Just Breathe Chap 13/?
Title: Just Breathe Chapter 13/?
Author: JCRGIRL
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Wincest, underage
Word Count: 2,578
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: Dad is away and Sam falls ill leaving Dean to deal with a sick brother.The boys have decisions to make about their immediate future.
Author Notes: Title from Faith Hill song. Also, as always completely unbeta-ed.
Waking up in reality really sucked compared to the way Sam’d woken up in his dream. Without opening his eyes, he could tell he was alone just by the quiet. Even Dean, in all his ninja glory, was unable to hide his breathing from ears that had been attuned to it practically since birth. Sam kicked his leg, twisted in the sheet during his normal nightly tossing and turning, trying to untangle it. Somehow, mercifully, his right leg had been spared entrapment and with a little bit of shuffling and wiggling he was able to use it to aid in its partner’s bid for freedom. He turned over on his back, arm flinging up to cover his eyes, he groaned at the bright morning light filtering through the sheer curtains covering the windows. Yawning and stretching, he rolled to his stomach thinking seriously about going back to sleep for a while. Hips laying flush with the mattress, Sam startled at the cold wetness squishing across his pelvis. Groggy or not, how the hell did he miss that?
Huh, dream was better than he realized.
Of course it wasn’t the first time he’d dreamed about Dean and he was fairly certain that it wouldn’t be the last. Especially now that he knew exactly what Dean tasted like and what his lips felt like against his.
Definitely time to get up.
Hand pressing into the empty space next to him, sheets under his palm still warm from his brother’s body, Sam levered his torso off the mattress to get up and clean the mess he’d made. Apparently, Dean hadn’t been up long. Pulling the waistband of his boxers away from his skin with a grimace of disgust, Sam’s eyes widened in panic.
Oh crap! Please, please, please tell me Dean was already out of bed when I blew my wad and if he wasn’t, please, please, please, don’t let him comment on it.
Sam flopped back down on the mattress, face hidden behind his palms.
Dean stood under the hot spray, running his hands through his hair to finish rinsing the last remnants of shampoo, flowery girl shampoo no less (Now with Jojoba! What the hell was jojoba?), from his hair. He’d been in here longer than manners dictated for a house of four people and one bathroom, but it had taken ten minutes of cool water raining down to calm any lingering arousal then an additional ten of hot water to ease the tension in his body and all before he picked up the bar of soap. Turning around to let the water hit against face, he leaned down and pushed the single lever in to stop the water flow.
Drying off with the plushest towel he could remember using in…ever, he pulled the curtain back already regretting the idea of putting back on his dirtied boxers. He stepped out on the tan bathmat, dotted sporadically with circles of dried blood, and saw a faded green duffel bag on the bathroom counter with a note on top.
Dean,
Something to tide you over until we can get you new clothes.
Casey
Unzipping the bag, he pulled to contents out: boxer-briefs, socks, several pairs each of gray and black sweatpants, white cotton long sleeve tees. He could kiss Casey!
Tugging on some clothes, he emerged from the bathroom in a billow of steam. He crossed to the closed door of his and Sam’s room, taking a deep breath before twisting the knob and pushing it open. Sam sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands folded together and dangling between his spread legs, head hanging low. As the door clicked shut, Sam raised his head and gave Dean a sleepy smile.
“Heya, Sammy. Shower’s free.” Dean dropped his newly acquired duffel by the door, watching his brother’s features carefully for any sign that things were going to be awkward. Dean was certain that Sam was still mostly asleep when he left, fled okay fled, the room earlier, but it was possible that Sam was more awake than he appeared and knew what Dean had done.
Came in your pants like a thirteen year old kid. Technically, so did Sam. Yes, but Sam came from having an, apparently, really hot dream not from hearing his brother make happy noises. Touché.
“Thanks. Did you leave any hot water, jerk?”
“Maybe.” Dean grinned, confidence growing that Sam didn’t know and they were going to be okay. Sam would have already interjected his patented ‘can we talk about it’ line into the conversation, accompanied by killer puppy dog eyes, if he’d had any inkling of what happened this morning. There was still the issue of the kiss last night, but it seemed that Sam had either blocked it out or used his big brain to rationalize and logically explain it away as a fluke. Thank god. “Early bird, bitch.”
