FIC: Making Partner
Welcome back, little wincest tag. :D
I seriously was down on this about two or three days ago, with regards to the fact that my porn was busted. Because it just. Would. Not. Come. Literally.
This morning I realized it's not broken, it just wasn't going to be short.
Title: Making Partner
Author: memphis86
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9,019
Pairing: Sam/Dean, (mentions of Sam/OFC, Sam/OMC)
Summary: Sam's pretty much the best damn defense attorney ever, and he'll be the first to tell you that. However, all is not well for very long; he's just been asked by his firm to take on one more case before he makes partner--Dean's. Sexy chaos ensues.
Author's Note: For sevenfists's Evil Sam fic-a-thon! Although this is more decidedly Badass Sammy. My original prompt was: au!badass!Sam becomes a defense lawyer (EVOL!) and ends up defending Dean. Until they reconcile and abscond. Followed by sex. More notes at the end.
Making Partner
Sam Winchester is the best. And he knows it.
After all, that's what she's saying right now, as she rides the final spasms of her orgasm.
"Oh GOD Sam! You're the BEST! The BEST!"
So, it's not like he's just stroking his own ego here, there are plenty of people who'll attest to his prowess.
First of all, his latest client. Star football player Arthur Higgins, who just this afternoon was acquitted in his late wife's murder trial. He was accused of drowning her in a swimming pool.
Sam Winchester is the best goddamn defense attorney there is. He could get a jury to turn on a dime. Well, that's what Higgins said as he left the courthouse, clapping Sam on the back with the same hand he used to hold his wife under the water.
Oh yeah, Sam was good at what he did. He'd finished top of his class at Stanford. Killed his bar exam, flat out murdered it. For a brief moment he thought of going into environmental law, something noble like that. His college girlfriend, Jessica, would have approved.
Then he remembered how nice it was to crush someone beneath his feet using sharp-tongued words as weapons. He was captain of the debate team at Stanford, brought home trophies and ribbons galore. Jessica scoffed at him and joined the Peace Corps. Sam shrugged her off and fucked about half of the campus.
The lawfirm of Mercy & Brown snapped him up, right after graduation. He sat second chair with some of the senior partners for about a month before he was trying and winning his own cases. For someone his age, it was unheard of.
"Oh God…" She says turning over on her back, reaching into her nearby purse for a cigarette.
"Actually, I prefer Sam." He replies smugly, stretching his arms above his head and cracking his back.
She laughs, and the cigarette between her lips bobs up and down. "That was just, incredible, Sam."
"I take it you're feeling better, Claire?"
She nods, lighting her cigarette. "Oh, tons. Thanks for reminding me." She inhales deeply, and then lets her mouth hang open. The smoke curls out in light little wafts, like from a chimneystack.
"Hey, you put up a good fight. My case was just better."
"His hands were covered in chlorine when the police got to the scene! His skin was under her fingernails!"
"Well, I'm afraid that the jury found that all circumstantial."
"I hate you." Claire Southerlyn glares at him. And yes, that's the Claire Southerlyn. The very same Assistant District Attorney who opposed him in the case of the People v. Higgins.
Sam found her in the usual bar after the trial. He was always a sucker for the underdog.
"That so…?" Sam says getting up and throwing on his favorite silk robe. He ties it quickly and heads for the door.
"Where're you going? C'mon I didn't mean-"
"You know the drill, Claire." Sam turns his head over his shoulder. "You can stay here as long as you want, but I sleep alone."
Claire huffs and ashes her cigarette on the bed to spite him, Sam clicks the door shut.
His room is bigger anyway, he usually handled business like that in his guest bedroom, before retiring to the master. There was a nice, big four-poster bed with crisp, clean Egyptian cotton sheets and a soft, velvety comforter waiting for him. But first, he needed his coffee fix.
Sam always drinks coffee after sex. He reaches into the fridge for the leftovers from that morning, pours out the dregs into his "#1 Lawyer" mug and downs it. The cold bitterness, the familiar taste, always brings him down. Then again, maybe it's the Xanax he takes with his coffee. One of those things always does the trick.
Passing through to the master bath, he quickly washes Claire off of him. She was all sweat, perfume, and the cherry brandy she'd been drowning her sorrows in. The case was supposed to be a slam-dunk for the D.A.'s office, and he doubted he'd see her trying anything important soon. She'd probably be prosecuting traffic violations and liquor-store robberies for the next few months.
