bells pond | year four.
"I've got to hand it to you, Sam."
They're in another motel room; Sam doesn't waste time on details he won't remember.
The Devil's palms are wrapped over one another in front of his chest. "I didn't see this coming, but man, this is good. Not something I personally would have thought of, but it just goes to show that you're truly the right man for the job."
The particulars of the dream flow and morph but Sam stays quiet as he's done countless times.
"Your own brother," Lucifer says. "I'm impressed. There's a poetry to all of this, I'm sure you've realized that by now. My brother and I were close, too. Nothing like you and Dean, of course." The Devil waits, hungry for a reaction Sam is fighting not to satisfy him with. "Michael must know. Do you really think he'll let Dean have you and risk tarnishing his righteous vessel with a sin like this?"
Lucifer is one threat away from full-on laughter. "It's been too long since I've seen our brothers, but I wish I could be there when Michael tells Dean that there's no chance for you two. I want to see Dean's face..."
There's no way for Sam to keep his mind blank, Lucifer pulls his thoughts like raffle tickets on a roll.
"Do you want him, Sam?" Lucifer's voice slithers directly into Sam's ear though neither has moved. "I mean, do you really, really want him? He's not my type, but I can see the appeal. All that pretty skin waiting to be marked up and burned off? And Dean's lips-I bet those were ripped off once or twice. He'd look so good screaming with a bloody mouth."
The echo of a wail, real or not, hits Sam. Churns the bile in his gut.
"You know, I wasn't there, but I heard about all the fun Alastair and Dean had, so I can see why you'd like him. He breaks so perfectly," the Devil adds with manic glee. "If you really want him, I can help you. I'll give you two my blessing, and you can fuck each other up until the sun falls out of the sky."
Sam knows what's coming.
"Say yes," Lucifer hisses, forked tongue giving the offer such a desirable twist. "Say yes and he's yours."
Sam takes a single deep breath, not sure what he's pulling into his lungs.
"He's already mine."
And then Sam pinches his eyes shut and waits to wake up.
March 28th
Dean blows in with the southern wind; Sam feels the warmth of it on his cheeks.
In the diner's kitchen, Riley sings a soft tune as she pours lumpy batter into each well of her muffin tin. At the counter, Mitch leans forward on his thick elbows to watch. His coffee goes cold as the two share smiles.
Ames and Eric are locked in quiet combat over the chessboard. Sitting in Sam's usual booth, they trade carefully strategical moves, Eric sipping his coffee after every turn. The angel had picked up chess remarkably quickly; Sam guesses he's humoring Eric with feigned inexperience. If Eric knows, he doesn't care, and the two play with an intensity that was lacking in the games Sam and Eric used to play.
On the opposite end of the diner, Sara and Annabel chat over a plate of Riley's first batch of banana nut muffins. Anthony drinks his coffee, mug dwarfed in his large palms, chiming in with a word or a nod every so often. Gus has come and gone, eager to get a start on another project. After eating, he leaves with an extra serving of coffee and a piece of the apple pie Riley and Eric had teamed up to bake yesterday.
They've gotten used to tranquil days like this, Bells Pond's few residents not getting the chance for much more than that. The majority have settled into their routines, only a handful more comfortable with isolation. Gus checks on them from time to time, but no one likes to think about those who refuse to leave their homes. There's only so much Sam and the others can do. Even Ames admits that not every case is easy.
Sam senses the instant Dean arrives, a calming breeze passing through the diner's open door.
He's nervous in a way he's never fathomed, waiting while the others continue their morning ignorant of the shift in the atmosphere Sam associates with angelic deliveries. Ames' mouth twitches up at the corner but that could be a result of capturing Eric's bishop. The angel had let it slip to Sam that wherever he was today, that's where Dean would appear. The diner is neutral ground; Sam lacks the confidence to confront Dean alone at his house this year.
Sam pictures Dean out on the dusty road with the early sun lighting on his shoulders as he catches a glimpse of the diner.
Another minute of distraction and Dean walks through the door.
