Hold On Until Dawn Chapter 2A REPOST

[jcrgirl]

Title: Hold On Until Dawn Chapter 2A REPOST
Author: Insertcode11 with jcrgirl and imogen_lily
Banner: imogen_lily
Pairing: Dean/Sam, OMC/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Overall: Wincest, AU, bondage, non-con (not the boys), abuse, weecest (Sam is 16) in parts
Word Count: ~ 11,500
Beta: glimmerella
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: AU after the events of Devil's Trap (1x22). John's alive and there is no deal. In October of 2007 Castiel brings a case to Sam and Dean that takes them to Pike Creek, Delaware and in all appearances seems like a case that was never fully solved when they were in town in October of 2000. They settle into the town and their cover roles easily enough, though the hunt itself is puzzling and elusive. However, Sam's edgy and secretive and Dean's not exactly thrilled to be back in the town where Sam first got it in his head to go to Stanford. At least they have the generous help of John's old Marine buddy and closest friend outside of the supernatural world-who Sam seems to have an inexplicable problem with. Dean will find, just as Sam did when he was sixteen that the supernatural aren’t the only horrifying things that stir in the coldest hours just before the dawn.

A/N: This is the story of a story. This story was started by the wonderfully talented Insercode11. She posted the first three chapters and wrote an additional three. When she wasn't able to finish this fic, I volunteered to complete it. I only hope to live up to her beautiful beginning. This Chapter is her original work, reposted to re-familiarize us all on where we last saw our boys. All praise belongs to her.



Pike Creek, October 2000

Sam’s sneakers were old and thinning and it made him feel brittle all over. Like his skin was made of the stuff the blue little robin’s eggs were made of that Dean showed Sam when he Sam was nine. Dean had found the nest in the back corner of Bobby’s scrap yard in the shell of an old Ford pickup. Back then the scrap yard had been one big adventure-a separate world with endless discoveries and possibilities. Dean and Sam had fingered the small eggs and thought that they could feel the fluttering of little babies inside. Though they heard the mother chirping her warnings in the metal jungle somewhere around them they couldn’t leave the eggs alone because by the time Sam was nine all he and his family saw and knew were dark and dead things and the little blue eggs were so alive they weren’t even born yet.

When Dad came outside they were both laughing hard over nothing funny at all because those eggs were so different and tiny and fragile but alive and strong and safe in their nest. Sam remembered looking up at Dad and squinting because the sun was right behind his head. But Dad had a really sad look on his face.

“Boys.” He said and his voice sounded heavier than the Colt pistol Dad had put in his hand a couple of weeks ago. “Boys you can’t just play with a bird’s eggs.”

Sam’s smile never faltered. “But they’re…nice!” Because Dean said boys didn’t say “pretty”.

“We think we can feel the chicks!” Dean chipped in.

Dad never smiled, just carefully removed the eggs from their hands and put them back in the nest that they had so carefully pulled from the metal husk with every intention of putting it back. Dad held the nest in his hands, held it above them, out of reach. “When the eggs are touched by humans, the parents don’t come back to it.”

Sam stared up at their Dad in the sun and didn’t understand. He felt Dean’s heavy hand on his shoulder and he still didn’t understand.

“The eggs need their mama to hatch. But she won’t return after they’ve been handled by something else.” Dad explained softly with this tender look that Sam loved but didn’t see very often on his father’s face.

Sam never saw what Dad did with the nest and the eggs. He had ran off, tears and the sun in his eyes. He wrapped himself around Bobby’s old dog in the library the rest of the afternoon, sick at the idea of going outside. He had been sullen, crying off and on and not really having a good idea why, except that he had possibly killed baby birds before they had a chance to be born. It hadn’t been just that, though his nine year old vocabulary could hardly tackle the deeper, darker dread he had felt on that day. Dean and Dad must have felt it, too, because Dad let Sam cry when he wanted that day though he had been telling Sam “big boys don’t cry” since Sam was six (when a bully in a grade above Sam had pushed him down and he had come home crying Dad said “big boys don’t cry, they stand up for themselves” but Dean had walked Sam into his class the next day and had broken the bully’s nose). That night, Dean had hugged Sam tight and held him close in bed and that had made Sam feel a little better because he somehow knew he would die too if Dean left and never came back.

