Joey on Hell’s Most Wanted List, they couldn’t afford to be complacent.
“I hate to say it, Dean.” Sam picked up his mug and blew on the steaming liquid. “I think The Homewrecker is the human type of monster.”
Sam went out the French doors that led from the dining room to the backyard, platter of raw burgers ready for the grill balanced on one hand. He navigated through the milling guests and playing children, actually pirouetting once to avoid being knocked over when little Tommy from down the street ran across his path. Half the town had shown up for Joey’s first birthday BBQ along with most of Dean’s buddies from work and their families. The normally spacious backyard had been reduced to standing room only.
Bobby was the only member of their old life there. Even though the boys’ relationship with John was progressing - they’d met up with him at a bar owned by a friend of his in Nebraska for Sam’s birthday - neither Sam nor Dean was ready to tell John where they lived and unless Joey was in mortal danger his mother was forbidden from coming.
The Hunter had arrived a few hours earlier and was now sitting on the edge of the sandbox, helping his grandson load a small dumptruck with sand. Bobby’s strong, calloused hand was gently wrapped around the Joey’s, guiding a blue plastic shovel from the small hole they’d dug to the metal bed of the toy. Sam couldn’t decide who was having more fun.
He continued on his path to the grill where Dean was stationed, beer in one hand and a spatula in the other. He was surrounded by several of the guys from his squad, all laughing at some shared joke. As Sam approached, Dean leaned down to root in the weathered green cooler at his feet and pulled a bottle out of the melting ice. Trading beer for the burgers, Dean placed the uncooked meat over the waiting flame.
“Hey Sam,” Chris greeted, hand extended.
“Hey Chris,” Sam shook the outstretched hand followed by those of Mike and Matt. Offering his hand to an unfamiliar face, Sam introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Sam.”
Dean looked up from the sizzling meat. “Oh, shit. Sorry. Sam, this is Brandon. He started on A shift a few months back. Brandon, this is Sam. I forget sometimes that not everyone knows Sam.”
Shaking hands, Brandon squeezed Sam’s hand hard, grinding the bones together slightly. He smiled as Sam scrunched his eyebrows at the pressure and waited to see if Sam would call him on the unnecessary force. He was disappointed when the other man just returned his smile.
“How’s school going?” Chris knocked Dean’s leg off the cooler so he could sit down.
“School’s good. Just taking the summer off.” Sam twisted the cap off his beer and took a long swallow.
“School,” Brandon repeated. Sam started to respond but Matt beat him to it.
“Sam’s our resident genius. Pre-Law, right?”
Sam blushed at the compliment and ducked his head. “Actually I switched my major to education,” he answered, wiping the condensation slicking his palms off on his shorts.
“Why’d you change your mind? Dean always said you wanted to be a DA.” Mike’s eyes tracked Tiffany, one of the waitresses at Jenni’s café, as she walked past.
“Well, you know, Joey mainly. I wanted a job where I’d still be able to be with him. This way we’ll be done at the same time everyday and I’ll have vacations off.” Sam looked over his shoulder and smiled as Joey flung the shovel back and forth spraying Grandpa Bobby with sand.
“Oh, so you go to IUSB?” Brandon regarded Sam.
“Nah, Sammy’s over at Notre Dame,” Dean replied proudly, flipping the burgers over.
“Yeah. Sam scored us tickets for Michigan State last season. Game sucked, but, hey, tickets are tickets.” Mike smirked and clapped Sam on the back.
“You sound like one hell of a guy,” Brandon replied.
Sam flushed a little, unused to the attention, and startled when he felt something latch onto his leg. He looked down to see chubby arms encircling his calf. “Hey little man.”
Bobby was squatted down a few feet away where he’d obviously set the small boy down so he could toddle to his father, grinning fondly. Sam set his beer down on the side of the grill and picked up his son, swinging him over his head before settling him on his hip.
“Phew. Now I know why Grandpa brought you over.”
“Yep. Not so much Possum as roadkill right now.” Sam rolled his eyes at the nickname. “You got him? I was going to see if Jenni, um, needed any help.” Bobby avoided Dean and Sam’s eyes and face reddening at the mention of Jenni.
Sam raised his eyebrows and locked his teeth together to keep from laughing. “We’re good. I think Jenni would appreciate the help.”
Bobby sputtered and headed in the direction of the kitchen where the café owner was putting the finishing touches on Joey’s birthday cake. Wide grins split the brothers’ faces and they exchanged knowing looks.