“Whatever,” Sam mumbled. The painful grip of fear around his stomach lessened at the normality of their morning banter. Sam had given Dean the perfect set-up and knew that if Dean had still been in bed when Sam had…he would have made a joke already about Sam, the shower and round two.
Standing up and moving to the bag that Casey had come to the door with a few minutes ago, Sam picked it up and set it on the bed. He dug through and pointedly pulled out a pair of sweatpants a different color than the ones Dean had on. They weren’t a seventy year old retired couple in Ft. Lauderdale so matching outfits were definitely not an option.
“I’m gonna’ get some coffee and see what they have for breakfast.” Dean kicked his bag a little further out of the way, trying to keep his mind from noticing the way Sam very nicely filled out the scrubs top he was wearing. “We, uh, we should probably sit down and figure out what our next move is going to be.”
“Okay. I’ll be out after I’ve had a shower.”
Dean listened to the sound of the bathroom door shutting before he made any movement to leave the bedroom. He paused in the short hallway when he could hear Casey and Zoe’s voices in the living room.
“Demons with guns? What the hell?”
“I know,” Casey sighed. “Surprised the hell outta me. Dean too, I think. They’re getting resourceful.” After a short pause, she added, “You know, you should apologize to him. You were out of line last night.”
“He let you get shot.” Zoe’s voice rose, a pale version of how she sounded the night before raging at Dean.
“He didn’t let me get shot. It’s no different than any other mission, shit happens. You and I both know how easy it is for things to go pear shaped. And thanks again for forgetting about me on the couch bleeding.”
“I’m sorry.” Zoe sounded in anguish.
“Could’ve ruined the upholstery. That couch is new.”
“I said I was sorry,” Zoe snapped.
“Oh and by the way, you’re repairing the damage to that wall.”
Zoe made a noise that sounded a lot like a snort. “Should make Dean do it. His ass cracked it,” she muttered before continuing at a louder volume. “A-ny-way, back to the demons. Were the two last night part of the group circling?”
“No. I don’t know. I..I can’t get a read on what’s coming. Just that it is and it’s getting closer. That and Winchester knows more than he telling anyone.”
Dean’s head snapped up at that admission and he crept forward to peer around the corner. Something about Casey’s voice sounded off and he wanted to see her face, see the emotions that went with that inflection. She was curled up in the chair next to the couch, feet tucked up under body and hands wrapped around a mug balanced on her thigh. She was staring blankly at the far wall in what appeared to be deep thought, an expression that seemed oddly familiar. Zoe was on the couch, mostly hidden from Dean’s sight by the hall wall, only her socked feet visible on the arm of the couch closest to Casey.
“How do you know that?” Zoe’s feet swung down and disappeared from Dean’s view as the girl sat up, shock evident in her tone.
Good question, Zoe.
Casey’s eyes, still trained unseeingly at the wall across from her, narrowed and the index finger of her right hand traced patterns on the white mug cradled in her hands. “Just a reaction he had yesterday to something I said. He’s lying, not flat out, but through omission.”
“You sure,” Zoe asked, whispering. The younger girl quirked her eyebrow and he heard Zoe’s soft ‘huh’ before both girls fell into silence.
Casey’s eyes came back into focus and Dean realized where he’d seen her make that expression before, yesterday looking at his Dad. She blinked a few times and her gaze lifted enough to see him partially concealed in the hallway.
“Good morning, Dean.” Her face transformed from pensive and thoughtful to happy and bright in a fraction of a second making Dean wonder how many times she had to practice before she mastered that maneuver.
“Morning,” he said to the room at large as he entered, receiving a tight smile from the dark haired girl on the couch.
“Hungry? It’s almost lunchtime. I can whip something up real quick.” Casey rose, setting her mug down on the end table snugged between the chair and the couch.
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not a problem. Coffee while you wait?”
“Yeah. You wouldn’t happen to have any of that stuff you brought me in the hospital, would you?”
Casey laughed, eyes shining mischievously. “Where do you think the hospital got it?”
Dean settled into the chair recently vacated by the younger girl, thanking her when she brought him a steaming mug of caffeine heaven. Closing his eyes at the first sip, he opened them to see Zoe regarding him carefully.