Sam couldn’t look at his hands for days afterwards because those eggs were dead things too as soon as he touched them. Sam thought about the nest and how he had thought it was a safe place when really it became a grave. He thought about his hands touching the grave and the dead things inside and wondered if he would ever touch anything alive.

It was a pretty dumbass thing to be thinking about now, couple of years later and thousands of miles between him and that nest. But Sam’s shoes were thin and his feet were October cold and he couldn’t help but think his skin might be as thin as those robin eggs.

“Gotta have thick skin, Sam, hunting’s tough, you can’t be sobbing over every little thing,.”

Dad’s voice ricochets condescendingly in his head, but Sam feels far from thick. Everything gets to him recently. Dad pretty much only had to be breathing wrong for him to get on Sam’s nerves. And for some reason he keeps on taking Dean’s normal brotherly jibes like “geek”, “girl”, and “emo-punk” as personal insults when he normally understands that Dean didn’t mean them like that and they were supposed to be affectionate, but Sam couldn’t help it when the words cut him.

And the hunting and the constant moving acted like sandpaper, wearing him down further. Pike Creek was the fourth school for Sam this year and his back still ached from where the poltergeist from last week had blown him into a heavy wooden wardrobe.

And maybe he feels especially thinned out today because this might be it. There were fireseverywhere in this town and this could be it.

A heavy hand on his shoulder seems to weigh him back into himself. “Those are your pensive shoulders.” Dean’s voice laughs, sending a tendril of reassuring warmth through Sam’s chest and an extra coating to his thin skin just before big brother fills Sam’s vision. Dean’s brow wrinkles in concentration as he put his other hand on Sam’s other shoulder and presses, tip of his tongue poking from his mouth and curling around his upper lip as he studies Sam.

“Nah, they’re slightly off for your pensive shoulders. These are definitely your emo shoulders.”

Sam knew he should probably glare and shrug away from Dean’s hold because he’s so tired of Dean calling him “emo” and always implying that Sam’s in a selfish, brooding mood. But Sam can’t bring himself to even feel angry or hurt because he sees his own haunted look reflected in Dean’s eyes.

“You know I’m sixteen, right? I can walk into school by myself.” He says instead. Their place is on a bus route, but Dean had insisted that he drive Sam to school on his first day, saying “I always drive you to school on your first day, it’s tradition, you can take the bus tomorrow”.

The statement was close enough to true, except that Dean hadn’t driven him to the past two schools, but that was because Dean’s been busy with work or was already off on the hunt with Dad. Sam (and Dean, for that matter) never quite operated on the same level as kids their age. Sam didn’t get embarrassed if Dean or Dad drove or walked him to school (though, Dad hasn’t done that since Sam was eleven) and in fact always felt reassured. After all, Sam was never put in kindergarten and he grew up in an air tight bubble in the shape of his family for six years with minimum contact with crowds and other human beings. When Sam had first stepped into school-despite the exciting prospect of books, learning, newness-he had felt alienated from his family, cut off from a lifeline, like floating out in the nothingness of an ocean. It had been loud, pushy, confusing, DEAN! The first day of first grade the school had called Dad to pick him up because Sam had panicked so hard he had thrown up. Dean had somehow found out though he had been in fifth grade at the time.

He had skipped out on the rest of his classes and met Sam and Dad at the door to the nurse’s office, eyes challenging the nurse and Dad to say anything while Dean wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulders and said, “I know it’s scary, Sammy, but it’s not too bad after awhile. Besides, I’m not too far away, right?”