He flips the TV in his room on when he finishes showering. Sometimes he just needs that flicking glow and background noise to sleep. The local news has interrupted his regularly scheduled mindless talk shows. Sam frowns but watches the first few minutes of the lead story. Something about some whack-job and 17 dead prostitutes in a brothel. Jeez, what's this world coming to?
Sam falls back on the bed and blinks a few times before his eye are too heavy to keep open.
***
Claire's gone in the morning, he tosses out the angry letter she leaves on the fridge. He honestly doesn't care anymore after the 100th variant of the "Sam, you emotionally retarded asshole"-letter. He could collect them all and write a book.
Whatever, he has to get to work. He eats two slices of whole-wheat toast and three pieces of turkey bacon and an apple. Following that he brews about twelve cups of Guatemalan premium roast coffee. He drinks as much as he can over breakfast, and most goes into his silver thermos. The rest sits in the fridge for when he gets home.
There are worse vices, after all. It's not like it's ever stunted his growth.
Like clockwork, just as he finishes cinching his tie, his blackberry rings to life. It's Milo, his closest friend and mentor, and also one of the twelve senior partners at Mercy & Brown.
"Yeah, Milo?" He answers.
"Congratulations on your latest case, my boy!" His Slavic accented-English sings out. "Come see me in my office, I have some very good news for you."
"Well that's great, Milo! See you in an hour."
Sam's face splits in the widest grin imaginable, he knew it was coming. He's going to make partner. And he's going to be the youngest in the history of the firm to do so.
Life is good.
***
Sam pulls into Mercy & Brown, and parks his Jaguar. He's practically running up the stairs to the main level, taking them two at a time, like some overexcited child. But he really can't help it.
It doesn't stop there, he's practically humming and bouncing on his heels in the elevator. He gets some questioning looks, but politely ignores them.
He strides into Milo Savanovic's office and throws his hand up in greeting. Milo stands and does the same, "There he is! There's our superstar!" They exchange very manly hugs, replete with patting and other meaningless affectations.
Sam plays the game.
They settle into plush red leather chairs. Milo is a bit of an eccentric, he loves deep red curtains and writes his memos in red ink. He claims it's because it gets more attention then all the other colors could.
"So," Sam smiles knowingly, "Why'd you ask me here today?"
"Well Sam, the senior partners have been talking. About you, about all you bring to the firm. How you handled the Higgins case? Brilliant. We've been tossing around an idea, let me run it by you-"
Sam leans in closer, ready to fall back in surprise when he hears:
"You heard about the incident last night? The man who is accused of decapitating 17 prostitutes?"
Sam furrows his brow, he'd yet to hear about the decapitations, ouch. "Uh, yeah?"
"You are going to want to take his case."
Sam shakes his head, "I'm sorry, what?" He doesn't defend serial killers. First of all, they can't even afford his retainer!
"Sam, my boy. You are going to take his case, pro-bono. And what's more, you are going to win."
"Why would I ever-"
"Because when John Doe walks free, you will make partner."
Sam's jaw drops. He laughs nervously, "Y-you're serious?"
"As a heart attack." Milo stands and walks to his bar, pours out two glasses of red wine. Another eccentricity of his, he toasts everything with red, his favorite, and it's always as dry as the desert. Milo holds his glass up to Sam.
"To you, Sam Winchester, and your future at Mercy & Brown."
Sam smiles, "To John Doe, and his future acquittal." He clinks Milo's glass.
***
The precinct is buzzing with extra security since the capture of John Doe. Sam passes through and straightens his tie, smoothes his suit down and checks his slicked-back hair in a nearby window. He's never met a real-life serial killer before, he's not sure if he should look too nice.
He's a shark, damn it.
An officer waves him in and he's lead to the interrogation room. There's a double-sided mirror, he can see two officers really giving it to John Doe, arms waving and fists pounding. John's got his head down on the table, in nesting in-between crossed arms. If Sam didn't know better, he'd say John was taking a nap.
The A.D.A. on the case, James Ross, is watching from outside with the bureau chief.
"James," Sam holds his hand out to him. James eyes it with caution before accepting.
"Winchester, what the hell are you doing here?"
Sam smirks. "I'm here to see my client. I assume you've already charged him with-"
"Seventeen counts of murder in the first degree, yes." James blinks several times and crosses his arms, "W-wait a minute, your client? You're not a public defender-"
"I'm taking this case."
"He can't afford-!"
"Pro-bono."
"You're taking this case, Winchester, for the future book deal and talk show appearances. Let's not play games here."
Sam grabs his chest and gasps, "James Ross! I am shocked-shocked, that you would think my intentions were not simply to set an innocent man free."
"Innocent!?" James gapes.