He's alright.
Sam's eye is immediately assessing: no blood, no visible injuries or tell-tale signs of pain. He's healthy and hale. Sam's next thought is much more of a sucker punch.
I kissed him.
Dean finds Sam at the counter and smiles, happiness laced with apprehension. Sam knows exactly how that feels.
"Don't I get a hello?"
Everyone turns and looks; Dean's a familiar face for everyone but Mitch and Annabel. Caught behind the counter, Sam's unable to look away as Dean crosses towards him.
"Dean?" Riley steps out of the kitchen, absently stepping in the middle of Sam and Dean's stare-down. "What are you doing here? Sam said-"
"I said I wasn't sure," Sam pipes up, coming around the counter.
"I just couldn't stay away." Dean puts on a bright, flirty smile to masks his emotions. "Last year-it wasn't a banner year for me."
They have a round of introductions, and Dean charms Riley right under Mitch's nose. Sam uses the opportunity to study Dean carefully. The lines on his face are blade-sharp and firm. Instead of looking older-Dean's over thirty-five now-he appears harder. Always beautiful and fierce to Sam, Michael's possessions have changed him and Sam needs to get his hands on Dean to find out just how much.
Jumping Dean in the diner. That would get a few looks. At least no one knows Dean's his brother besides Ames and the angel's not paying attention, scrutinizing the chessboard while Eric's distracted eyes focus in their direction.
"I'll have more muffins in ten minutes." Riley's already poured coffee for Dean, automatically setting it on the empty stool next to Sam's. "You're staying, right?"
"That's why I'm here," Dean says. Much quieter, he leans over to ask, "Sam, why am I here?"
"Because I'm here."
"Right." As if it makes perfect sense.
"You look better." Sam keeps his voice soft so their conversation remains private. All eyes are on them with the exception of Ames and now Eric; those two are hunched close and whispering.. Sam doubts they're talking about the chess match.
"I got a new health-care plan," Dean quips, grinning at Riley. "Catastrophic coverage."
"How often did you need that this year?"
Dean's answer is stolen when Riley pushes a plate of seasoned hash browns in front of Dean. "It's a new recipe, you've got to try them!" She hurries away to make more as a potato-less Mitch pouts in her direction.
Sam could kick himself. Using Ames' information, he'd picked the diner as this year's rendezvous just in case that kiss had negative repercussions. This way there would be no scene until they were alone. Sam has no doubt Dean could successfully hide his anger while they have company. Unable to talk openly, Sam has no clue where they stand or what Dean's thinking. On top of all that, he has to share his brother. With Riley who barely gives Dean enough time to inhale before she's bringing more food, and with a heavy-browed Mitch who keeps staring over and making Sam nervous. The others' curious looks don't faze Dean, but Sam second-guessed his choice to come to the diner in the first place.
"Hey, Dean?" Riley nervously fingers the hem of her apron, batter stains dried on the fabric. "Is there any way...anything you can tell me about what's going on?"
Both Winchesters freeze. Dean recovers first. "What do you mean?"
"You know," she wavers. Fortunately, in the far booth, Anthony, Sara, and Annabel are no longer paying attention. "Before I got here, I knew things were starting to go bad...out there. Is it still like that?"
Sam is eager for the answer. For all he knows the world is a wasteland with Bells Pond as the only sustainable haven, but he thinks that would show on Dean's face. He won't put Dean on the spot, wants to get him home and talk there.
"I can't tell you much," Dean says. "I'm not in the 'real world' either. Where I'm stuck-" He struggles, Sam's hand going to squeeze his knee without second thought. "It's not like you have it here, but it's not real either. You know what I'm saying?"
Riley doesn't hide her disappointment well. Mitch's face darkens, disbelieving, and Sam's afraid he's going to needle the issue. Sam doesn't want Dean to snap here.
"I think we should get going," Sam interrupts. "Unless you want to stay a little bit longer?"
"I'm good." Dean pushes back. "Thanks, Riley. The food was awesome."
