Just Breathe Chap 14a/16
Title: Just Breathe Chapter 14a/16
Author: JCRGIRL
Pairing: Dean/Sam, mild Sam/OFC
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Wincest, underage
Word Count: 2,016
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.
Author Notes: Title from Faith Hill song. Also, as always completely unbeta-ed.
Dean passed the first day with relative ease. There were enough matters that needed to be taken care of and arrangements to be made that his mind was too occupied to get bored. After lunch, a clothing catalog landed in his lap followed by instructions from Zoe to pick out the things he and Sam wanted and to be sure to indicate the size. Next came the lists: list of things they wanted, list of things they needed, list of Sam’s classes at school, list of weapons they’d lost, list of entertainment items. The greater portion of an hour later, several sheets of paper laid on the table filled with Dean’s messy scrawl and Sam’s tiny print. Zoe picked up the loose leaf pages and glanced over the itemizations, asking for clarification on some requests, before she nodded and walked out. The rumble of the Jeep’s engine as it started up, shook the glass panes in the window over the kitchen sink.
Casey gave them a tour of the grounds surrounding the house. Behind the house, stood a large barn that served as a garage. Inside sat at 1969 Pontiac Judge and a brand new Chevy Corvette, side by side, with an empty space presumably for the missing Wrangler. Whistling, Dean ran the tips of his fingers over the classic car, admiring the lines and curves.
“When we’re done looking around, go ahead and move the Impala in here. The Jeep will be fine outside.”
“Thanks,” he acknowledged absently, still caressing the waxed metal, “Nice car.”
“It was my Dad’s.” Casey’s lips turned up in a fond smile as she looked at the vehicle.
Opening a door to the left of the parked cars, Casey led Dean and Sam into a small padded room. The wall on the far end was covered with different hand to hand weapons ranging from innocuous looking bo staffs to lethal long swords and flanked by two well used punching bags. A training room.
“You’re welcome to use it anytime. Just be careful, the weapons are well maintained and sharp. Anything you want to practice with that we don’t have, let me know and I’ll get it.”
Casey cut the tour short when Sam’s coughing started coming faster and harder. They moved back inside for Sam to lie down while Dean relaxed in front of the television and Casey picked up a battered book. Zoe returned laden with bags sporting logos from different retailers, having to make three trips to the Jeep before it was unloaded. Dean and Casey unpacked everything separating things in two piles, one for Dean and one for Sam. Clothes, all the ones indicated in the catalog some of the same items in different colors, necessities and requests were stacked on the available surfaces of the kitchen and living room. A new backpack filled with the text books and supplies that Sam would need for school was leant against the coffee table with Sam’s things. Two cases, one filled with handguns and the other with an assortment of knives, was set on the table next to Dean’s stacks.
Dean surveyed the landscape of new items. “I-I don’t know when I’ll be able to repay you.”
Casey walked over and placed her comforting hand on his shoulder. “Dean, don’t worry. It’s taken care of. We called in some favors.”
Zoe snorted, but quickly tried to cover it with a cough. Dean gave both girls a skeptical once over. “We don’t accept charity.”
“It’s not charity,” Casey insisted. Seeing Dean’s expression, she sighed. “If it will make you feel better, the cars need a good once over. Zoe and I are exactly mechanically minded and they could use a professional touch. Save me a bundle of mechanic’s bills.” Dean nodded, picking up a pile of jeans to put away.
Casey and Zoe’s ‘favors’ included convincing Sam’s school that his illness required him to complete his education from home. Each day while his big brother tinkered under hoods and chassis, Sam alternated between the bed and the kitchen table writing reports and finishing assignments. The girls moved around them, trying to maintain their normal routine but with deliberate modifications. Morning runs, usually taken together, became solo exercises to provide more protection of the boys. After several days of restlessness, Dean accompanied them to burn off excess energy. Training sessions now included an extra member and more often than not an audience.
