Teacher's Pet - Epilogue
Title: Teacher's Pet Epilogue
Author: JCRGIRL
Banner: imogen_lily
Pairing: Dean/Sam, OMC/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Overall: Wincest, AU, bondage, non-con (not the boys), kidnap, abuse, D/S overtones, weecest (Sam is 16)
Word Count: ~ 3200
Beta: glimmerella
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: Sam is kidnapped and the hunting community, headed by Dean and John, band together to find him. Four days after he's taken, Sam stumbles out of the woods beaten, bruised and broken and reminds Dean and John that not all evil is supernatural.
MasterPost
Author Notes: You can run from your past but it will always catch up with you. As always much love to my beta glimmerella and my cheerleader imogen_lily who I couldn't do this without.
The Pinto rolled to a slow stop in front of the light blue house. The driver sat in the car, waiting for the dust cloud his tires had stirred up on the gravel driveway to settle. With a heavy sigh, Bobby pushed the rusty door open and stood, stretching his cramped body. The screen door to the house creaked and Bobby smiled.
“You’re late, Mr. Singer.” Ellen stood on the front porch, hand on her cockily tilted hip.
Bobby trudged up the stairs, stopping on the one below the formidable woman so they stood eye to eye. “Freaking ghoul. Damn thing nearly took Rufus’ head off.”
“He okay?” Her eyes softened in concern.
“Yeah, just a concussion. You know it’s hard to kill us old birds.”
“Thank God,” She smiled, arms slipping over his shoulders.
“This mean I’m forgiven?” He returned the smile, hands coming up to rest on her hips and draw her closer.
“I’ll think about it,” she said against his lips before she closed hers around them. Breaking the contact, she nudged his hat further up his head and leaned her forehead against his. “I was worried when you didn’t call.”
“I’m sorry.” His hands slipped around her back to hold her tightly. He knew that the memory of Bill going on a hunt only to never return still haunted Ellen.
“Don’t do it again.”
He took her left hand in his and lifted it to kiss the ring there. “Promise.”
Voices floated on the breeze and Bobby peered around her to see a set of beige curtains billowing out the open window. “You sure Dean wants us here? It’s Sam’s birthday after all. He might have wanted some time alone.”
“He’s the one that asked for us to be here. He said after everything that’s happened he wanted the family around today.” She laced her fingers with his calloused ones and tugged him toward the door. “Come on. He’ll be glad you made it.”
Bobby allowed himself to be pulled into the house. After the Reece incident, Dean decided it was time to settle down. His heart wasn’t in the hunt anymore, even though he talked occasionally about accompanying Bobby or John on something close by, and he wanted someplace stable to recover from what had happened to Sam. It wasn’t much - a two-story ranch house set on an acre of land outside of Billings - but it was enough. John even had a room on the first floor that he used on his frequent visits.
Ellen guided him into the living room where John and Missouri were already gathered. The room was simple, a deep brown leather couch - almost the same color as Dean’s ever present jacket - was paired with two recliners and a set of shaker style tables. Artfully displayed vintage horror movie posters dotted the walls and bookcases flanked the widescreen TV, filled with ancient tomes and recent bestsellers. Bobby crossed to the fireplace where pictures lined the thick oak mantle. Mary and John, arms around each other and so obviously in love. Mary, John and the boys in front of the house in Lawrence. John with Sam in his lap and Dean leaning over his shoulder sitting on the Impala. Dean and Sam on Sam’s sixteenth birthday, arms slung around each other’s waists, their joy radiating off the glossy paper. He lingered on the last one, taken in front of the fireplace in his study. His boys - as much as anyone could be without sharing blood. His heart ached for the pain they’d endured in their lives.
“Bobby?” Dean’s hand on his shoulder had him shaking free of the past’s pull. He turned and was swallowed in a strong embrace. “Thanks for coming, man.”
“Of course, I came ya idgit.” Bobby patted the side of Dean’s face affectionately. Dark smudges underscored the younger man’s glass green eyes and his skin was pale. “You doing okay, son?”
“Yeah,” Dean shook his head, “yeah,” he repeated when Bobby looked less than convinced, “I just picked up a few extra shifts at the garage this week. Mr. Abbott is talking about promoting me so I was trying to make a good impression.”
