Fic: Beware of night
Title: Beware of night
Author: joans23
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Words: 3,419
Summary: When Sam Winchester was nine years old, his brother shot him. Twenty years later, it happens again.
Notes: I knew there was another t00bs date coming up, but thought there was no way I was gonna make it. I didn't even want to check when it was. It wasn't going to happen. Then I hooked myself up to podfic for a week straight, thought how cool it was that people could get such awesome ideas from songs, and really listened to the one playing in the background. It was Molly Ban by Alison Krauss (title by same) and there you go. It's also the first time I did any kind of research for the motw, so I hope it works! As always, SO MUCH LOVE for kkgee for an insanely awesome, insanely quick beta job. Written for spn_t00bs.
It was a silly thing, really, that started it all.
They were in Childress, Texas, further south than they'd been in a while. Dean kept calling it Childless and giggling, honest to God giggling, at his own stupid joke. Considering the case they were working, it was a little too morbid, even for Sam, and he didn't think it was funny. He told Dean to cut it out and yeah, okay. Maybe his tone was a little harsher than it needed to be, but Sam still didn't think it justified the way Dean snarled Fuck you, Sam. So Sam grabbed his laptop from his bed, the car keys from the dresser and slammed the motel door behind him.
Dean called out to him, something about leaving his car the hell alone or bringing her back, on time and in one piece, so they could go kill the fucking bitch. Or did he call Sam a little bitch? Sam didn't really care. He needed to not be where his brother was, for a few hours at least.
Sam didn't know if it was the sudden onset of the heat or the town, so much like the one neither of them wanted to remember, but they'd been rubbing each other the wrong way all week and the blow-out was actually way overdue. Maybe it was just because it was close to his birthday. Sam had been watching his brother - too closely, the way he always did - and could see it coming on. Dean always got like this around his birthday; clingy in a way he never was and that he would punch Sam in the mouth for if he ever heard him call it that. He wouldn't let Sam alone for even a minute. It worked on Sam's frayed nerves until they were constantly snapping at each other. The unwavering attention was just too much on top off their already claustrophobic existence.
Even with the windows rolled down, it was stifling. Sam felt the burn of each hot breath and plucked at the shirt sticking to his sweaty skin. It irritated the scar across his chest and made it itch. Sam scratched at it absently, looking for a bit of shade under which to park the car.
Fair Park was just that. Fair. The prettiest Sam had seen in a while. Sam found a bench near the fountain, watching a couple of kids playing fetch with their dog while he waited for the computer to power up. It was good to be outside - breathing the fresh air, cooled as it came across the lake, deep into his lungs, feeling it wake up his body and send the blood coursing through his veins.
The peaceful silence was shattered by the ringing of his cellphone.
"Where are you?" Dean asked when Sam answered after counting to ten.
"Your car is fine. Now leave me alone."
"Are those ... birds? Are you at the park?"
"No," Sam answered, not caring how sullen he sounded. "Leave me alone."
"We still have a monster to kill, Sam. We might need to get ready for that."
"You said we're going in after dark, so there's still plenty of time and last I checked, I didn't need you holding my hand to do research. Now. Leave. Me. Alone."
Sam ended the call, cutting Dean off mid-sentence and God, he hated how Dean reduced him to this. Acting like a petulant child. He breathed deeply, trying to recapture his earlier calm. They just needed to get this done, get out of this town and a week down the line. Then everything would be better.
Or so Sam tried to convince himself.
He lost himself on the information highway for an hour until the laptop's battery died. They didn't have a name for the thing they were hunting. It was better to think of the child-eating monster as a thing, rather than the person she used to be. Near as they could tell, Polly Bennett started having an affair with her next door neighbour, Zach Aldridge, about fourteen months ago. She got pregnant and their little girl was born about a year later. When Zach's wife, childless herself, found out about the baby, she went crazy. She killed Zach in a fit of rage and then sacrificed herself to call down an ancient curse on Polly, calling on Lamia, the Devourer herself. Polly was overtaken in the middle of the night, ripping into her own baby girl sleeping quietly in the crib beside her bed, and then she changed.