Three days after they arrived, Bobby e-mailed that John had left town, following a lead that the boys were holed up in Florida. Rumors of two tall, green-eyed young men in a black car checking into a motel in Live Oak under the names of Eddie and Alex Van Halen, had him heading south. At the brother’s raised eyebrows, Zoe suddenly became very interested with the sitcom they were watching and Casey concentrated on folding dish towels like she would find the meaning of life in the terrycloth weave. Finally breaking under the heavy gazes, Casey muttered something about being ‘owed favors’, making Dean wonder exactly how many people were indebted to them.
And so their days passed to the sound of Dean’s socket wrench and Sam’s pencil. Casey taught Sam to cook, the only way anyone would let him contribute until he was well, to the background noise of Zoe and Dean target shooting in the back yard, a suitably productive outlet for the competitive tension between the two. Every other day Trotter stopped by to check on Sam progress and bring additional groceries. As darkness fell, one of the girls would excuse herself and disappear, patrolling the perimeter of the property to check the wards and for any threats.
Dean watched as Sam’s color returned and his baby brother thrived under the stability. Sam was comfortable, hell Sam was happy, the four of them striking a balance between a hunter’s life and a regular life, between training and relaxation. This is what Sam had wanted, balance, and, to Dean’s surprise, the longer they stayed the less and less the normality made his skin itch. Maybe Sam wasn’t the only one that needed a home.
Casey leaned back against the kitchen counter, palms flat on the surface behind her. Lifting herself easily, she slid back to sit on the countertop next to the sink, chuckling at the intense look of concentration on Sam’s face as his gaze darted back and forth between the paper to his left and the baking dish to his right. Knowing Sam was tired of the limited role he had been regulated to until he was better, Casey announced over breakfast that Sam should tackle dinner on his own. That evening she wrote out a recipe, handing it and a spatula to him with a smirk, then stood back, out of the way but available if needed.
He looked over to her uncertain. “Is that everything? Should it look like that?”
“Yep. Just need to put it in the oven and set the timer. I told you casseroles were the equivalent of training wheels for the kitchen impaired.” Her smile was bright with a hint of reassurance around the edges.
Sam shot her a relieved look. Shutting the oven door and setting the timer, he leaned against the counter across from her. Sam considered the young woman, watching him with laughing eyes, before he picked up his half drank bottle of root beer and stared out the window over Casey’s right shoulder. She turned, curiosity peaked at what had caught his attention, and the sun streaming through the window reflected off something at Casey’s neck, drawing his eyes. Sam had noticed the medallion before, swinging loose from shirts when Casey bent over or jangling during sparring matches, ever present as the amulet around his brother’s neck.
“May I?” Sam gestured with the neck of the bottle towards the necklace.
Casey’s brows drew together in confusion and her hand came up to touch the bare skin of her throat. Feeling the circular charm, realization dawned across her face and she smiled, nodding her head in permission. He stepped forward, hips hovering inches in front of Casey’s knees, and reached out to hold the piece of silver in his hand. Resting it in the palm of his hand, weight lighter than he imagined, Sam leaned in for a better look of the engraving on the surface. Folding his hand, he turned it over to see a different symbol on the back.
“Are those runes?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve never seen anything like these. They look like a combination of several runes.” His mind took the unfamiliar, complex design and began to break it down in to smaller, recognizable ones. He looked up at Casey’s impressed expression and she nodded. “I can see protection, love, strength and maybe loyalty?”
“Courage” Casey corrected. “Very good, Sam.” She lifted it from his palm and ran her fingers around the edge. “This one represents my surname.” She turned it over. “The one on the back was created when I was born, my symbol, unique to me. Like hunters, we burn our dead. This acts as a dog tag, identifying the fallen, something tangible to bring back for the family.” She smiled sadly, the necklace dropping with a fleshy thud.
Sam stared at the small charm then placed his hand over it.
A reminder of your mortality hanging around your neck, the only reminder people will have of your life.
Casey wrapped her hand around his and pressed it against her heart comfortingly before releasing it.
“Cheer up, Emo Boy. You just successfully completed your first solo meal.” She pushed playfully at his shoulder.