“I guess I should go change you, stinky boy, before you run off all your guests.” Sam poked his finger into Joey’s rounded tummy, forcing peals of laughter from the baby.
“I’ll go with you. These burgers are done and I need that other platter. Mike, you mind watching the grill for a minute?” Smiling at Sam and Joey, Dean handed the spatula to his friend and picked up the dirty dish that Sam’d carried the raw meat out on earlier.
“Sure. I’ll start pulling these off.” Mike stepped up to the grill and began transferring the cooked burgers to the clean platter that had been stacked underneath the dirty one.
“Need a hand,” Brandon asked Dean. At the sound of Brandon’s voice, Joey’s laughter died and the little boy turned his full attention to the source.
“I got it. Thanks though. I’ll be right back.”
Brandon watched as the trio walked to the house, Sam and Dean playfully pushing and jostling each other along the way. His eyes locked with the baby’s ice blue ones over Sam’s shoulder. He shivered, feeling breathless under the scrutiny of the one year old’s penetrating, unwavering stare.
Tearing his gaze away, he turned back to his friends. “Dean must be a great guy to let Sam and Joey live here.” Confusion was written plainly on the other three men’s faces, so he added, “It can’t be easy to have a roommate with a baby.”
Matt choked mid-swallow and snorted beer out of his nose. Wiping the liquid from his face, he laughed, “Sam’s not Dean’s roommate.”
“What?”
“Dude,” Mike chuckled, moving the last patty from the grill and closing the lid. “Dean and Sam are DeanandSam.” He widened his eyes and nodded his head suggestively at the last part.
“What?! Dean and Sam are together? Like together, together?”
“Yeah man. Thought you knew.”
“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you…”
A middle-aged, dark haired woman came out of the house carrying an intricately decorated cake followed by a grisly looking man holding a miniature version. The crowd parted, forming a path to a table near the swingset where the hosts and the guest of honor were seated. The Homewrecker watched the child’s glee at the confection and solitary flame with passive detachment. He wasn’t here for festivities, but for the opportunities the gathering provided.
He felt smug, having been at the celebration for hours undetected, in full view of the very men he’d been tormenting. A disguised viper in a pack of mongooses. The Homewrecker wound his way through the happy party goers, mingling periodically. His eyes scanned the crowded backyard assessing each family as he searched for his next victim. Doting Dads and Soccer Moms mixed in with Single Moms and Weekend Dads created a veritable buffet that was making it hard to choose.
A deep, throaty laugh brought him back to the focus of the crowd’s attention. The baby’s fingers and face were covered in white frosting, the remnants of the smaller cake covering the table. Dean and Sam looked on from either side, laughing as the boy studied his sticky digits with avid curiosity. The Homewrecker considered each member of the family, eyes moving from youngest to oldest and lingering over the openly happy face of Dean. The portrait they painted a Rockwellian version of the modern, unconventional family. The Homewrecker smiled, his decision made.
Chapter 2
Author: JCRGIRL
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: R
Warnings: Wincest, AU, BabyFic (Non-MPreg)
Word Count: ~ 3700
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: What happens when the monsters are not the supernatural kind?
Author Notes: Joey Verse, set on Joey's 1 year birthday. Chronologically follows 'He Knows When You've Been Naughty'. Un-betaed.
A/N 2: This didn't start out as a multi-chapter, but a minor storyline decided it wanted a more major part. FYI - IUSB is Indiana University at South Bend.
Dean quietly turned the knob and pushed open the door to the bedroom. Standing in the doorway, his eyes took in the moonlit room and the blanket bundled forms on the bed. Footsteps silenced by plush carpeting, he moved forward until his thigh pressed flush to the side of the mattress and peered down at Sam curled tightly around the other man in his life. It wasn’t the first time Dean’d come home late to find this someone in his place, snuggled into his brother’s warm embrace, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last.
Sam’s companion made a sleepy snuffling sound and Sam shifted closer, draping a possessive arm over his stomach. In response, his bedmate gave a contented sigh and fisted his left hand into the front of Sam’s shirt while his right rested over the scars on Sam’s left upper arm - scars that before had only known Dean’s touch. Just like the other times Dean had witnessed these two, his heart stuttered in his rapidly tightening chest. He glanced back at the door, contemplating leaving without disturbing them, but thought better of it. This person had their time with Sam, now Dean wanted his.