Everyone's quiet when Sam and Dean walk out of the diner; Sam's never felt more awkward around his friends, relieved when they make it to the truck, slamming the creaky doors and taking a deep breath.
"Ready to go?"
Dean's looking out across the fields, grass well on its way to full green so early in the year.
"Absolutely."
"Did you get a new couch?"
The darkly upholstered sofa takes up a good chunk of Sam's living room but with little other furniture it hardly matters. He and Eric had nearly broken their backs getting it through Sam's front door, collapsing onto it afterward and declaring the pain was worth the pleasure.
"Annabel had two in her house, and she offered me one if I was willing to move it. Good thing I had the truck."
"I like it." Dean drops heavily onto the cushions that are no longer a threat to anyone's spinal alignment.
Sam's too worked up to sit. For as many times as Dean's been in Sam's house, this time is not at all comparable to the others. Consumed with thoughts of pressing Dean back into those cushions, kneeing up into his lap, Sam wonders how Dean can act so casual, as if he's waiting for Sam to tell him a story.
"I could use some coffee, how about you?" Sam escapes before Dean answers. From the kitchen he hears Dean stand up, his weight settling on the hardwood floor.
"Where'd you get these frames?" Dean asks from the other room.
"Oh," Sam knows exactly what he's talking about. "Gus found some nice pieces of wood in one of the buildings in town and he made a few frames for each of us." Sam was one of the few who had pictures to put in them, the Winchester family photos finally in a proper home.
"I like 'em."
The coffee maker bubbles and brews enough to distract Sam, hot water pouring through the grounds and dripping into the pot. He leaves it to run, and goes to face Dean again.
Sam never makes it past the doorjamb.
In an admittedly impressive move, Sam is caught up by Dean's hands and forced against the wall. Dean's mouth swoops down immediately to swallow Sam's groan. Shocked to a momentary standstill, Sam is mentally accosted and physically pinned. His feet slide out, Dean nudges him back to the wall. Their knees don't quite match up, bones knocking. Dean's solid body holds him to the drywall until he abruptly lets go.
"Fuck-" Dean wipes across his mouth with the back of his hand. He judges three feet to be a safe-enough distance between them. "I didn't mean to-"
"You didn't?" Sam heaves away from the wall, bites into that safe-zone.
"Sam, we're-we shouldn't. If we do this-"
Anything coming out of Dean's mouth won't be good. Sam's body beats his brain to the punch, wrestling forward and batting Dean's arms to the side. He needs more than discombobulated protests if he's going to stop whatever this is becoming.
Sam meets Dean square-on, judging the fervor in his fiery green eyes. He sees more than interest, able to feel Dean's poorly-guarded infatuation, as if he wanted Sam to know...
Striking with his own kiss, Sam pulls Dean back to the wall, his shoulder blades practically forced into the sheet-rock. Dean's heavy against Sam's front, their tongues twisting together. Opening his eyes, Dean's face is full up in Sam's vision; Dean is lost to the kiss, eyelids lowered to show the dark fan of his lashes. Their teeth catch, tongues slipping in the way of first times when a partner's lips are a map without a key. A single moment one year ago had hardly been enough to show Sam the way.
"Yeah, fuck-" Dean gasps when Sam lets his lips go. "We're doing this."
Picked up and carried away, Sam grips Dean's shirt like an anchor finding an underwater ledge, letting the effects of the kiss slide down and ignite his body. It's easier to continue than to stop and allow words to get the better of them, shattering whatever is responsible for this moment. Sam's already ruined too much. Dean doesn't let up either, gaining new confidence and knowledge of Sam. He pushes through every wall Sam's built, leaving no room in mind, body, or heart for anything else.
Dean's hips grind up, rocking Sam's ass against the wall. Letting Dean take some of his weight, Sam inches down, his skin burning with the friction between the wall and his shirt.
"Sammy," Dean exhales, "d'you want more?"
Sam lets his teeth do the talking, working his mouth over Dean's chin. He can feel how ragged Dean's breath has become, pretty sure his own lungs are having a hard time catching up. Dean hisses, the sound unexpectedly hot.