“Emo Boy,” Sam laughed. “That’s what Dean calls me.” Dean. Sam’s dreams had steadily progressed from good to fucking awesome, forcing him to sleep on his stomach to avoid any embarrassing situations. He spent the majority of his days sexually frustrated, walking around half-hard and trying to hide it. Most of the time he was successful. At least until Dean came in from the training room or from a run, sweat glistening and face flushed. Those were the times when Sam would suddenly decide he needed a shower.
Yeah, because sitting around reading about Reconstruction was hard work.
“Sam?” He looked up at the sound of his name and was surprised to see his hand resting on the side of her neck, not remembering lifting it. His eyes roved over her face. Sam had to admit, Casey was pretty. Dark eyes, open and warm, and long dark hair spilling down her back in lazy curls. Watching her expression turn inquisitive, he couldn’t help but wonder if she would be enough. If Sam couldn’t have what he wanted, could he be happy with this?
Raising both hands to cup her jaw, Sam drew her closer and pressed their lips together. As their lips opened, she placed her hands on his sides, legs parting when his hip bones pressed against her knees. Slotting himself between her thighs, he deepened the kiss, tangling his fingers in her satiny hair. Her lips were soft and god did she know how to use them, but something felt wrong.
Not plush. Not perfect. Not Dean.
Sam broke the kiss, panting as Not Dean bounced around in his head. He rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed for fear of what he’d see. He felt her small hands cradle the back of his head and neck, moving his face to the crook of her neck and holding him there in an embrace.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against her skin. “I’m so-“ Guilt lodged in his throat, choking off any further apologies.
“It’s alright, Sam. I know. I know.” The implication in her voice made his pull back sharply, eyes searching hers for meaning. Her fingertips traced over his forehead and down his cheek, curving around his jaw. His arms encircled her and he snuggled his face back into her neck. “It’s alright. You’ll get what you want, Sam. I promise. It’s okay. I’m here if you need me.”
Sam lifted his head again and kissed her softly.
Chapter 14B
Author: JCRGIRL
Pairing: Dean/Sam, mild Sam/OFC
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Wincest, underage
Word Count: 2,016
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.
Author Notes: Title from Faith Hill song. Also, as always completely unbeta-ed.
Dean passed the first day with relative ease. There were enough matters that needed to be taken care of and arrangements to be made that his mind was too occupied to get bored. After lunch, a clothing catalog landed in his lap followed by instructions from Zoe to pick out the things he and Sam wanted and to be sure to indicate the size. Next came the lists: list of things they wanted, list of things they needed, list of Sam’s classes at school, list of weapons they’d lost, list of entertainment items. The greater portion of an hour later, several sheets of paper laid on the table filled with Dean’s messy scrawl and Sam’s tiny print. Zoe picked up the loose leaf pages and glanced over the itemizations, asking for clarification on some requests, before she nodded and walked out. The rumble of the Jeep’s engine as it started up, shook the glass panes in the window over the kitchen sink.
Casey gave them a tour of the grounds surrounding the house. Behind the house, stood a large barn that served as a garage. Inside sat at 1969 Pontiac Judge and a brand new Chevy Corvette, side by side, with an empty space presumably for the missing Wrangler. Whistling, Dean ran the tips of his fingers over the classic car, admiring the lines and curves.
“When we’re done looking around, go ahead and move the Impala in here. The Jeep will be fine outside.”
“Thanks,” he acknowledged absently, still caressing the waxed metal, “Nice car.”
“It was my Dad’s.” Casey’s lips turned up in a fond smile as she looked at the vehicle.
Opening a door to the left of the parked cars, Casey led Dean and Sam into a small padded room. The wall on the far end was covered with different hand to hand weapons ranging from innocuous looking bo staffs to lethal long swords and flanked by two well used punching bags. A training room.
“You’re welcome to use it anytime. Just be careful, the weapons are well maintained and sharp. Anything you want to practice with that we don’t have, let me know and I’ll get it.”