“I’m sorry about last night,” she said, making a face that looked like she had taken a particularly large gulp of something particularly nasty.
Dean thought for a moment about making her squirm knowing that Casey had forced her to make the apology, but from the corner of his eye he saw Casey watching them expectantly. “Thanks.”
“How’s the head this morning?” Casey’s question was heard above the clatter of metal on metal. Looking over to answer, Dean saw her pull a large skillet out from a lower cabinet and set it on the stove. The kitchen and living room were open to one another, the only defining line marking the end of one and beginning of the other was the flooring, where the tile of the kitchen met the hardwood of the living room.
“Better."
“Good. Have you given much thought about what you’re going to do now?” Casey’s head was now in the refrigerator, leaving only her lower portions visible from Dean’s seat.
Zoe chuckled softly from the couch. “Casey believes in getting to the heart of the matter quickly.”
“I see. Honestly, I don’t know what Sam and I will do now. What happened with Dad last night? I didn’t have a chance to ask with the blood loss and snarling.” Dean saw as a blush crept across Zoe’s face and Casey unconsciously scratched at her shoulder at the reminder of the previous night.
“Trotter came by this morning to drop off those clothes for you and Sam. He said John was caught sneaking into the hospital last night about five minutes after we left and was escorted off the property. Bobby e-mailed me this morning and said that John is bent on figuring out where you boys are and planning on sticking around for a few days. So, I guess, the first thing you two need to decide is whether you are leaving on your own or with him?” Casey was standing at the counter, attention on buttering the bread in front of her.
“We’re not leaving with him,” Dean said firmly, shocking everyone, including himself, with the decisiveness of his tone.
“Okay. First things first, then. Sam won’t be well enough to travel for probably another week and he won’t be any use at hunting for at least a month.” Zoe paused and moved to the edge of the sofa. Her eyes flickered hesitantly to Casey, now standing at the stove. Casey nodded her head, gaze never lifting from the pan in front of her. Emboldened, Zoe continued, “If I can offer a suggestion, why don’t you stay here until he’s recovered?”
“Here?” Dean had gotten the impression the night before that Zoe would really like for Dean to fall off the face of the Earth and now she was offering up her home?
“Dean.” He looked over to Casey, poking the bread in the skillet with a spatula. “There is only one other place in this country as protected as this property and that’s Singer Salvage in North Dakota. The perimeter is surrounded by iron, salt and sigils and no one, except the four of us and Trotter knows where it is. You and Sam would be safe here until he’s back on his feet, from demons and ...” She trailed off at the end but Dean was always good at fill in the blanks.
From Dad.
“I think we should stay.”
Dean turned to see his brother in the hallway, apparently the prime eavesdropping location for Winchesters, leaning against the wall. Sam was pale and drawn, everything about him screamed of exhaustion. Dean knew that Sam needed time to recover, but Dad was so close. He could try and take Sam away and Dean couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t let that happen.
Sam made an odd chuffing noise and brought his arm up to cover his mouth with his elbow as he coughed. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat. “Dean, please. You heard her. We’re as safe here as we are at Bobby’s. If we leave, we’ll have no plan and be out in the open and vulnerable. If we stick around for a while, we could decide what to do and have an idea where to go. Dad knows you, he’ll expect you to try and leave with me right away. He’d never think you’d stay.”
“Alright,” Dean sighed. Like the debate wasn’t over the minute Sam said please. Besides, if they were really going to do this, then they needed to make these decisions as a team. He watched the tense line of Sam’s shoulders relax and a relieved smile pass his lips. “We’ll stay. At least until you’re able to travel.”
Zoe moved over on the couch to allow room for Sam and Casey set a mug of coffee, with cream and sugar from the color of it, in front of him. Dean nodded knowingly at Sam’s dimpled smile after his first sip. It was worth staying around just for the coffee.
Casey set four plates down on the drop down bar, table high and jutting perpendicularly away from the kitchen counter toward the living room, signaling that lunch was ready and everyone moved to claim one of the four chairs. Sitting down to grilled cheese sandwiches, Dean and Sam began the first domesticated period of their entire lives.