“You sure?”
“Bobby, I’m positive.” Dean adjusted the picture Bobby had been examining, squaring it in line with the others, fingers tracing the filigree on the edge of the frame before ghosting over the image of Sam. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I left something important upstairs.” Dean left the room and ascended the stairs two at a time.
“Okay, spill,” Bobby questioned the room at large, moving to sit on the sofa next to Ellen, “how’s he doing really?”
“As well as can be expected,” John answered, looking at the stairs his son had just scaled, “he’s been fidgety about today for weeks.”
“He’ll be fine,” Missouri reassured, sitting in one of the recliners knitting a pair of blue baby booties, “he just needs our help to make it through today.”
“That reminds me,” Ellen jumped up, “I have a few things to finish in the kitchen. Care to give me a hand?” She held her hand out to Bobby who took the invitation without a second thought.
John chuckled still having a hard time seeing Bobby so…domesticated. If there was ever a woman to handle that crotchety old bastard it was Ellen.
“She’s good for him.” Missouri smiled, flattening out the bootie she was working on to check her work.
“I know.” John looked over his shoulder at the sound of laughter from the kitchen, “I just never thought I’d see the day Bobby Singer was settled and…”
“Happy,” Missouri finished for him. “I never thought I’d be knitting a pair of booties for Jo, but here I am.”
“I noticed they were blue.” John nodded to the foot shaped article dangling from Missouri’s needles, “you know something Ellen and Bobby don’t.”
A mischievous glint shone in Missouri’s eyes. “I know a lot of things that Bobby and Ellen don’t.”
“Why you sly little minx. You know who the father is, don’t you?” John stopped for a moment, a look of horror on his face. In his head he was doing mental math, counting back Jo’s due date to when the boys were with her at Missouri’s. “Please God tell me it’s not a Winchester.”
“No, no little Winchesters. Jo would never have been able to get between your boys.” Her nimble fingers twisted the needles and looped the yarn with practiced ease.
“So you do know who it is?” John leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees.
“John,” Missouri admonished, pinning him with a reprimanding gaze, “that is Jo’s secret to tell. I will not betray her by revealing it to you.”
“It’s Garth, isn’t it?”
Missouri’s lips pinched tight, her cheeks twitching in the effort not to laugh. She lowered her eyes back to her work, concentrating on each knit and pearl. “Maybe.”
John’s laugh was too big to be contained and shook his entire frame. Wiping his eyes, he faced his old friend with a look of childish glee. “You gotta’ let me tell Bobby.”
Dean quietly shut the bedroom door and leaned back against the wood. He was happy his family was here to share the day, but he wasn’t lying when he told Bobby he was tired. He’d been putting in 60+ hours for the last few weeks and the extra time was starting to wear him down. Sighing he went to the bed and sat on the plush mattress, fists knuckling his tired eyes in the hopes of reviving them. On the nightstand was a large manila envelope, the FBI seal embossed in the upper left hand corner.
Dean opened the door, halting completely at the sight of the two men on his porch. “What are you doing here?”
“Dean,” Agent Brown extended his hand, “good to see you again. You remember my partner Chase.” He nodded his head over his shoulder at the man behind him.
Dean sneered at the proffered hand. “I remember, but that doesn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”
Pulling his hand back, Brown stammered, “We, uh, we wanted to come by in person to let you know that Reece’s case has been finalized.”
“I figured death made it pretty final, myself.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest, his tone cold and unforgiving. He had to remind himself sometimes that the only reason the paramedics arrived as fast as they did was because Brown and his partner had followed Dean after their discussion in the liquor store parking lot. Apparently, they’d expected something to go down and had the local SWAT medics staged two blocks away as a precaution.
“Well, yes, but yesterday the case was officially closed by the Bureau. We just thought you’d like to know.” Bullard stepped forward. He held out a manila envelope and waited for Dean to take it. “Enclosed is a copy of the Bureau findings in regards to Sam. I also put in some information of counseling in case you were interested.”
Dean curled his fingers around the stiff envelope. “How thoughtful,” he snarked. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m a busy man.” He moved to shut the door, but Brown’s hand shot out to keep it from closing.