Casey cut the tour short when Sam’s coughing started coming faster and harder. They moved back inside for Sam to lie down while Dean relaxed in front of the television and Casey picked up a battered book. Zoe returned laden with bags sporting logos from different retailers, having to make three trips to the Jeep before it was unloaded. Dean and Casey unpacked everything separating things in two piles, one for Dean and one for Sam. Clothes, all the ones indicated in the catalog some of the same items in different colors, necessities and requests were stacked on the available surfaces of the kitchen and living room. A new backpack filled with the text books and supplies that Sam would need for school was leant against the coffee table with Sam’s things. Two cases, one filled with handguns and the other with an assortment of knives, was set on the table next to Dean’s stacks.
Dean surveyed the landscape of new items. “I-I don’t know when I’ll be able to repay you.”
Casey walked over and placed her comforting hand on his shoulder. “Dean, don’t worry. It’s taken care of. We called in some favors.”
Zoe snorted, but quickly tried to cover it with a cough. Dean gave both girls a skeptical once over. “We don’t accept charity.”
“It’s not charity,” Casey insisted. Seeing Dean’s expression, she sighed. “If it will make you feel better, the cars need a good once over. Zoe and I are exactly mechanically minded and they could use a professional touch. Save me a bundle of mechanic’s bills.” Dean nodded, picking up a pile of jeans to put away.
Casey and Zoe’s ‘favors’ included convincing Sam’s school that his illness required him to complete his education from home. Each day while his big brother tinkered under hoods and chassis, Sam alternated between the bed and the kitchen table writing reports and finishing assignments. The girls moved around them, trying to maintain their normal routine but with deliberate modifications. Morning runs, usually taken together, became solo exercises to provide more protection of the boys. After several days of restlessness, Dean accompanied them to burn off excess energy. Training sessions now included an extra member and more often than not an audience.
Three days after they arrived, Bobby e-mailed that John had left town, following a lead that the boys were holed up in Florida. Rumors of two tall, green-eyed young men in a black car checking into a motel in Live Oak under the names of Eddie and Alex Van Halen, had him heading south. At the brother’s raised eyebrows, Zoe suddenly became very interested with the sitcom they were watching and Casey concentrated on folding dish towels like she would find the meaning of life in the terrycloth weave. Finally breaking under the heavy gazes, Casey muttered something about being ‘owed favors’, making Dean wonder exactly how many people were indebted to them.
And so their days passed to the sound of Dean’s socket wrench and Sam’s pencil. Casey taught Sam to cook, the only way anyone would let him contribute until he was well, to the background noise of Zoe and Dean target shooting in the back yard, a suitably productive outlet for the competitive tension between the two. Every other day Trotter stopped by to check on Sam progress and bring additional groceries. As darkness fell, one of the girls would excuse herself and disappear, patrolling the perimeter of the property to check the wards and for any threats.
Dean watched as Sam’s color returned and his baby brother thrived under the stability. Sam was comfortable, hell Sam was happy, the four of them striking a balance between a hunter’s life and a regular life, between training and relaxation. This is what Sam had wanted, balance, and, to Dean’s surprise, the longer they stayed the less and less the normality made his skin itch. Maybe Sam wasn’t the only one that needed a home.
Casey leaned back against the kitchen counter, palms flat on the surface behind her. Lifting herself easily, she slid back to sit on the countertop next to the sink, chuckling at the intense look of concentration on Sam’s face as his gaze darted back and forth between the paper to his left and the baking dish to his right. Knowing Sam was tired of the limited role he had been regulated to until he was better, Casey announced over breakfast that Sam should tackle dinner on his own. That evening she wrote out a recipe, handing it and a spatula to him with a smirk, then stood back, out of the way but available if needed.
He looked over to her uncertain. “Is that everything? Should it look like that?”
“Yep. Just need to put it in the oven and set the timer. I told you casseroles were the equivalent of training wheels for the kitchen impaired.” Her smile was bright with a hint of reassurance around the edges.