Chapter 14A
Author: JCRGIRL
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Wincest, underage
Word Count: 2,578
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: Dad is away and Sam falls ill leaving Dean to deal with a sick brother.The boys have decisions to make about their immediate future.
Author Notes: Title from Faith Hill song. Also, as always completely unbeta-ed.
Waking up in reality really sucked compared to the way Sam’d woken up in his dream. Without opening his eyes, he could tell he was alone just by the quiet. Even Dean, in all his ninja glory, was unable to hide his breathing from ears that had been attuned to it practically since birth. Sam kicked his leg, twisted in the sheet during his normal nightly tossing and turning, trying to untangle it. Somehow, mercifully, his right leg had been spared entrapment and with a little bit of shuffling and wiggling he was able to use it to aid in its partner’s bid for freedom. He turned over on his back, arm flinging up to cover his eyes, he groaned at the bright morning light filtering through the sheer curtains covering the windows. Yawning and stretching, he rolled to his stomach thinking seriously about going back to sleep for a while. Hips laying flush with the mattress, Sam startled at the cold wetness squishing across his pelvis. Groggy or not, how the hell did he miss that?
Huh, dream was better than he realized.
Of course it wasn’t the first time he’d dreamed about Dean and he was fairly certain that it wouldn’t be the last. Especially now that he knew exactly what Dean tasted like and what his lips felt like against his.
Definitely time to get up.
Hand pressing into the empty space next to him, sheets under his palm still warm from his brother’s body, Sam levered his torso off the mattress to get up and clean the mess he’d made. Apparently, Dean hadn’t been up long. Pulling the waistband of his boxers away from his skin with a grimace of disgust, Sam’s eyes widened in panic.
Oh crap! Please, please, please tell me Dean was already out of bed when I blew my wad and if he wasn’t, please, please, please, don’t let him comment on it.
Sam flopped back down on the mattress, face hidden behind his palms.
Dean stood under the hot spray, running his hands through his hair to finish rinsing the last remnants of shampoo, flowery girl shampoo no less (Now with Jojoba! What the hell was jojoba?), from his hair. He’d been in here longer than manners dictated for a house of four people and one bathroom, but it had taken ten minutes of cool water raining down to calm any lingering arousal then an additional ten of hot water to ease the tension in his body and all before he picked up the bar of soap. Turning around to let the water hit against face, he leaned down and pushed the single lever in to stop the water flow.
Drying off with the plushest towel he could remember using in…ever, he pulled the curtain back already regretting the idea of putting back on his dirtied boxers. He stepped out on the tan bathmat, dotted sporadically with circles of dried blood, and saw a faded green duffel bag on the bathroom counter with a note on top.
Dean,
Something to tide you over until we can get you new clothes.
Casey
Unzipping the bag, he pulled to contents out: boxer-briefs, socks, several pairs each of gray and black sweatpants, white cotton long sleeve tees. He could kiss Casey!
Tugging on some clothes, he emerged from the bathroom in a billow of steam. He crossed to the closed door of his and Sam’s room, taking a deep breath before twisting the knob and pushing it open. Sam sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands folded together and dangling between his spread legs, head hanging low. As the door clicked shut, Sam raised his head and gave Dean a sleepy smile.
“Heya, Sammy. Shower’s free.” Dean dropped his newly acquired duffel by the door, watching his brother’s features carefully for any sign that things were going to be awkward. Dean was certain that Sam was still mostly asleep when he left, fled okay fled, the room earlier, but it was possible that Sam was more awake than he appeared and knew what Dean had done.
Came in your pants like a thirteen year old kid. Technically, so did Sam. Yes, but Sam came from having an, apparently, really hot dream not from hearing his brother make happy noises. Touché.
“Thanks. Did you leave any hot water, jerk?”
“Maybe.” Dean grinned, confidence growing that Sam didn’t know and they were going to be okay. Sam would have already interjected his patented ‘can we talk about it’ line into the conversation, accompanied by killer puppy dog eyes, if he’d had any inkling of what happened this morning. There was still the issue of the kiss last night, but it seemed that Sam had either blocked it out or used his big brain to rationalize and logically explain it away as a fluke. Thank god. “Early bird, bitch.”