“I’m so sorry, Dean. About everything.”
Dean’s fingers on the door blanched as his grip tightened. He turned back to the agents, his eyes dark and dangerous. “I don’t give a good goddamn what you are. If you’d done your job and arrested the fucker to begin with then maybe Sam would…” Dean trailed off panting, the words he’d kept bottled up for the past six months gushing forth without censor. “I guess that doesn’t matter to you now. You got your man. Case closed, justice served.” He leaned forward, his voice lowering to a gravelly growl. “As far as I’m concerned you and your Bureau can take your justice and shove it straight up your asses.” With that, he slammed the door shut in the stunned men’s faces.
Dean turned as the bathroom door creaked and a rush of steam rolled out of the small space. A figure emerged, dressed in low hung jeans and a white button up shirt, hanging unfastened and untucked. A towel was draped over his head and strong hands rubbed the terrycloth back and forth. Pulling the cloth down, Sam looked at his brother and scrunched up his face in confusion. Tossing the towel back in the bathroom, he moved his hands fluidly mouthing the words they depicted.
What wrong?
“Nothing, Sammy. Everything’s fine.” He smiled, left hand twisting the ring on his right.
Sam quirked an eyebrow at him in obvious disbelief and Dean snorted. Who needed hands when you had an expressive face like Sam’s? He stood and crossed to his brother, hand coming up to cup the side of his neck.
“It’s nothing. Really. I was just thinking.” He gently traced the shiny pink scar that ran horizontally across Sam’s throat, marring the tanned expanse. He stared transfixed as the pad smoothed over the raised skin.
“D.” It was one of the few sounds that Sam could still make, no more than a gush of forced air and a flick of tongue on teeth. Dean raised his head to meet hazel eyes and smiled weakly.
I here. He pointed at himself then held his palms to the ceiling and moved them in a circular motion. I fine. He pointed at himself again and spread his fingers wide, tapping his thumb to his chest twice.
“I know, Sammy, I know. It’s just…I almost lost you.” Dean leaned his forehead against Sam’s shoulder.
Sam wrapped his arms around his brother’s back and pressed kisses to Dean’s temple. Dean’s hands came up and fisted into the material of Sam’s shirt, clinging to the younger man like a lifeline.
It had been three harrowing days since the showdown with Reece and Dean worried that if he blinked his eyes Sam would disappear. Three days of surgeries and tentative hope while Sam slept in a medically induced coma. Doctors came in and left, spouting medical terms that left Dean and John reeling. Sam had needed another operation on his leg to correct the damage done from using it before it was healed, setting back the recovery an additional month. Reece’s death blow had cut Sam’s trachea, thankfully missing all the major arteries and veins that ran parallel to it. The prognosis was good, but it came with a price. The knife injured the nerves to the vocal chords. Sam would live, but he would be mute. The doctors promised that after a year they would reevaluate Sam’s condition to see if surgical repair was an option.
It nearly broke Dean to explain it all to Sam when he finally was brought out of the coma. Sam frowned in thought, fingers moving to the large white patch of gauze on his neck. After a few minutes, he pointed at his computer and motioned for Dean to give it to him. He opened a blank Word document and typed out with unerring precision.
Better silent than dead. We’ll work something out for hunts. Don’t worry.
Dean shook his head before Sam finished tapping out the sentence. He’d had three days to think about things and he’d come to some important decisions. “No more hunts, Sam. You and me, we’re done.”
But what about
“But nothing.” He placed his hands over Sam’s to still them. “You almost died. I can’t lose you.” Dean smoothed Sam’s bangs back from his forehead and dragged the back of his knuckles down Sam’s cheek.
Sam looked intently at his brother. He nodded, hand taking Dean’s from his face and squeezing gently.
Okay.
That night, Sam pulled up a website on American Sign Language and started studying the video teacher showing the correct way to sign each word. Later, after Sam’s pain medicine had lulled him to sleep, Dean started studying too.
Dean kissed Sam’s neck, rubbing his nose along the ticklish spot that made Sam squirm. Sam pulled back, hands sliding free. He stepped back and his eloquent fingers expounded on the excited look on his face, lips moving to form the words.