Dean doesn’t even smile at Sam’s half-hearted and gauzy barb, just studies him searchingly and Sam’s surprised to realize there have been changes to Dean’s face. He just seems older, there are deeper lines around his eyes. He hasn’t shaved since yesterday morning so he has a stubbly shadow on his cheeks and chin. Dean’s eyes are lighter than Sam remembers, bottle green but when they hit the sunlight they almost look hazel like Sam’s. There’s a scab about the size of half of Sam’s pink near Dean’s left ear and for the life of him Sam can’t remember Dean ever getting it. Maybe the last hunt, or he got scratched up doing one of the odd jobs he takes for food money. And that’s when Sam realizes that all three of them had been so busy with hunts lately-and you can’t really see more than the whites of eyes, flash of teeth, and glint of gunmetal through the dark and the smoke on a hunt-and Sam’s been so busy going to four schools in one year that Dean had somehow grown and changed and Sam had missed it. He wonders if something about him has changed as well because Dean’s looking so hard at him, eyes roving over his face slow and sure.

“Sammy.” Dean says and Sam belatedly thinks he should be embarrassed because from the outside it looks like there are these two guys staring soulfully into each other’s eyes on the steps of the high school but he can’t bring himself to care. Dean swallows and grips Sam’s shoulders tighter.

“Sammy. This could be it.” And Sam was doing just fine until someone else voice his thoughts out loud and now he’s got this tight, cloying feeling in his throat and stomach like he’s choking on acrid smoke (the smoke that swallowed up their house and Mom, the smoke that Sam doesn’t remember but swears he smells or tastes sometimes, especially today when this could be it).

“But it might not be it.” Dean reasons, measuring his words just as carefully as his fingers measure the tension in Sam’s shoulders. “We don’t know. Until we do…I know it’s hard. Hell, I feel like I can’t be still, but… try to focus on other things. School. Research. Training. If you think about it too much you’ll go crazy.”

Sam nods because he understands Dean, he does, “but.” Sam licks his lips and tries swallowing but that only made him feel sick to his stomach. “But, it’s taken so much from us already. We’re not even sure what it is, how to-I-I can’t help but think-“

Dean shakes Sam abruptly, causing Sam’s head to loll. “I know. I know it’s fuckin terrifying. I can’t-“ He cuts himself, seeming to remind himself that he is supposed to be comforting Sam, not causing both of their panicking to escalate.

“Look. If this is it, we’ve been waiting for years for this. We’re ready. Nothing is going to happen to us. I won’t let anything happen to us.”

Sam’s only mildly embarrassed that he latches onto Dean’s words like he was still nine years old and afraid of robin’s nest-graves and committing baby bird abortion. He nods at Dean, wondering why he’s able to believe Dean so fully whenever rationally he knows that Dean can’t promise that, that Dean’s only human, but no matter how hard he prods at reason and fact he can’t seem to dim the heroic silhouette Dean cuts in his mind, can’t seem to unbelieve in Dean.

“Do you understand me, Sammy? Do you hear me?”

“Yeah.” Sam whispers. “I hear you.” Because he does understand, because he believes in Dean’s promise.

Dean’s smile is more in the squint of his eyes than in the width of his lips and Sam knows that thatsmile is for him. “Alright.” Dean says and claps Sam on the shoulder twice. “Got your transfer papers?”

Sam rolls his eyes and fights a smile. “Yes.”

“Books?”

“I’ll get them inside.”

“Keys? Lunch?”

“Yeah everything’s packed; I double checked, mother-hen!” Sam grins, shoving Dean playfully away by his collarbone.

“Condoms?”

“Dean! That’s gross!”

“What? Condoms are always necessary, remember? Or do I have to give you the talk again? And we’ve been busy lately. I know you haven’t gotten the chance to-“

Sam makes gagging sounds, nose wrinkling in disgust. “I can’t believe you know that!”

“OK, but you’re gonna regret not packing them. You’ll be in the heat of the moment and she’ll leave you hangin’ if you don’t got some rubber. Remember what I said? Don’t be a loner, cover your boner?”