“Whatever,” Sam mumbled. The painful grip of fear around his stomach lessened at the normality of their morning banter. Sam had given Dean the perfect set-up and knew that if Dean had still been in bed when Sam had…he would have made a joke already about Sam, the shower and round two.
Standing up and moving to the bag that Casey had come to the door with a few minutes ago, Sam picked it up and set it on the bed. He dug through and pointedly pulled out a pair of sweatpants a different color than the ones Dean had on. They weren’t a seventy year old retired couple in Ft. Lauderdale so matching outfits were definitely not an option.
“I’m gonna’ get some coffee and see what they have for breakfast.” Dean kicked his bag a little further out of the way, trying to keep his mind from noticing the way Sam very nicely filled out the scrubs top he was wearing. “We, uh, we should probably sit down and figure out what our next move is going to be.”
“Okay. I’ll be out after I’ve had a shower.”
Dean listened to the sound of the bathroom door shutting before he made any movement to leave the bedroom. He paused in the short hallway when he could hear Casey and Zoe’s voices in the living room.
“Demons with guns? What the hell?”
“I know,” Casey sighed. “Surprised the hell outta me. Dean too, I think. They’re getting resourceful.” After a short pause, she added, “You know, you should apologize to him. You were out of line last night.”
“He let you get shot.” Zoe’s voice rose, a pale version of how she sounded the night before raging at Dean.
“He didn’t let me get shot. It’s no different than any other mission, shit happens. You and I both know how easy it is for things to go pear shaped. And thanks again for forgetting about me on the couch bleeding.”
“I’m sorry.” Zoe sounded in anguish.
“Could’ve ruined the upholstery. That couch is new.”
“I said I was sorry,” Zoe snapped.
“Oh and by the way, you’re repairing the damage to that wall.”
Zoe made a noise that sounded a lot like a snort. “Should make Dean do it. His ass cracked it,” she muttered before continuing at a louder volume. “A-ny-way, back to the demons. Were the two last night part of the group circling?”
“No. I don’t know. I..I can’t get a read on what’s coming. Just that it is and it’s getting closer. That and Winchester knows more than he telling anyone.”
Dean’s head snapped up at that admission and he crept forward to peer around the corner. Something about Casey’s voice sounded off and he wanted to see her face, see the emotions that went with that inflection. She was curled up in the chair next to the couch, feet tucked up under body and hands wrapped around a mug balanced on her thigh. She was staring blankly at the far wall in what appeared to be deep thought, an expression that seemed oddly familiar. Zoe was on the couch, mostly hidden from Dean’s sight by the hall wall, only her socked feet visible on the arm of the couch closest to Casey.
“How do you know that?” Zoe’s feet swung down and disappeared from Dean’s view as the girl sat up, shock evident in her tone.
Good question, Zoe.
Casey’s eyes, still trained unseeingly at the wall across from her, narrowed and the index finger of her right hand traced patterns on the white mug cradled in her hands. “Just a reaction he had yesterday to something I said. He’s lying, not flat out, but through omission.”
“You sure,” Zoe asked, whispering. The younger girl quirked her eyebrow and he heard Zoe’s soft ‘huh’ before both girls fell into silence.
Casey’s eyes came back into focus and Dean realized where he’d seen her make that expression before, yesterday looking at his Dad. She blinked a few times and her gaze lifted enough to see him partially concealed in the hallway.
“Good morning, Dean.” Her face transformed from pensive and thoughtful to happy and bright in a fraction of a second making Dean wonder how many times she had to practice before she mastered that maneuver.
“Morning,” he said to the room at large as he entered, receiving a tight smile from the dark haired girl on the couch.
“Hungry? It’s almost lunchtime. I can whip something up real quick.” Casey rose, setting her mug down on the end table snugged between the chair and the couch.
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not a problem. Coffee while you wait?”
“Yeah. You wouldn’t happen to have any of that stuff you brought me in the hospital, would you?”
Casey laughed, eyes shining mischievously. “Where do you think the hospital got it?”
Dean settled into the chair recently vacated by the younger girl, thanking her when she brought him a steaming mug of caffeine heaven. Closing his eyes at the first sip, he opened them to see Zoe regarding him carefully.