There had been three more babies taken from their mothers since. One woman remembered catching a glimpse of something in her dresser table mirror; a serpent's tail and the ghost of Polly's face, horribly disfigured. The remains, such as they were, were found scattered throughout the town, but Dean had seen enough of a pattern to track down the Lamia's lair.
In all their research, they couldn't find any way to break the curse. Polly was lost, another victim of her forbidden love. So it was up to Sam to find a way to kill her. It. He'd found some lore about her eyes that he thought might be the key. They'd find out tonight if he was right.
Sam stayed a little longer, until his stomach started throwing its vote in with Dean's. He figured coming back with dinner might count in his favor; cheeseburgers worked quite well as far as peace offerings went.
The diner down the street made some of the best burgers Sam had ever tasted and with Dean's never ending quest to find the best one, that was saying a lot. There was fresh cherry pie displayed under a clear glass dome on the counter, so Sam ordered two slices of that as well. A couple of Cokes and some fries later, Sam was ready to go.
He dumped the food on the passenger side and turned the key. The Impala came alive beneath him with a roar. Sam fiddled with the radio, trying to get it tuned to the local station before pulling away, but a hard jolt from behind slipped the dial from his hand. Loud static hissed ineffectually at the deadly silence as it held its breath for a heartbeat. Then it too was drowned out by the blaring of car horns and manic laughter of drunk teenagers as they peeled out of the parking lot with squealing tires.
Sam got out on shaky legs, the smell of their greasy dinner suddenly making his stomach turn.
There was a long, deep scrape down the right side, ending in a busted tail light.
Fuck.
Sam's head whipped up, wild eyes looking for the offenders, wanting to scream at them Thank you! Thank you very fucking much! Of all the things Sam did not need right now.
Nothing else to be done, Sam got behind the wheel and took the short way back.
Dean was sitting on the edge of his bed, one leg jiggling and his fist curled on the other. He jumped up before Sam could even close the door behind hm, ripping the paper bag from Sam's hands and throwing it over onto the nightstand.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Dean asked. His eyes roamed up and down Sam's body, checking for injuries, and Sam could see how hard he had to restrain himself to not follow them with his hands.
"The park," Sam said and Dean shot him a I knew it look. "But Dean ..."
"What?" Dean asked, but he was already reaching around Sam to get to the door.
"The car," Sam started.
Dean didn't let him get any further, shoving him out of the way and tumbling out into the growing twilight to survey the damage. Sam tried to explain, to tell him about the stupid kids, but Dean wouldn't listen.
It was an accident, not even his fault, and Dean was going on like it's the end of the world. Like he did it on purpose. Sam was so damn tired of Dean's bullshit. He wanted him to shut up. He wanted to curl his right hand into a tight fist and swing it with all his might to smash into Dean's face. But mostly, still, Sam wanted to kiss him. So when Dean said, "I could kill you," Sam told him, "A couple of inches, Dean. A couple of inches," and watched the color drain from his brother's face.
Sam hated himself a little bit more.
Dean took two steps, and Sam's shoulders tensed. He didn't think Dean would actually hit him, but he might. Dean grabbed the keys from Sam's slack fingers and got behind the wheel.
"What about ..." Sam called after him, but Dean only gunned the engine harder.
Unlike Dean, Sam let his brother go.
He'd drive around for a while, calm down because at least she was still running the way she was supposed to, and forgive Sam. Then he'd come get Sam and they'd finish the job.
Sam wandered back into the room. He sat in the middle of Dean's bed and dragged over the bag of food, because he was still hungry. If he had both pieces of pie, well, then it was Dean's loss.
Sam checked his watch.
He got up to wash his hands, studiously not meeting his reflection’s recriminating look in the mirror above the basin. The little soap the motel left on the counter smelled lemony and clean and Sam spent a good minute reading the ingredients listed on the back of the wrapper.
He checked his watch again.
Dean had been gone for too long. Goddammit, what did he go and do?
He tried to call Dean, but his phone rang from under the pillow where he must have shoved it after the last time he called Sam. Sam didn't waste any more time. He grabbed the duffel from his bed which, fuck. If only Dean had taken it. At least he would've been doing this stupid thing with the right equipment.