"What do you think?" Sam says, one hand reaching around to grab Dean's ass and reel them closer together.
"Are you sure?"
Sam takes drastic measures to put an end to the questions, spinning them until they hit the couch. He doesn't let go of Dean, grappling his brother into the cushions exactly the way he'd imagined. Not entirely positive this isn't a dream, Sam keeps Dean's lips within reach, sparing one gentle kiss to obliterate Dean's doubt. Dean's mouth opens on the next breath and Sam is there to push his tongue in and assert control.
Hands begin to wander off-course; Sam gets Dean's jacket off after an awkward series of aborted attempts. They overbalance, tip against the back of the couch and remain propped there, knee-to-knee and chest-to-chest.
Neither of them are rushing to get naked, overwhelmed just by the experience. It's so far beyond Sam's ability to comprehend, he has to surrender control to his body.
They undress to t-shirts and jeans, no need to show off. Sam's always appreciated Dean's body and right now he's confident that he'll be getting his hands on it soon, but he settles for kicking off his shoes as Dean does the same. Sam has spent well over a year wining-and-dining his right hand in order to score some action so he's hard and ready to go.
They topple flat, rolling in the space they're allowed, taking turns on top. With only a few minutes of experience to go on, Sam is hard-pressed to judge which sensation he likes more. Trapped beneath Dean's chest, Sam's at his brother's mercy, waiting with delicious anticipation for any kind of touch. Gaining the upper hand, forcing Dean's elbows back into the cushions, Sam feasts on the spread of skin laid out for him.
Sam's mouth gets caught in a wanderlust, moving away from Dean's lips to explore the hard cut of his brother's jaw, sweaty skin over his throat. He's not quite sure how Dean should taste on his tongue, lapping over his body to pick up whatever traces it can, wondering if Michael...no, Sam refuses to think about the archangel. Dean has a new obligation here and now.
Dean takes advantage of Sam's lapse to muscle him down, lying heavy between Sam's spread knees. Every roll of his hips is unnecessary foreplay, pushing more blood into Sam's dick. There's no way for Dean to miss his erection, and Sam knows it's not a gun he feels when Dean rides the groove of Sam's hip. He can't wait to get his hands on Dean, knowing full well what he's packing.
"C'mon, Sam." Dean arches over him, bellies pressed together. "You've gotta-unh! Sam.."
Sam's heard Dean having sex-listened to him come in countless motel rooms-but having those filthy-high sounds flowing right into his ear does unspeakable things to his anatomy.
Sam doesn't ask permission, just shoves his hand down to open their jeans. Dean gives him little room to work and Sam's unable to strip either of them further. Sam can't even see Dean's cock, just feels the hot, dry skin rubbing against him. Too dry. Dean's the first to lick his palm, mixed saliva adding wetness to the friction. Sam reaches down while Dean's tongue curls around the rim of his ear. If Sam doesn't get off, he's going to die and Dean's sharp rocking isn't quite getting him there. A quick push, careful to avoid getting tripped up by his jeans, Sam levers up. He flips Dean onto his back, Sam's thighs wide across Dean's thighs.
Dean hisses. "Damn!"
"No good?"
"Fuck, Sam," he grates out, Sam getting bitey along his shoulders and collarbone. "Keep going."
Sam uses one arm to prop himself up, the other to push their dicks against one another. Rolling and writhing into the heat and pressure, Sam doesn't stand a chance. He'd almost be embarrassed but Dean's body jolts, coming between them just as Sam is losing his mind.
Reality strikes back as Dean's come dries on Sam's stomach and vice-versa. Dean's face pinches at the state they're in. "Got a towel?"
Sam wants to laugh. Or kick something. Those are not the first words he wanted to hear after rubbing off on his brother's crotch.
Dean must catch the twitch in his smile. "Sorry," he says, "but this is gross."
Sam scowls but he's right. His zipper is covered with come and it gets in the way of his trembling fingers. Sam goes unzipped to reduce the risk of an unfortunate accident.