“I’m sorry about last night,” she said, making a face that looked like she had taken a particularly large gulp of something particularly nasty.
Dean thought for a moment about making her squirm knowing that Casey had forced her to make the apology, but from the corner of his eye he saw Casey watching them expectantly. “Thanks.”
“How’s the head this morning?” Casey’s question was heard above the clatter of metal on metal. Looking over to answer, Dean saw her pull a large skillet out from a lower cabinet and set it on the stove. The kitchen and living room were open to one another, the only defining line marking the end of one and beginning of the other was the flooring, where the tile of the kitchen met the hardwood of the living room.
“Better."
“Good. Have you given much thought about what you’re going to do now?” Casey’s head was now in the refrigerator, leaving only her lower portions visible from Dean’s seat.
Zoe chuckled softly from the couch. “Casey believes in getting to the heart of the matter quickly.”
“I see. Honestly, I don’t know what Sam and I will do now. What happened with Dad last night? I didn’t have a chance to ask with the blood loss and snarling.” Dean saw as a blush crept across Zoe’s face and Casey unconsciously scratched at her shoulder at the reminder of the previous night.
“Trotter came by this morning to drop off those clothes for you and Sam. He said John was caught sneaking into the hospital last night about five minutes after we left and was escorted off the property. Bobby e-mailed me this morning and said that John is bent on figuring out where you boys are and planning on sticking around for a few days. So, I guess, the first thing you two need to decide is whether you are leaving on your own or with him?” Casey was standing at the counter, attention on buttering the bread in front of her.
“We’re not leaving with him,” Dean said firmly, shocking everyone, including himself, with the decisiveness of his tone.
“Okay. First things first, then. Sam won’t be well enough to travel for probably another week and he won’t be any use at hunting for at least a month.” Zoe paused and moved to the edge of the sofa. Her eyes flickered hesitantly to Casey, now standing at the stove. Casey nodded her head, gaze never lifting from the pan in front of her. Emboldened, Zoe continued, “If I can offer a suggestion, why don’t you stay here until he’s recovered?”
“Here?” Dean had gotten the impression the night before that Zoe would really like for Dean to fall off the face of the Earth and now she was offering up her home?
“Dean.” He looked over to Casey, poking the bread in the skillet with a spatula. “There is only one other place in this country as protected as this property and that’s Singer Salvage in North Dakota. The perimeter is surrounded by iron, salt and sigils and no one, except the four of us and Trotter knows where it is. You and Sam would be safe here until he’s back on his feet, from demons and ...” She trailed off at the end but Dean was always good at fill in the blanks.
From Dad.
“I think we should stay.”
Dean turned to see his brother in the hallway, apparently the prime eavesdropping location for Winchesters, leaning against the wall. Sam was pale and drawn, everything about him screamed of exhaustion. Dean knew that Sam needed time to recover, but Dad was so close. He could try and take Sam away and Dean couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t let that happen.
Sam made an odd chuffing noise and brought his arm up to cover his mouth with his elbow as he coughed. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat. “Dean, please. You heard her. We’re as safe here as we are at Bobby’s. If we leave, we’ll have no plan and be out in the open and vulnerable. If we stick around for a while, we could decide what to do and have an idea where to go. Dad knows you, he’ll expect you to try and leave with me right away. He’d never think you’d stay.”
“Alright,” Dean sighed. Like the debate wasn’t over the minute Sam said please. Besides, if they were really going to do this, then they needed to make these decisions as a team. He watched the tense line of Sam’s shoulders relax and a relieved smile pass his lips. “We’ll stay. At least until you’re able to travel.”
Zoe moved over on the couch to allow room for Sam and Casey set a mug of coffee, with cream and sugar from the color of it, in front of him. Dean nodded knowingly at Sam’s dimpled smile after his first sip. It was worth staying around just for the coffee.
Casey set four plates down on the drop down bar, table high and jutting perpendicularly away from the kitchen counter toward the living room, signaling that lunch was ready and everyone moved to claim one of the four chairs. Sitting down to grilled cheese sandwiches, Dean and Sam began the first domesticated period of their entire lives.
Chapter 14A