Sam slung it across his back and took off running, barely pausing to pull the door shut behind him. His mind was half a block ahead of him, urging Sam to run faster, to get there sooner. Sam focused on the hard slap of his shoes against the asphalt, each step meaning he was closer than he was a second ago. He breathed a never ending prayer; Please on the inhale, Dean on the out. Sam's muscles screamed, begged for mercy, but there would never be any mercy in Sam where Dean's concerned.
The crypt seemed bigger than Sam remembered, cavernous. It loomed up against the night sky like a nightmare; the cherubs clinging to the columns morphed into gargoyles, all wicked teeth and sharp claws.
Sam slipped inside, feeling the cold clamminess of the air against his skin, the darkness, the silence. He blinked, willing his eyes to adjust, and was thrown back against the door, pain grabbing hold and ripping his chest to shreds.
"Dean," Sam said, his brother's name escaping as the air was punched from his lungs.
"Sam! Oh God, Sam!"
Distantly Sam was aware of Dean calling out to him, of the echoing noise the shotgun made as he dropped it, and then he was there. On his knees next to Sam, his hands on Sam's chest, just like they were on that frightful night all those years ago when Sammy, just turned nine the day before, snuck out after his father and big brother.
They were hunting a skinwalker and Sam had imagined himself grown-up enough to help. Until he got out there and couldn't find his family in the dark and there were noises. Shadows whispering his name, phantom hands poking and prodding him in the wrong direction. Sam crawled in under a low bush and curled himself into the smallest ball he could manage. He would wait for Dad or Dean or daybreak, whichever found him first. The relief when Dean walked by only minutes later was so immense, Sam didn't stop to think and he jumped up from his hiding place. Dean was ready, a trained hunter poised on the verge of violence. He must've heard the rustle of leaves or the snap of a twig and he spun around, dropping to one knee as he fired.
The silver bullet pierced Sam's chest and everything went black, even as Sam saw Dean running towards him, even as he heard him scream Sam's name. Sam remembered coming too for a while in the back seat of the Impala, his head cradled in Dean's lap, Dean's hands on him. Dean was covered in so much blood, blood everywhere Sam looked and Sam wanted to sit up. Wanted to stop the bleeding and save Dean, but Dean held him down until he passed out again. He didn't realize until later that the blood was his. The next thing he knew, he was waking up in ICU after surgery, a friendly nurse's face hovering above him.
He wouldn't stop screaming until they let Dean in, let Sam see for himself that he was alright. Sam never knew what they told the hospital, or how they got out of there without seeing a cop, but he knew how lucky he was. Everyone kept telling him that. A couple of inches to the left and he would've shuffled off this mortal coil for good.
Coming to this time was so like the last time that for a moment Sam thought it was all a dream, everything that happened in between then and now and he was still nine years old in the back of the Impala with his life draining between Dean's fingers. Dean had his hands on Sam's chest, running them over his ruined shirt and checking the damage. He was saying Sam's name over and over again, his lips hovering close to Sam's face. Sam could swear he felt those lips brushing across his brow, his cheeks, everywhere.
"Fuck, Dean. What did you shoot me with? Rock salt?" Sam mumbled and Dean sat up. His brother was scared and it plunged the hurt deeper, seeing him like that.
Sam touched a hand to his chest and trapped Dean's there. Dean looked at Sam again and let Sam see. Let him see everything. It took Sam's breath away all over again.
"Sam," Dean said and tried to pull his hand away.
"Don't," Sam said and leaned up, pressed his lips to his brother in a hesitant kiss.
Dean stayed frozen for a moment, holding still as his Sam pursed his lips, moved away and came back, mouth open this time, his tongue snaking out and licking at the seam of his brother's mouth, begging entry. Then he curled a hand around the back of Sam's neck, pulling him up and closer. Sam groaned into Dean's mouth, a fresh stab of pain lacing through his ribs. He didn't stop kissing though, frantic for more and harder.
Dean heard it first, the sickening slither and the pained hiss. He let go of Sam, turned until he was shielding him completely with his body.