Dean's counting the stitches in his jeans, or something else completely useless, when Sam comes back with a dishtowel.
"Birds?" Dean looks at the cross-stitch on the fabric. "Classy."
"Someone here really liked birds," Sam grumbles. He's waiting for a crack to appear, some great chasm yawning between them. Or, for a fury of light to swallow him whole for defiling Dean-Michael's pure vessel.
Pure. Yeah, right. Sam snorts and Dean crooks one eyebrow.
No signs of condemnation rain down on them, nothing but the chirp of a cricket outside Sam's window and Dean's breathing. There are hundreds of things Sam is 'okay with' that would boil the blood of normal people. Sleeping with Dean should not count as one of those, but his body disagrees, keeping Sam's pulse thrumming at a careful rate and tamping down on any unnecessary panicking.
"You're gonna crack something in that damn skull of yours." Dean absently scratches his crotch, jeans refastened but definitely still sensitive. Sam is squirming. "I can hear the wheels spinning."
"You can't tell me you're not thinking about this."
Dean exaggerates his stretch, arms, hands and fingers all reaching for the ceiling. "I shorted something in my brain back there."
Back where Sam rode Dean's thigh to get off. Right. Sam's head is like a ball of knotted wires he can't begin to sort.
"Yeah, Dean-"
"Listen," Dean says, licking his lip and stopping when Sam stares too intently. "Let's skip the part where we have to dissect this, okay? Seriously, I'm good right now. Are you good?"
"Mostly."
Dean laughs. "I'll take that." He rubs over his jaw, skin reddened from Sam's mouth and teeth. Again, Sam's eyes catch on the unintentionally seductive movement. "A beer or two probably wouldn't hurt either."
"It's not even noon," Sam bothers to point out.
"Yeah, well it's not every day we-"
Sam jumps. "Two beers coming right up."
Dean snorts and Sam makes his second not-so-grand escape from the living room.
Two beers turn into four; four into six. Mouths open as easily as their bottles and Sam spends a good half-hour failing to stifle his laughter.
"Seriously, they bicker and whine like twelve year olds. Cas and Michael make us look totally functional."
"I'm pretty sure angels don't whine," Sam says, grinning so wide his cheeks sting with the stretch.
"After you've had one riding your ass, making you into some kind of redemption poster-boy, we can talk."
"I'll pass, thanks."
Their carefully constructed wall of beer bottles catches the sun, spilling brown and green patches of light onto the kitchen floor. Stained glass for alcoholics.
"So, the seals..."
"We're getting closer," Dean says, adding another empty to the wall. "For every seal we rebuild, I don't know, it's like Lucifer gets a little weaker. We've locked away some of his power. 'Course, a wounded animal's gonna fight even harder. He's getting desperate."
That's reflected in Sam's nightmares. Lucifer's threats have been less veiled and more targeted. A wounded animal may be dangerous, but a wounded Devil is deadly.
"I don't suppose you could let me out to help."
Dean grins, thinking it's a joke, but his expression immediately goes rigid.
"Shit, Sam. No way. Lucifer'd sniff you out the second you left, angelic mojo on your ribs or not. I can't-"
"I know." Sam knew the answer before he asked.
Dean hums and pops the cap off his bottle. Sam really-really-doesn't want to be the one circling the inevitable, but if he waits any longer Dean's going to be drunk.
"I nearly thought you weren't coming back this year."
"Did you think something was gonna happen to me?"
"Come on, Dean. You're not that dense."
"Says you," he huffs. "You know, I'm as big on not talking as I was a couple hours ago."
"Yeah, I figured," Sam says. This isn't at the top of his to-do list either. "But I don't want to spend the rest of the day wondering, so can't you just tell me?"
"Okay," Dean responds tersely. "I was a little freaked out last year when you laid one on me," Dean admits, looking absolutely uncomfortable. Sam sympathizes-he'd much rather be making out on the couch. "What can I say? I got into it."