Reaching over he curled fingers in the edge of the sheet and pulled it back, hands moving to the body of the intruder. He moved Sam’s arm and carefully pried fingers from jersey knit. Dean gathered the bed warmed and sleep pliant baby in his arms and cuddled him close to his chest, shushing and jostling the small child gently when he made wakeful noises. Sam shifted on the mattress, instantly alert to the absence of his son by his side.
“Dean,” he slurred sleepily.
“Yeah, Sammy. I’m home. Go back to sleep. I’ll be right back after I put Possum to bed.”
Sam buried his head in his pillow again and mumbled something that sounded like ‘not a possum’ as Dean crossed to the door. He cradled his son tighter, nose nestling in the soft, baby fine hair at the crown of his head, and inhaled the familiar, comforting smell that was uniquely Joey. The last call of the night, the reason he was four hours late getting home, had been tough - a deliberately set fire destroying the home of a young family. During his rehab period, he’d looked over at the soot streaked face of the small son wrapped in the protective circle of his father’s arms and he couldn’t help but think of Sam and Joey. It was a hazard of the job - projecting your family’s face over those of the victims - and even with Dean’s amazing ability to compartmentalize his life sometimes it still happened.
Softly humming his childhood lullaby, he swayed Joey back and forth before bending over the crib railing to lay him down. He pressed a light kiss to Joey’s forehead and smiled when the baby’s thumb found his mouth with pinpoint accuracy. Two turns of the knob on the mobile started the dangling balls, bats and gloves spinning in slow revolutions to Brahms. Sam had won the great debate over the nursery theme and Dean had to admit it turned out perfect - even with the cutesy sports uniformed bears.
He looked over his shoulder at the clock hanging on the wall next to the door. It had taken him three months of scouring the internet before he finally found the round light blue clock with the clouds painted on the face and the moon pendulum, but it was the only item he’d insisted on in the room. The white hands, glowing faintly in the moonlight, pointed out the time - 12:03. The dawning of a new day and Dean had yet to put the old one to bed. Sighing heavily, he ran the back of his fingers over his son’s cheek and smiled.
“Happy Birthday, little man,” he whispered. “Sleep tight, Possum. Your family is watching over you.”
He slipped back into his bedroom, quickly disrobed and slid under the sheets next to Sam. In his absence, his brother had rolled onto his side and Dean slotted his body flush against Sam’s muscled frame. Fingers ghosted over scarred flesh, carrying out their nightly routine of their own volition - the movements no longer under the control of Dean’s conscious mind. Pressing a kiss to the meat of Sam’s shoulder, Dean’s hand snaked over the sleeping man’s waist and caressed over stomach and chest coming to rest over the beating heart beneath. He tightened his arm around Sam, pulling him closer, and brushed another kiss to the knob at the top of his spine. Sam’s large hand reached back and Dean felt its warm presence on his thigh.
“Bad shift?” Sam turned his face toward his brother, the play of light and shadow across his profile reminding Dean of the Batman villain Two-Face.
Dean nuzzled his nose into the crook of Sam’s neck and inhaled the scent of home and love and Sam. “Yeah.”
“The Homewrecker,” Sam asked quietly, unwilling to disturb the quiet of their bedroom. The Homewrecker, as the media had labeled him, was an arson whose aggressive streak of fires had plagued South Bend’s finest and bravest for the last month. Sam knew each one weighed heavily on his brother.
“Yeah.”
“Wanna’ talk about it?” Sam shifted until he was lying on his back, bringing his arm around Dean’s shoulders to draw his brother into the comfort of his body.
“Not really.” Dean placed a chaste kiss to Sam’s chest and laid his head down on the smooth expanse, ear listening to the steady beat and fingers tracing the triple scars marring the skin. Images of that father and son from tonight’s call ran through his mind and his body tensed.
“Okay,” Sam said simply, fingers lifting Dean’s chin slightly so he could steal plump, enticing lips in a mind-numbing kiss.
Dean groaned into the kiss. Sam liked to talk, encouraged the open expression of feelings before they had time to fester, but he also knew his brother and understood what he needed better than anyone ever had or would.
It was late and Dean was tired, hours in bunker gear and hauling hoses taxing muscles to the point of exhaustion, but he needed this, needed Sam. He craved the younger man right now more than air, more than sleep - had to feel him alive and safe beneath him. Kisses were exchanged as hands roamed lazily, removing any obstructive clothes they encountered. Dean’s lips, tongue and teeth worked their way down Sam’s torso, mouthing into warm, live skin prayers of thanksgiving - for Sam, for Joey, for one more day - to whatever deity claimed guardianship over the Winchesters. He worshipped at his little brother’s body like it was the temple Sam worked to create.