You say something about gift before
“Yes, Sam. I have a present for you, but you have to wait. I have a surprise first.” Dean chuckled at Sam’s pout, his bottom lip curled over and sticking out comically. He kissed the protruding flesh and patted Sam on the ass. “Finish getting dressed and I’ll let you see your surprise.” He’d successfully kept Sam occupied upstairs all morning while Ellen, John and Missouri set up for Sam’s party. He’d convinced his brother that their friends and family wouldn’t be able to make it this year.
Grinning, Sam sashayed his way to the dresser, making a show of swinging his hips suggestively.
“None of that, Sammy. There’s no use trying to seduce me. Get dressed.” Dean dropped onto the bed and watched as his brother stood in front of the mirror to button up his shirt. Two pictures on top of the dresser, one of them during Spring Break at the pier in Daytona and the other outside the MGM Grand, shook when Sam accidentally bumped the furniture leaning close to check his hair.
Turning around, Sam beamed at Dean and held his hands out to his side.
“You’re gorgeous.” Dean rolled his eyes and held out his hand. “You finally ready?”
Nodding, Sam took Dean’s hand and let his brother lead him from their bedroom.
Dean closed the bedroom door, thumbing the lock in place. “You have a good time today?” Everything had gone off without a hitch and Sam’s joy had been palpable all day. Sam’s face shone with dimpled smiles and happy eyes.
Sam nodded, sighing contentedly as he sank into the mattress. A large yawn erupted from deep within, splitting his mouth wide and cracking his jaw.
“You’re not too tired are you?” Dean leered at him, eyes raking over the younger man’s form.
Never. Sam winked.
Dean took his time and stripped Sam slowly, worshiping each newly revealed patch of skin with lips and tongue. He lavished attention to the shiny scar, licking and kissing the imperfectly perfect flesh. He teased and prepped the body beneath him until Sam’s panted gasps and stuttered “D”s filled the room. They came together and Dean thrust deep and slow, content to draw out the moment and prolong the pleasure. Lips met lazily, soft, sensuous kisses interspersed with longer, deeper ones. When Sam tossed his head back, features contorted in a look of ecstasy, Dean sped up. Long, nimble fingers dug into the muscles of his back and he shifted slightly to change the angle. Sam jolted like he’d been electrocuted and Dean rose up on one arm to curl a hand around Sam’s weeping member. Hand and body working in conjunction, Dean pulled Sam over the abyss and followed him down.
Falling in a graceless, sated heap, Dean reached over the side for his discarded shirt and wiped them clean. He rolled to his side and gathered Sam to his chest, nose slotting into the soft curls at the nape of Sam’s neck. His fingers traced the delicate black lines inked into the skin of Sam’s shoulder, covering the scar left by Reece. It was the same design he’d created for Dean, a twin to the one on his brother’s shoulder - Dean’s claim overwriting Reece’s forced one.
Dean suddenly remembered he’d never given Sam his present. Rolling away from his brother’s warm body, he slid open the nightstand drawer and pulled out a small box. Leaning up on his elbow, he placed the box on the mattress in front of Sam. Picking up the box, Sam shifted to his back and shot his brother a confused look.
Dean shrugged, “Happy Birthday.”
Sam’s lips twitched into a smile and he kissed Dean lightly on the lips. Lifting the lid, Sam’s eyes went wide and he looked at Dean in disbelief.
“Bobby found it the day he and Ellen went to Reece’s cabin. The jeweler was able to solder it back together again.”
Sam blinked his wet eyes, index finger running over the silver band nestled in the velvet box.
“You like it, Sammy? If you don’t I could always go out and get you something else. Maybe you’d like a…”
Sam’s lips smashed against his to quiet the rambling words. Pulling back, he pressed the box into Dean’s hand, holding his right one out. When Dean didn’t immediately catch on, Sam wiggled his ring finger with an expectant look.
A loving smile curved Dean’s lips upward and he slid the band back where it belonged. Laying on his back, Dean tugged his brother until Sam’s head was pillowed on his chest. He curled his hand over Sam’s, thumb smoothing over the metal band, and kissed Sam on the forehead.
“I love you, Sammy.”
Lips brushed against his chest, pressing the soundless declaration into the skin over his heart.
I love you.