"You seemed more than a little into it this morning," Sam points out.
Dean's affronted. "I didn't expect it, but that doesn't mean I don't want it."
Sam won't ask why he feels that way, or for how long it'll last. Any reason Dean offers will pale in comparison to the taboo of their relationship. For Sam, it's enough that Dean wants this and if Sam spends too much time thinking, he'll miss important things like Dean standing up. He comes to Sam's side, pulling his chin up and laying another kiss on his lips.
"Just wanted to make sure I was being clear."
"Yeah, I got it," Sam says, and leans up again.
Hours later, they've accomplished next to nothing. Sam's perfectly fine with that. The appeal of making out is leaps and bounds ahead of talking and the bed is twice as comfortable.
The situation goes from good to amazing, then straight off the top of the charts when Dean strips off his shirt and has Sam do the same. Sam stretches out over Dean and folds his tongue into Dean's mouth, so deeply entangled already. Chin-to-chin, Sam could waste hours just grinding down. Dean is palming at his chest, lightly slapping and grabbing his pecs.
"I'm not a girl," Sam complains.
"A big, giant girl." Dean curls up, hands roughly scratching up Sam's torso, thumbs catching on his nipples.
Sam's mouth goes dry. "Says the one on his back."
The pawing is surprisingly arousing and Sam presses into it. Curious to return the touch, he drops his chest to Dean's, lets his teeth dig into the hard muscle below Dean's tattoo. To say Dean likes that is a massive understatement, and he wraps his fingers in Sam's hair to tug him back and forth. Biting across Dean's chest, Sam detours to tongue around his raised nipples.
"Now who's the girl?" All that reddened skin is driving Sam nuts.
"Shut up." Dean yanks him back into a kiss.
They can take their time now that the edge has been dulled. Sam's more than happy to get his hands all over Dean. He only manages to unbutton Dean's jeans before he's distracted again by Dean's wet mouth, laid open and waiting for Sam's tongue. He's never kissed someone so thoroughly in his life.
Dean's cock is a sight where it lies half hard on his lower abdomen, framed by light hair and Dean's pushed-down boxers. Sam's half-out of his jeans, sitting astride Dean's left thigh. His knee pushes up against Dean's crotch and he shimmies against it with tiny pulses of his hips. He's oddly enthralled as Dean's cock gets harder with every thrust while he benefits from Dean's thick thigh digging up against his own balls. Dean stares when Sam unzips his jeans and gets his dick in hand, jumping as blood fills it and the muscles wake up.
"Fuck, Sam-"
"You think this is hot?" Sam strokes himself, maintains his rhythm between Dean's legs. "You like just watching?"
"Yeah." Dean's not embarrassed and Sam's flattered, bringing himself off right there. He wants Dean to see him come, helped along with the added stimulation of Dean's hand flexing on Sam's ass. It's a powerful touch-the thrill of having a strong partner-and demanding as if Dean could force the pleasure out of him at any moment. Dean waits for him to reach his climax, expression eager to see Sam at his most heated. Sam jerks and falls forward, coming on Dean's stomach for the second time.
"Sam-" Dean's needy moans bring him back, his solid cock twitching against Sam's belly. A splash of Sam's come is there on the crown, tempting Sam when he gathers himself enough to get a fist around Dean. Stroking up, twisting around, Sam brings his palm up to lick off Dean's sweat mixed with his own come. Dean's face goes bright red and Sam files every reaction away for later.
"Almost...almost, oh! Fuck, yeah. There-right there."
He's getting hard again from listening. Dean's come shoots over Sam's hand with little warning beyond Dean's thighs clenching around Sam's leg. His eyes don't budge as Dean releases with curses and shakes. So fucking hot-Sam's ready to go right there.
"Again?"
"Mmhmm." Sam glides up Dean's body, lets their come squish between their bellies. After this round, neither one of them opens their mouth to call it gross. Sam's renewed interest is obvious and Dean's mouth meets his in a deep, delving kiss that says Dean's pretty down with that plan.