His own need becoming increasingly desperate, Dean ground into the mattress seeking friction and turned his attention to Sam’s turgid length and puckered entrance, both twitching in anticipation.
He rose up to retrieve the lube from the nightstand drawer, looking into his brother’s mischievously glittering eyes when he felt a cool bottle press into his palm. Sam’s head dropped back on a moan as slick fingers breached him and began a slow, thorough internal exploration that stretched his muscles in the best ways possible while warm, wet heat encased his engorged member.
When his lover’s pants and pleas became too much, Dean positioned and entered the willing body below him in one smooth thrust. Muted moans and breathless gasps filled the air, legs and arms surrounded sweat-slick bodies and fingers and teeth dug into flushed flesh. Dean found his release in Sam, little brother accepting and embracing it all - his seed, his fear, his tension - and giving back love to fill the emptied places.
Sated and whole, Dean kissed Sam then rolled off to clean them up. They came together in a tangle of limbs, bodies molding into a familiar pattern with Sam’s head on Dean’s shoulder and his body tucked against the older man’s side in strong arms.
Dean rolled over and stretched out languidly in the bed. The sun streamed in through the curtains, casting a warm orange glow through his closed eyelids and warming his skin. Jaw cracking on a yawn, he pried his eyes open and glanced at the digital display on the bedside alarm clock.
Jesus! Sammy let him sleep until nine o’clock.
Rising, he stumbled to the bathroom to take care of his morning ritual and then down the stairs toward the kitchen. Leaning against the archway, Dean huffed a laugh. Sam stood at the counter, hips undulating as he sang along with Steven Tyler coming from the speakers of the cabinet mounted CD player. Singing while he cooked was a habit he’d picked up from Casey and it never ceased to amuse Dean. Joey sat next to him in his highchair, a wooden spoon clutched in each fist, and pretended to be Joey Kramer. Sam leaned over, voice cracking over the chorus, and the smallest family member cackled in delight at his father’s antics. Dean laughed at the sound of Joey’s unrestrained joy and his two loves turned to face him with twin, dimpled grins.
“Morning, DeeDee.” Sam danced over to give him a quick kiss before returning to a pile of potatoes on the cutting board.
“DeeDee!” Joey squealed, spoons hitting the plastic tray of his chair.
“Hey, Little Man. Happy Birthday.” Dean dropped a kiss to the top of his son’s head.
“There are pancakes in the microwave and the coffee’s fresh,” Sam said over his shoulder, a thish thunk sound in the background.
Dean came up behind him, wrapping his arms around his brother’s slim waist and propping his chin on Sam’s shoulder. “God, you’re a good little wife.” He nosed through the curls at Sam’s nape, lips seeking skin. “Been up long?”
“Rooster cooed at 6:15.” Sam shot a playful glare at Joey who babbled unintimidated. “It’s okay. I wanted to get this stuff ready for the bar-b-que before Bobby got here.”
“Oh so you can call him Rooster but I can’t call him Possum?” Dean squeezed Sam’s stomach, letting go in search for coffee.
“That’s because,” thish thunk, thish thunk, “my nickname didn’t come from one of the most sleepless nights I’ve ever experienced.” He dumped the pile of julienned potatoes into a container of water, picking up another spud.
Dean chuckled under his breath. After years of sleep deprivation from hunting nocturnal nasties and early morning drills, it was amazing that it was a baby that drove them both to their knees. They’d taken turns rocking and jostling the cranky infant and every time they’d thought he was finally asleep, he’d pop his head up still fully awake. Sometime around three in the morning, Dean heard Sam, through the baby monitor, begging Joey to ‘quit playing opossum’ and go to sleep. He teasingly started referring to him as Possum and, much to Sam’s chagrin, it stuck.
Dean pushed the buttons on the microwave to start the plate of pancakes warming and leaned back against the counter, watching his little brother manipulate the sharp kitchen knife through the vegetables with precise and knowledgeable hands. Who knew that hunting skills were so easily transferred to domestic tasks?
“Need any help,” Dean asked out of habit much the same way Sam did when Dean was working on the Jeep or Impala. They’d come to an easy, silent agreement that the garage was Dean’s domain and the kitchen was Sam’s.