"Dean, my bag," Sam said and Dean lunged for it.
The daggers were for her eyes, unable to close and let her escape from the horror of her deeds for even an instant, made of silver for good measure. It couldn't hurt.
Dean waited and waited, let her get close enough to gag on her putrid breath before he pounced, skewering her haunted orbs and putting her out of her misery. He pulled the knives free, looked for something to wipe them clean and tossed them onto her corpse when he couldn't find anything. Holding out a hand to Sam, Dean pulled him up and together they dragged her out into the cemetery.
They dug up her daughter's grave, Sam watching more than helping, made it bigger, and put them to rest together. They kept sneaking glances at each other and hastily looking away when they got caught. Sam wanted Dean to look at him. He wanted Dean to want to kiss him again.
Instead they packed up their gear and stowed it in the trunk like every other hunt, pretended nothing happened as they drove back to the motel. Sam kept opening his mouth and closing it again. Dean turned on the radio, couldn't find anything but the local station and refused to ask Sam to dig a tape out of the box beneath his seat. He turned the volume way up even though it was a country song. Sam closed his eyes and pretended he could hear Dean bitching about his ears bleeding.
Sam escaped into the bathroom as soon as they got in while Dean lingered at the car, stalling. He gingerly peeled off his shirt and surveyed the damage under the flickering fluorescent. The cracked mirror told him what he already knew - it felt worse than it looked. There were bright red spots littering his chest, circling the old scar that was almost dead center, but they were fading fast.
He got in under the shower, was tempted to stay until all the hot water was gone. Sam felt a little mean, a little spiteful but ended up leaving Dean his fair share anyway.
It hit him like a freight train, or a shotgun blast Sam thought and chuckled. He was in such a hurry to get away from Dean, he forgot to bring any clean clothes in with him. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Not only was he going to have to go out there and face the brother he kissed, oh God, he'd kissed Dean, but he was going to have to do it wrapped in a towel.
Cracking open the door an inch, Sam saw the room was dark and hoped that meant Dean was still outside. He opened the door the rest of the way and the spill of light found Dean sitting on his bed. His head was down, cradled in his hands like he was... Was he crying? Sam took an involuntary step towards him, an instinct beyond any that was bred into him forcing him to reach out a hand.
Dean looked up, honest to God streaks of tears smearing his cheeks. His eyes met Sam's for an instant, then dropped down to Sam's chest, where the puckered white of his scar stood out, stark against his tanned skin.
"Sammy," Dean said, "I'm sorry."
Sam caught Dean's head in his hands as he tried to look down again. He couldn't even remember taking the steps he needed to reach Dean. Sam moved closer and Dean opened his legs, made room for him until his knees were bracketing Sam. Dean's hands came up and wrapped around Sam's hips, pulling him in the rest of the way and buried his face against his brother's stomach. Sam could feel the warmth of Dean's breath against his damp skin, could feel Dean's tears dripping onto his belly and sliding down to disappear into the towel still wrapped around him.
"Don't wanna hurt you, Sam," Dean whispered, barely audible. "Never wanted to hurt you."
"I know, Dean, I know," Sam said, soothing his hand over Dean's head over and over again. "This won't hurt me, I promise."
Dean pulled back enough to look up at Sam, his eyes swimming in doubt and moonlight.
"I promise," Sam said again and slid down to his knees.
It was Dean that kissed him first this time, swaying forward until Sam caught his lips with his own. Dean brought a hand up to tilt Sam's face and Sam let him. Let him kiss Sam breathless, Sam begging for more with quiet moans and touches every time Dean wanted to break away. Sam always wanted more, wanted it all.
"How about that burger," Dean finally managed to ask, firmly pushing Sam away for now. "I'm starving."
"Over there," Sam said, pointing to the crumpled bag. His mind kept trying to come with a word for happy he was. "But I ate the pie."
"There was pie? And you ate it all? Where's the love, Sammy?"
Sam placed his hand over his own heart, feeling its beat strong and true beneath his palm. Dean rolled his eyes, but put his hand over Sam's.
"I'll buy you some for breakfast," Sam promised and set about making Dean forget all about food until then.