"Best afternoon ever."
It takes a lot of convincing-most of it on Dean's part-to get Sam to leave the house again. Sex makes Dean hungry, no surprise there, and hunger makes him bossy. Having three orgasms in the span of an afternoon is going to make social interaction awkward. Half of Sam's sex-addled brain is still stuck in the bedroom.
Sam makes up a 'no groping' rule for the truck as soon as they get in; Dean has issues controlling his nomadic hands. This late in the afternoon, the diner's empty except for Eric and Riley. There's a book of crosswords open next to Eric's ketchup-streaked plate, his current page half-filled.
Eric takes one look at pair of them and grins. "Feeling alright, Sam?"
"I'm good," he says as Dean nudges past him. "Really good."
"I figured." Eric's smirk has always been one of Sam's favorite things and it's out in full force.
"I'm so sorry about earlier," Riley says, running over to Dean. "That was so rude of me, and I don't know what Mitch was thinking, but it's hard for us, you know?"
Though he's more comfortable with only Eric and Riley for company, Dean shuffles under her regard. "Yeah, sorry I couldn't give you answers. I know it's rough."
Dean assures her that there's no need, but Riley apologizes by making him the thickest burger Sam's ever seen, a rainbow of toppings and condiments between the buns. Since the fry cooker is one of the only appliances Riley lets him use, Sam chops potatoes and makes enough french fries to feed everyone in Bells Pond. Eric steals a hot and salty handful when Sam sets the platter on the counter.
"Sam told me that you used to be a cop." Dean leans on the counter to see Eric on the other side of Sam.
"A detective, actually."
"I'm surprised you and Sam get along so well. He and I were never really what you'd consider upstanding citizens."
"That so?" Sam can tell Eric's teasing, a spark in his cornflower blue eyes. "His record couldn't have been too bad if they let him in this place."
"You'd think." Sam jumps in.
"Hey, I was on the force for over a decade. I'd be the first to tell you that there's a difference between breaking the law and being a criminal," Eric says thoughtfully, more to Sam than Dean. "Sometimes you have to do crazy things, and sometimes," he sighs, "you don't have a choice. Hell, I watched my entire city fall apart. People were doing all sorts of horrible things, and none of it was really them."
Eric's story is one Sam knows well, how he'd witnessed countless horrors while his friends, and even his partner of nearly a decade, were ripped apart by what Sam's pretty sure was the Croatoan virus. Eric had been the lone uninfected survivor, not an accomplishment to be proud of. On one of his first nights with Sam years ago, Eric recalled barricading himself in the police station for days with dwindling supplies and next-to-no ammunition. Exhaustion had claimed him before any of the Croats could, and he was positive he'd died, finally able to meet his fellow officers. But, in a familiar ending, Eric had woken up in Bells Pond.
"Whatever you did," Eric's only talking to Sam now. "I know you had your reasons. You're more than okay in my book."
Dean turns away, aware of the moment between Sam and Eric.
If Dean weren't part of Sam's life, he and Eric could have-actually, Sam can't go down this road of thought because Dean is a part of his life and always has been. He and Eric never stood a chance but Sam loves him regardless, his friendship is precious and rare. Even in this messed up place where reality can't catch up, Sam would have fallen apart many times over without him.
"Man, I totally had the right idea coming here." Dean cleans his plate, minutes away from settling into a food coma.
Riley sneaks around up to Sam's side and he swings an arm around her narrow shoulders. "Thanks for dinner."
"You don't have to say that every time," she says, cheeks as pink as ever.
"You also don't have to cook for us all the time," Eric chimes in, "but you do."
"I wouldn't know what else to do with myself." Her head settles on Sam's shoulder for a moment and she sighs. "Are you gonna be here in the morning, Dean?"
"I'm not too sure." He looks to Sam. "But we'll try. If not-"
"If not, then I'm glad you came back tonight," she finishes. Surprising Sam and Dean, Riley ducks away from Sam and gives Dean a hug before grabbing her bag and heading out.