“Nah. This is the last potato and the hamburgers are already pattied. Go eat your breakfast.”
Dean went into the dining room and set his coffee on the table, making two more trips to the kitchen - one to get his breakfast from the microwave and the second to get his Possum. He cut a small bite from his stack of fluffy pancakes and popped it in Joey’s waiting mouth, spreading the newspaper across the empty space next to his plate. Cutting a few bites for both him and Joey, he placed Joey’s on his tray and poured syrup over his own. Dean smoothed down the crease in the paper and smiled absently at the ‘mmmm’ from the little boy next to him as he read the emboldened headline.
THE HOMEWRECKER STRIKES AGAIN
Just below the thick, black letters was a picture of the father and son against the backdrop of red lights and orange flames. He devoured the article, mind picking apart the reporter’s details. He felt a reassuring pressure on his arm as Sam passed by, taking his seat on the other side of Joey.
“Hey, Sam…”
“I’ve pulled the engine run, Fire Marshall and police reports for each fire and I can’t find anything out of the ordinary. I’ve crossed referenced the origins with every type of fire demon I can find and nothing matches.” Sam interrupted, handing a bottle of juice to Joey.
Dean stared down at his plate, trying to make shapes out of the syrup puddles pooled on the porcelain. Guilt prickled at the back of his mind for even considering that Sam hadn’t looked into already. Mysterious fires engulfing the homes of families with small children, families just like theirs. Of course, Sam had checked into it. Their old life wasn’t so far behind them that the pattern hadn’t caught his brother’s attention and with Joey on Hell’s Most Wanted List, they couldn’t afford to be complacent.
“I hate to say it, Dean.” Sam picked up his mug and blew on the steaming liquid. “I think The Homewrecker is the human type of monster.”
Sam went out the French doors that led from the dining room to the backyard, platter of raw burgers ready for the grill balanced on one hand. He navigated through the milling guests and playing children, actually pirouetting once to avoid being knocked over when little Tommy from down the street ran across his path. Half the town had shown up for Joey’s first birthday BBQ along with most of Dean’s buddies from work and their families. The normally spacious backyard had been reduced to standing room only.
Bobby was the only member of their old life there. Even though the boys’ relationship with John was progressing - they’d met up with him at a bar owned by a friend of his in Nebraska for Sam’s birthday - neither Sam nor Dean was ready to tell John where they lived and unless Joey was in mortal danger his mother was forbidden from coming.
The Hunter had arrived a few hours earlier and was now sitting on the edge of the sandbox, helping his grandson load a small dumptruck with sand. Bobby’s strong, calloused hand was gently wrapped around the Joey’s, guiding a blue plastic shovel from the small hole they’d dug to the metal bed of the toy. Sam couldn’t decide who was having more fun.
He continued on his path to the grill where Dean was stationed, beer in one hand and a spatula in the other. He was surrounded by several of the guys from his squad, all laughing at some shared joke. As Sam approached, Dean leaned down to root in the weathered green cooler at his feet and pulled a bottle out of the melting ice. Trading beer for the burgers, Dean placed the uncooked meat over the waiting flame.
“Hey Sam,” Chris greeted, hand extended.
“Hey Chris,” Sam shook the outstretched hand followed by those of Mike and Matt. Offering his hand to an unfamiliar face, Sam introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Sam.”
Dean looked up from the sizzling meat. “Oh, shit. Sorry. Sam, this is Brandon. He started on A shift a few months back. Brandon, this is Sam. I forget sometimes that not everyone knows Sam.”
Shaking hands, Brandon squeezed Sam’s hand hard, grinding the bones together slightly. He smiled as Sam scrunched his eyebrows at the pressure and waited to see if Sam would call him on the unnecessary force. He was disappointed when the other man just returned his smile.
“How’s school going?” Chris knocked Dean’s leg off the cooler so he could sit down.
“School’s good. Just taking the summer off.” Sam twisted the cap off his beer and took a long swallow.
“School,” Brandon repeated. Sam started to respond but Matt beat him to it.
“Sam’s our resident genius. Pre-Law, right?”
Sam blushed at the compliment and ducked his head. “Actually I switched my major to education,” he answered, wiping the condensation slicking his palms off on his shorts.
“Why’d you change your mind? Dean always said you wanted to be a DA.” Mike’s eyes tracked Tiffany, one of the waitresses at Jenni’s café, as she walked past.