Sam shot her a relieved look. Shutting the oven door and setting the timer, he leaned against the counter across from her. Sam considered the young woman, watching him with laughing eyes, before he picked up his half drank bottle of root beer and stared out the window over Casey’s right shoulder. She turned, curiosity peaked at what had caught his attention, and the sun streaming through the window reflected off something at Casey’s neck, drawing his eyes. Sam had noticed the medallion before, swinging loose from shirts when Casey bent over or jangling during sparring matches, ever present as the amulet around his brother’s neck.
“May I?” Sam gestured with the neck of the bottle towards the necklace.
Casey’s brows drew together in confusion and her hand came up to touch the bare skin of her throat. Feeling the circular charm, realization dawned across her face and she smiled, nodding her head in permission. He stepped forward, hips hovering inches in front of Casey’s knees, and reached out to hold the piece of silver in his hand. Resting it in the palm of his hand, weight lighter than he imagined, Sam leaned in for a better look of the engraving on the surface. Folding his hand, he turned it over to see a different symbol on the back.
“Are those runes?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve never seen anything like these. They look like a combination of several runes.” His mind took the unfamiliar, complex design and began to break it down in to smaller, recognizable ones. He looked up at Casey’s impressed expression and she nodded. “I can see protection, love, strength and maybe loyalty?”
“Courage” Casey corrected. “Very good, Sam.” She lifted it from his palm and ran her fingers around the edge. “This one represents my surname.” She turned it over. “The one on the back was created when I was born, my symbol, unique to me. Like hunters, we burn our dead. This acts as a dog tag, identifying the fallen, something tangible to bring back for the family.” She smiled sadly, the necklace dropping with a fleshy thud.
Sam stared at the small charm then placed his hand over it.
A reminder of your mortality hanging around your neck, the only reminder people will have of your life.
Casey wrapped her hand around his and pressed it against her heart comfortingly before releasing it.
“Cheer up, Emo Boy. You just successfully completed your first solo meal.” She pushed playfully at his shoulder.
“Emo Boy,” Sam laughed. “That’s what Dean calls me.” Dean. Sam’s dreams had steadily progressed from good to fucking awesome, forcing him to sleep on his stomach to avoid any embarrassing situations. He spent the majority of his days sexually frustrated, walking around half-hard and trying to hide it. Most of the time he was successful. At least until Dean came in from the training room or from a run, sweat glistening and face flushed. Those were the times when Sam would suddenly decide he needed a shower.
Yeah, because sitting around reading about Reconstruction was hard work.
“Sam?” He looked up at the sound of his name and was surprised to see his hand resting on the side of her neck, not remembering lifting it. His eyes roved over her face. Sam had to admit, Casey was pretty. Dark eyes, open and warm, and long dark hair spilling down her back in lazy curls. Watching her expression turn inquisitive, he couldn’t help but wonder if she would be enough. If Sam couldn’t have what he wanted, could he be happy with this?
Raising both hands to cup her jaw, Sam drew her closer and pressed their lips together. As their lips opened, she placed her hands on his sides, legs parting when his hip bones pressed against her knees. Slotting himself between her thighs, he deepened the kiss, tangling his fingers in her satiny hair. Her lips were soft and god did she know how to use them, but something felt wrong.
Not plush. Not perfect. Not Dean.
Sam broke the kiss, panting as Not Dean bounced around in his head. He rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed for fear of what he’d see. He felt her small hands cradle the back of his head and neck, moving his face to the crook of her neck and holding him there in an embrace.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against her skin. “I’m so-“ Guilt lodged in his throat, choking off any further apologies.
“It’s alright, Sam. I know. I know.” The implication in her voice made his pull back sharply, eyes searching hers for meaning. Her fingertips traced over his forehead and down his cheek, curving around his jaw. His arms encircled her and he snuggled his face back into her neck. “It’s alright. You’ll get what you want, Sam. I promise. It’s okay. I’m here if you need me.”
Sam lifted his head again and kissed her softly.
Chapter 14B