Dean watches her disappear into the ever-darkening evening. "Is she gonna be alright walking?"
"Her place isn't far."
Eric grins. "And with angels hand-picking our residents, we don't exactly have a lot of crime to worry about."
They all laugh at that. The diner goes quiet, Sam flicking his fingers impatiently against the counter top. When Eric gets up to leave, Sam jumps to help him shut off the last of the appliances and finally the lights.
Outside, Eric shakes Dean's hand and declines a ride, opting to walk like Riley had. "Knowing my luck, Ames will drop by along the way and follow me home. He keeps the weirdest hours."
"You like it," Sam tells Eric as they walk to his truck. "Maybe we'll see you in the morning."
"Maybe, but you guys have a good night." He winks and Sam knocks him on the arm.
Dean's waiting behind the wheel of the old Ford, fingers tapping an absent rhythm.
"He's a good guy."
"Yeah, he is." Sam watches Eric walk quickly down the road, hands hidden in his pockets.
"If you and he-I mean, if you want, I can-"
"Dean." Sam hops in the passenger, ignoring the sudden pang when he misses the Impala's Sam-sized front seat. "Shut up, and let's go."
Everything is different in the dark, a desperate edge along which they grope with hands and hearts.
Dean looms naked over him, warm breath on Sam's collarbone. He hasn't uttered an intelligible word since they came back to the bedroom and he'd stripped slowly-as sensuously as someone like Dean can manage-for Sam.
Tonight is about sensation, learning what it feels like to have Dean's lips traipsing idly over every part of his body, never quite reaching to where Sam needs him the most and yet never trespassing since it all belongs to him. It's about connection and divining what each of Dean's touches signify. Dean lies back, draws lazy strokes down his chest and up his cock. Leaning across, Sam finds the beat under the skin, uses his mouth to chase Dean's pulse from his heart to his ear. What he whispers there might be nonsense, secrets he's never shared-Sam doesn't care so long as the words are kept between them.
The morning approaches with every breath; Sam tries not to waste a single one. Sand drains from their hourglass and Sam's touches begin to dig harder in desperation. Dean's fingers tighten behind Sam's neck, roping them together as their tongues lash in Dean's mouth. Passion kinetic and unstoppable with nothing between them, just hands on each other as they fold open on the bed. Dean's fist around Sam's cock is maddening; it's nearly impossible to keep his own grip going on Dean at the same time. They share the same breath, trading oxygen back and forth on their tongues.
This time when they fall apart, Sam understands that only Dean is ever going to be able to put him back together. Like they're the only two souls stuck somewhere, trapped and dependent so there's no longer one without the other. The idea that Dean's going to be ripped away-again and again until this is over-isn't new for Sam, but it's more terrifying than ever.
He clings to Dean, and Dean to him, promising not to waste even a minute by sleeping. Dean pulls him back for another kiss just to make sure.
March 29th
Sam and Dean don't make it to the diner the next morning-they don't even get out of bed. Sam watches Dean stretch as the sun comes up, something so graceful and feline in the long pull of his muscles. Then, Dean smacks his lips together and the graceful illusion is ruined. Food can wait, Sam thinks as he flops over onto Dean's stomach.
"Careful," Dean groans sleepily. "I'm sensitive."
"Liar," Sam rolls his forehead against Dean's chest.
He doesn't bother asking Dean to stay; Sam's already thinking to a year from now when he can have this again. Less time if the war ends.
"I'm sorry I've got to do this," Dean says after a moment of quiet. Sam goes still.
"Is this almost over?"
"I don't know," Dean says. "I freakin' hope so, Sammy. It's going a lot faster since I know you're safe."
"Just be careful," Sam mutters with his lips still attached to Dean's chest. He expects Dean to laugh and sure enough he feels the slight rumble beneath him.
If there were anything profound to say, they've said it already, spoken it with their eyes and touches. The only thing remaining for Sam to do is kiss Dean until the room goes hot. He withstands the heat of the heavenly light and doesn't pull away until his lips meet nothing but air.
year five
master post