~End.
Author: joans23
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Words: 3,419
Summary: When Sam Winchester was nine years old, his brother shot him. Twenty years later, it happens again.
Notes: I knew there was another t00bs date coming up, but thought there was no way I was gonna make it. I didn't even want to check when it was. It wasn't going to happen. Then I hooked myself up to podfic for a week straight, thought how cool it was that people could get such awesome ideas from songs, and really listened to the one playing in the background. It was Molly Ban by Alison Krauss (title by same) and there you go. It's also the first time I did any kind of research for the motw, so I hope it works! As always, SO MUCH LOVE for kkgee for an insanely awesome, insanely quick beta job. Written for spn_t00bs.
It was a silly thing, really, that started it all.
They were in Childress, Texas, further south than they'd been in a while. Dean kept calling it Childless and giggling, honest to God giggling, at his own stupid joke. Considering the case they were working, it was a little too morbid, even for Sam, and he didn't think it was funny. He told Dean to cut it out and yeah, okay. Maybe his tone was a little harsher than it needed to be, but Sam still didn't think it justified the way Dean snarled Fuck you, Sam. So Sam grabbed his laptop from his bed, the car keys from the dresser and slammed the motel door behind him.
Dean called out to him, something about leaving his car the hell alone or bringing her back, on time and in one piece, so they could go kill the fucking bitch. Or did he call Sam a little bitch? Sam didn't really care. He needed to not be where his brother was, for a few hours at least.
Sam didn't know if it was the sudden onset of the heat or the town, so much like the one neither of them wanted to remember, but they'd been rubbing each other the wrong way all week and the blow-out was actually way overdue. Maybe it was just because it was close to his birthday. Sam had been watching his brother - too closely, the way he always did - and could see it coming on. Dean always got like this around his birthday; clingy in a way he never was and that he would punch Sam in the mouth for if he ever heard him call it that. He wouldn't let Sam alone for even a minute. It worked on Sam's frayed nerves until they were constantly snapping at each other. The unwavering attention was just too much on top off their already claustrophobic existence.
Even with the windows rolled down, it was stifling. Sam felt the burn of each hot breath and plucked at the shirt sticking to his sweaty skin. It irritated the scar across his chest and made it itch. Sam scratched at it absently, looking for a bit of shade under which to park the car.
Fair Park was just that. Fair. The prettiest Sam had seen in a while. Sam found a bench near the fountain, watching a couple of kids playing fetch with their dog while he waited for the computer to power up. It was good to be outside - breathing the fresh air, cooled as it came across the lake, deep into his lungs, feeling it wake up his body and send the blood coursing through his veins.
The peaceful silence was shattered by the ringing of his cellphone.
"Where are you?" Dean asked when Sam answered after counting to ten.
"Your car is fine. Now leave me alone."
"Are those ... birds? Are you at the park?"
"No," Sam answered, not caring how sullen he sounded. "Leave me alone."
"We still have a monster to kill, Sam. We might need to get ready for that."
"You said we're going in after dark, so there's still plenty of time and last I checked, I didn't need you holding my hand to do research. Now. Leave. Me. Alone."
Sam ended the call, cutting Dean off mid-sentence and God, he hated how Dean reduced him to this. Acting like a petulant child. He breathed deeply, trying to recapture his earlier calm. They just needed to get this done, get out of this town and a week down the line. Then everything would be better.
Or so Sam tried to convince himself.
He lost himself on the information highway for an hour until the laptop's battery died. They didn't have a name for the thing they were hunting. It was better to think of the child-eating monster as a thing, rather than the person she used to be. Near as they could tell, Polly Bennett started having an affair with her next door neighbour, Zach Aldridge, about fourteen months ago. She got pregnant and their little girl was born about a year later. When Zach's wife, childless herself, found out about the baby, she went crazy. She killed Zach in a fit of rage and then sacrificed herself to call down an ancient curse on Polly, calling on Lamia, the Devourer herself. Polly was overtaken in the middle of the night, ripping into her own baby girl sleeping quietly in the crib beside her bed, and then she changed.