Sam groans, dragging his palm down his face and warily looking from side to side to make sure no one else heard his big brother’s lameness. “Oh my God, Dean. Shut up.” Sam murmurs, trying to swallow back the honest to God giggle that's threatening to bubble to the surface.

“Sex is cleaner with a packaged wiener.” Dean continues to chime cheerfully, a gleam in his eye and a knowing smirk as he watches Sam’s “bitchface” slowly melt into laughter.

“Dean, please.”

“Not until you tell me you have them!” Dean says as he wraps an arm around Sam’s neck and bends him over to rasp his knuckles over Sam’s scalp. “You can’t stay a virgin forever, Sammy! You’re a reasonably attractive guy and people are going to start thinking you’re deficient if you don’t pop your cherry-or, you know, whatever-and I can’t have you ruin my reputation my proxy. It won’t be funny with a coatless dummy!” Dean sing-songs.

“Do you sit at home by yourself and think these up?” Sam jibes but it’s lost in his struggle to get out of Dean’s grasp and to hide his mortified blush at the same time.

“Beats your favorite past time which is writing emo poems.”

“I don’t write any poems!” Sam shoots back, finally getting out of Dean’s grasp by pinching him in the tender spot on his right side. Sam steps back, out of reach of Dean’s powerful arms, and huffs to catch his breath.

But Dean’s got his hands in his pockets, is rocking back on his heels, and is doing that thing he does when he somehow laughs with his eyes and face without even opening his mouth or cracking a smile. And then Dean says in the most serious, rebuking voice he can manage, “if you’re not going to sack it, go home and whack it.”

Sam laughs then, so suddenly that he throws his head back and the morning sun warms his face.

Dean also laughs, and they’re bumping each other’s shoulders and practically giggling like they did when they were ten and six and Dean regaled Sam with all of the brand new fart jokes he heard in his new fifth grade class. “Just answer the question!” Dean gasps out, face straining to be serious.

“Yes! Yes I have them!” Sam finally acquiesces.

“You sure you have the right size-“

“I will shove you down these stairs.” Sam warns, all laughter gone except for the traitorous grin that tugs at the corner of his lips.

Dean nods, laughter still slipping out from between his teeth before the mirth gives way to a stern but haunted look in his bright eyes. “You have weapons on you?”

“Silver and iron knives.”

“Salt?”

“Bag in my backpack.”

Dean smirks and tweaks Sam’s ear, causing Sam to swat at him like he’s an irritating fly. “Don’t you have work to go to?” Sam asks, wrinkling his nose in clear dismissal.

Dean’s eyes widen. “Shit!” He curses and starts pushing Sam towards the entrance. “Go be geeky. Fill your huge head with weird knowledge. Remember we’re meeting one of Dad’s friends this afternoon. You might have to start dinner for us, alright? I should be back by five, though. No extracurricular activities for right now, not until we figure out what’s going on at least, OK?”

Sam did a few extracurricular activities here and there-he’s played soccer a few times, did drama once, and has managed to be on the debate team in two schools. But he hasn’t managed any of that this year because they’ve moved so often.

Sam laughs and pushes Dean off of him via palm to Dean’s forehead. “Get out of here, man, before you make all our man parts shrivel up with your girliness.”

Dean shoots him a look that can only be described as an irritated pout. “Dude, my line.” And then his big brother leers and Sam can see the gears turning, can see either another crack about Sam’s sex life (more importantly, his lack thereof) or some expose on how Dean is God’s gift to women falling behind Dean’s eyes and landing on the tip of his brother’s tongue. Frantic to avoid whatever embarrassing comment-especially since that’s a teacher coming up the stairs-Sam does shove Dean harder and towards the steps. Dean flails a bit for balance but is laughing so hard he kind of fails and stumbles backward a step or two.

“See ya!” Sam barks out and dives into the entrance, marveling at how Dean was so easily able to turn his mood around in the matter of seconds.

Part B
http://jcrgirl.livejournal.com/22835.html