“Well, you know, Joey mainly. I wanted a job where I’d still be able to be with him. This way we’ll be done at the same time everyday and I’ll have vacations off.” Sam looked over his shoulder and smiled as Joey flung the shovel back and forth spraying Grandpa Bobby with sand.
“Oh, so you go to IUSB?” Brandon regarded Sam.
“Nah, Sammy’s over at Notre Dame,” Dean replied proudly, flipping the burgers over.
“Yeah. Sam scored us tickets for Michigan State last season. Game sucked, but, hey, tickets are tickets.” Mike smirked and clapped Sam on the back.
“You sound like one hell of a guy,” Brandon replied.
Sam flushed a little, unused to the attention, and startled when he felt something latch onto his leg. He looked down to see chubby arms encircling his calf. “Hey little man.”
Bobby was squatted down a few feet away where he’d obviously set the small boy down so he could toddle to his father, grinning fondly. Sam set his beer down on the side of the grill and picked up his son, swinging him over his head before settling him on his hip.
“Phew. Now I know why Grandpa brought you over.”
“Yep. Not so much Possum as roadkill right now.” Sam rolled his eyes at the nickname. “You got him? I was going to see if Jenni, um, needed any help.” Bobby avoided Dean and Sam’s eyes and face reddening at the mention of Jenni.
Sam raised his eyebrows and locked his teeth together to keep from laughing. “We’re good. I think Jenni would appreciate the help.”
Bobby sputtered and headed in the direction of the kitchen where the café owner was putting the finishing touches on Joey’s birthday cake. Wide grins split the brothers’ faces and they exchanged knowing looks.
“I guess I should go change you, stinky boy, before you run off all your guests.” Sam poked his finger into Joey’s rounded tummy, forcing peals of laughter from the baby.
“I’ll go with you. These burgers are done and I need that other platter. Mike, you mind watching the grill for a minute?” Smiling at Sam and Joey, Dean handed the spatula to his friend and picked up the dirty dish that Sam’d carried the raw meat out on earlier.
“Sure. I’ll start pulling these off.” Mike stepped up to the grill and began transferring the cooked burgers to the clean platter that had been stacked underneath the dirty one.
“Need a hand,” Brandon asked Dean. At the sound of Brandon’s voice, Joey’s laughter died and the little boy turned his full attention to the source.
“I got it. Thanks though. I’ll be right back.”
Brandon watched as the trio walked to the house, Sam and Dean playfully pushing and jostling each other along the way. His eyes locked with the baby’s ice blue ones over Sam’s shoulder. He shivered, feeling breathless under the scrutiny of the one year old’s penetrating, unwavering stare.
Tearing his gaze away, he turned back to his friends. “Dean must be a great guy to let Sam and Joey live here.” Confusion was written plainly on the other three men’s faces, so he added, “It can’t be easy to have a roommate with a baby.”
Matt choked mid-swallow and snorted beer out of his nose. Wiping the liquid from his face, he laughed, “Sam’s not Dean’s roommate.”
“What?”
“Dude,” Mike chuckled, moving the last patty from the grill and closing the lid. “Dean and Sam are DeanandSam.” He widened his eyes and nodded his head suggestively at the last part.
“What?! Dean and Sam are together? Like together, together?”
“Yeah man. Thought you knew.”
“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you…”
A middle-aged, dark haired woman came out of the house carrying an intricately decorated cake followed by a grisly looking man holding a miniature version. The crowd parted, forming a path to a table near the swingset where the hosts and the guest of honor were seated. The Homewrecker watched the child’s glee at the confection and solitary flame with passive detachment. He wasn’t here for festivities, but for the opportunities the gathering provided.
He felt smug, having been at the celebration for hours undetected, in full view of the very men he’d been tormenting. A disguised viper in a pack of mongooses. The Homewrecker wound his way through the happy party goers, mingling periodically. His eyes scanned the crowded backyard assessing each family as he searched for his next victim. Doting Dads and Soccer Moms mixed in with Single Moms and Weekend Dads created a veritable buffet that was making it hard to choose.
A deep, throaty laugh brought him back to the focus of the crowd’s attention. The baby’s fingers and face were covered in white frosting, the remnants of the smaller cake covering the table. Dean and Sam looked on from either side, laughing as the boy studied his sticky digits with avid curiosity. The Homewrecker considered each member of the family, eyes moving from youngest to oldest and lingering over the openly happy face of Dean. The portrait they painted a Rockwellian version of the modern, unconventional family. The Homewrecker smiled, his decision made.
Chapter 2