There had been three more babies taken from their mothers since. One woman remembered catching a glimpse of something in her dresser table mirror; a serpent's tail and the ghost of Polly's face, horribly disfigured. The remains, such as they were, were found scattered throughout the town, but Dean had seen enough of a pattern to track down the Lamia's lair.
In all their research, they couldn't find any way to break the curse. Polly was lost, another victim of her forbidden love. So it was up to Sam to find a way to kill her. It. He'd found some lore about her eyes that he thought might be the key. They'd find out tonight if he was right.
Sam stayed a little longer, until his stomach started throwing its vote in with Dean's. He figured coming back with dinner might count in his favor; cheeseburgers worked quite well as far as peace offerings went.
The diner down the street made some of the best burgers Sam had ever tasted and with Dean's never ending quest to find the best one, that was saying a lot. There was fresh cherry pie displayed under a clear glass dome on the counter, so Sam ordered two slices of that as well. A couple of Cokes and some fries later, Sam was ready to go.
He dumped the food on the passenger side and turned the key. The Impala came alive beneath him with a roar. Sam fiddled with the radio, trying to get it tuned to the local station before pulling away, but a hard jolt from behind slipped the dial from his hand. Loud static hissed ineffectually at the deadly silence as it held its breath for a heartbeat. Then it too was drowned out by the blaring of car horns and manic laughter of drunk teenagers as they peeled out of the parking lot with squealing tires.
Sam got out on shaky legs, the smell of their greasy dinner suddenly making his stomach turn.
There was a long, deep scrape down the right side, ending in a busted tail light.
Fuck.
Sam's head whipped up, wild eyes looking for the offenders, wanting to scream at them Thank you! Thank you very fucking much! Of all the things Sam did not need right now.
Nothing else to be done, Sam got behind the wheel and took the short way back.
Dean was sitting on the edge of his bed, one leg jiggling and his fist curled on the other. He jumped up before Sam could even close the door behind hm, ripping the paper bag from Sam's hands and throwing it over onto the nightstand.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Dean asked. His eyes roamed up and down Sam's body, checking for injuries, and Sam could see how hard he had to restrain himself to not follow them with his hands.
"The park," Sam said and Dean shot him a I knew it look. "But Dean ..."
"What?" Dean asked, but he was already reaching around Sam to get to the door.
"The car," Sam started.
Dean didn't let him get any further, shoving him out of the way and tumbling out into the growing twilight to survey the damage. Sam tried to explain, to tell him about the stupid kids, but Dean wouldn't listen.
It was an accident, not even his fault, and Dean was going on like it's the end of the world. Like he did it on purpose. Sam was so damn tired of Dean's bullshit. He wanted him to shut up. He wanted to curl his right hand into a tight fist and swing it with all his might to smash into Dean's face. But mostly, still, Sam wanted to kiss him. So when Dean said, "I could kill you," Sam told him, "A couple of inches, Dean. A couple of inches," and watched the color drain from his brother's face.
Sam hated himself a little bit more.
Dean took two steps, and Sam's shoulders tensed. He didn't think Dean would actually hit him, but he might. Dean grabbed the keys from Sam's slack fingers and got behind the wheel.
"What about ..." Sam called after him, but Dean only gunned the engine harder.
Unlike Dean, Sam let his brother go.
He'd drive around for a while, calm down because at least she was still running the way she was supposed to, and forgive Sam. Then he'd come get Sam and they'd finish the job.
Sam wandered back into the room. He sat in the middle of Dean's bed and dragged over the bag of food, because he was still hungry. If he had both pieces of pie, well, then it was Dean's loss.
Sam checked his watch.
He got up to wash his hands, studiously not meeting his reflection’s recriminating look in the mirror above the basin. The little soap the motel left on the counter smelled lemony and clean and Sam spent a good minute reading the ingredients listed on the back of the wrapper.
He checked his watch again.
Dean had been gone for too long. Goddammit, what did he go and do?
He tried to call Dean, but his phone rang from under the pillow where he must have shoved it after the last time he called Sam. Sam didn't waste any more time. He grabbed the duffel from his bed which, fuck. If only Dean had taken it. At least he would've been doing this stupid thing with the right equipment.
Sam slung it across his back and took off running, barely pausing to pull the door shut behind him. His mind was half a block ahead of him, urging Sam to run faster, to get there sooner. Sam focused on the hard slap of his shoes against the asphalt, each step meaning he was closer than he was a second ago. He breathed a never ending prayer; Please on the inhale, Dean on the out. Sam's muscles screamed, begged for mercy, but there would never be any mercy in Sam where Dean's concerned.
The crypt seemed bigger than Sam remembered, cavernous. It loomed up against the night sky like a nightmare; the cherubs clinging to the columns morphed into gargoyles, all wicked teeth and sharp claws.
Sam slipped inside, feeling the cold clamminess of the air against his skin, the darkness, the silence. He blinked, willing his eyes to adjust, and was thrown back against the door, pain grabbing hold and ripping his chest to shreds.
"Dean," Sam said, his brother's name escaping as the air was punched from his lungs.
"Sam! Oh God, Sam!"
Distantly Sam was aware of Dean calling out to him, of the echoing noise the shotgun made as he dropped it, and then he was there. On his knees next to Sam, his hands on Sam's chest, just like they were on that frightful night all those years ago when Sammy, just turned nine the day before, snuck out after his father and big brother.
They were hunting a skinwalker and Sam had imagined himself grown-up enough to help. Until he got out there and couldn't find his family in the dark and there were noises. Shadows whispering his name, phantom hands poking and prodding him in the wrong direction. Sam crawled in under a low bush and curled himself into the smallest ball he could manage. He would wait for Dad or Dean or daybreak, whichever found him first. The relief when Dean walked by only minutes later was so immense, Sam didn't stop to think and he jumped up from his hiding place. Dean was ready, a trained hunter poised on the verge of violence. He must've heard the rustle of leaves or the snap of a twig and he spun around, dropping to one knee as he fired.
The silver bullet pierced Sam's chest and everything went black, even as Sam saw Dean running towards him, even as he heard him scream Sam's name. Sam remembered coming too for a while in the back seat of the Impala, his head cradled in Dean's lap, Dean's hands on him. Dean was covered in so much blood, blood everywhere Sam looked and Sam wanted to sit up. Wanted to stop the bleeding and save Dean, but Dean held him down until he passed out again. He didn't realize until later that the blood was his. The next thing he knew, he was waking up in ICU after surgery, a friendly nurse's face hovering above him.
He wouldn't stop screaming until they let Dean in, let Sam see for himself that he was alright. Sam never knew what they told the hospital, or how they got out of there without seeing a cop, but he knew how lucky he was. Everyone kept telling him that. A couple of inches to the left and he would've shuffled off this mortal coil for good.
Coming to this time was so like the last time that for a moment Sam thought it was all a dream, everything that happened in between then and now and he was still nine years old in the back of the Impala with his life draining between Dean's fingers. Dean had his hands on Sam's chest, running them over his ruined shirt and checking the damage. He was saying Sam's name over and over again, his lips hovering close to Sam's face. Sam could swear he felt those lips brushing across his brow, his cheeks, everywhere.
"Fuck, Dean. What did you shoot me with? Rock salt?" Sam mumbled and Dean sat up. His brother was scared and it plunged the hurt deeper, seeing him like that.
Sam touched a hand to his chest and trapped Dean's there. Dean looked at Sam again and let Sam see. Let him see everything. It took Sam's breath away all over again.
"Sam," Dean said and tried to pull his hand away.
"Don't," Sam said and leaned up, pressed his lips to his brother in a hesitant kiss.
Dean stayed frozen for a moment, holding still as his Sam pursed his lips, moved away and came back, mouth open this time, his tongue snaking out and licking at the seam of his brother's mouth, begging entry. Then he curled a hand around the back of Sam's neck, pulling him up and closer. Sam groaned into Dean's mouth, a fresh stab of pain lacing through his ribs. He didn't stop kissing though, frantic for more and harder.
Dean heard it first, the sickening slither and the pained hiss. He let go of Sam, turned until he was shielding him completely with his body.
"Dean, my bag," Sam said and Dean lunged for it.
The daggers were for her eyes, unable to close and let her escape from the horror of her deeds for even an instant, made of silver for good measure. It couldn't hurt.
Dean waited and waited, let her get close enough to gag on her putrid breath before he pounced, skewering her haunted orbs and putting her out of her misery. He pulled the knives free, looked for something to wipe them clean and tossed them onto her corpse when he couldn't find anything. Holding out a hand to Sam, Dean pulled him up and together they dragged her out into the cemetery.
They dug up her daughter's grave, Sam watching more than helping, made it bigger, and put them to rest together. They kept sneaking glances at each other and hastily looking away when they got caught. Sam wanted Dean to look at him. He wanted Dean to want to kiss him again.
Instead they packed up their gear and stowed it in the trunk like every other hunt, pretended nothing happened as they drove back to the motel. Sam kept opening his mouth and closing it again. Dean turned on the radio, couldn't find anything but the local station and refused to ask Sam to dig a tape out of the box beneath his seat. He turned the volume way up even though it was a country song. Sam closed his eyes and pretended he could hear Dean bitching about his ears bleeding.
Sam escaped into the bathroom as soon as they got in while Dean lingered at the car, stalling. He gingerly peeled off his shirt and surveyed the damage under the flickering fluorescent. The cracked mirror told him what he already knew - it felt worse than it looked. There were bright red spots littering his chest, circling the old scar that was almost dead center, but they were fading fast.
He got in under the shower, was tempted to stay until all the hot water was gone. Sam felt a little mean, a little spiteful but ended up leaving Dean his fair share anyway.
It hit him like a freight train, or a shotgun blast Sam thought and chuckled. He was in such a hurry to get away from Dean, he forgot to bring any clean clothes in with him. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Not only was he going to have to go out there and face the brother he kissed, oh God, he'd kissed Dean, but he was going to have to do it wrapped in a towel.
Cracking open the door an inch, Sam saw the room was dark and hoped that meant Dean was still outside. He opened the door the rest of the way and the spill of light found Dean sitting on his bed. His head was down, cradled in his hands like he was... Was he crying? Sam took an involuntary step towards him, an instinct beyond any that was bred into him forcing him to reach out a hand.
Dean looked up, honest to God streaks of tears smearing his cheeks. His eyes met Sam's for an instant, then dropped down to Sam's chest, where the puckered white of his scar stood out, stark against his tanned skin.
"Sammy," Dean said, "I'm sorry."
Sam caught Dean's head in his hands as he tried to look down again. He couldn't even remember taking the steps he needed to reach Dean. Sam moved closer and Dean opened his legs, made room for him until his knees were bracketing Sam. Dean's hands came up and wrapped around Sam's hips, pulling him in the rest of the way and buried his face against his brother's stomach. Sam could feel the warmth of Dean's breath against his damp skin, could feel Dean's tears dripping onto his belly and sliding down to disappear into the towel still wrapped around him.
"Don't wanna hurt you, Sam," Dean whispered, barely audible. "Never wanted to hurt you."
"I know, Dean, I know," Sam said, soothing his hand over Dean's head over and over again. "This won't hurt me, I promise."
Dean pulled back enough to look up at Sam, his eyes swimming in doubt and moonlight.
"I promise," Sam said again and slid down to his knees.
It was Dean that kissed him first this time, swaying forward until Sam caught his lips with his own. Dean brought a hand up to tilt Sam's face and Sam let him. Let him kiss Sam breathless, Sam begging for more with quiet moans and touches every time Dean wanted to break away. Sam always wanted more, wanted it all.
"How about that burger," Dean finally managed to ask, firmly pushing Sam away for now. "I'm starving."
"Over there," Sam said, pointing to the crumpled bag. His mind kept trying to come with a word for happy he was. "But I ate the pie."
"There was pie? And you ate it all? Where's the love, Sammy?"
Sam placed his hand over his own heart, feeling its beat strong and true beneath his palm. Dean rolled his eyes, but put his hand over Sam's.
"I'll buy you some for breakfast," Sam promised and set about making Dean forget all about food until then.
~End.