"Yes, innocent." Sam pulls his business card out and scribbles the name of his favorite Thai restaurant on the back, along with the address and a time. He slips it into James' jacket pocket.
"Meet me there tonight, we can talk deal then." And I can probably fuck some information out of you afterwards, he thinks.
James raises an eyebrow but nods, before turning on his heels and muttering "Good luck."
James really wasn't half-bad in bed. And Sam was nothing if not an opportunistic sonavabitch.
The chief lets him into the room. One cop has just about lost his shit, he's red in the face and there's a nasty looking vein throbbing on his neck.
The chief shakes his shoulder, "Hey, hey! Lay off him, his lawyer-"
Sam interrupts, "My client has nothing more to say to you, if you'll excuse us." Sam maneuvers his way past the grumbling officers, sitting across from the shackled John Doe, and holds out his hand.
"My name is Sam Winchester, I'll be defending you today, mister-?"
Dean Winchester lifts his head from in-between his arms. Runs his eyes up and down Sam's body, quirks his eyebrow and smiles like the cat that got into the cream.
If the officers were a half-step closer; they might have been able to see Sam's hand start to quiver. The cracks you can see in his earlier calm, uniform expression. They also might have been able to see Dean's fingers tickling Sam's palm when he finally took the proffered handshake. The little twitch in Sam's eye as a result of that.
"Joseph Walsh," Dean says.
"That's from the Eagles! He's doing it again!" The younger cop snaps and grabs his head.
"Cassidy!" The chief yells.
"What? He's been doing this all goddamn day! Joe Walsh, Eddie Money, Saul Hudson, Johnny Thunders, Kirk Hammett, Ronnie James Dio."
Dean snorts, "Can't believe you bought that one. Y'know he actually started a background check on me?"
Cassidy screams and curses, and his partner has to hold him back.
"Shhh!" Sam resists the urge to smack his brother on the head. It wouldn't be professional. "My client is done talking to you, so could you please leave us? Now?"
The officers shuffle out and the door slams shut.
Sam drums his fingers on the table and Dean shakes his head and fixes him with a warm smile.
"Sam…"
Sam holds up his hand, "Double-sided mirror, Dean."
"I know that. I used to watch Kojak."
"I'm just saying-"
"Wasn't like I was gonna jump on you." Dean holds up his shackled hands. "But damn it Sammy, it's good to see you."
Okay, so his relationship with his brother is a lot more complicated then anyone knows. Even their father. Maybe the sex wasn't normal, but neither was anything else in his screwed up little childhood.
It's hard when those happy memories of Dean and lust overlapped with each other.
"Sam. No more Sammy, Dean. Not now, not ever. Now your case-"
Dean scoffed, "Oh come on, Sammy! It's been years! I mean, there's time for that later, right?"
"It's Sam. And no there isn't, we need to prepare for your arraignment."
"How'd you find me anyhow? Catch me on the news? How's my hair look-did they get my good side?"
Sam rolls his eyes but doesn't answer the question. "I'm assuming you want to go for an insanity plea."
"Ouch." Dean scratches his neck, "Yeah, well whatever gets me back out there the quickest."
Sam's jaw drops in disbelief, "Back out there? Dean, you don't understand. You decapitated 17 prostitutes!"
"Vampires."
Sam's face falls and he leans in closer, "I'm sorry, what?"
"I decapitated 17 vampires."
Sam nods his head slowly. After seven years outside of his father's and Dean's world; he really thought he'd secured his grip back on reality.
"Now the problem is that there were 18 at the place when I got there. I gotta find the one that got away, see if she can lead me to the main nest. Those vamps I wasted were just foot soldiers. Now that one has warned the others, they've gotta be onto me by now. If I don't get out quickly, they could move on and I'll have to track them down again."
"Vampires."
"Uh huh."
"Vampires are real. And they build nests."
"Yep."
"And have… foot soldiers."
"Yeah. Prostitution ring's easy enough to infiltrate. The John's are easy meals, and no one reports the girls that go missing."
"And you had to cut off their heads."
"It's the only way to really kill 'em. None of that stake-through-the-heart crap. Just whhcct! Whack off their heads." Dean chuckles, "C'mon Sam, haven't you been keepin' up with the Joneses?"
Sam rubs his eyes and leans back in his chair, it's going to be a very long day. He wishes he had more coffee.
"Sam?"
"Shht! I'm thinking."
"Oh-kay." Dean nods, fidgets with his cuffs. Sam takes his thermos out of his bag, and starts drinking straight from it.
Minutes later, Sam's eyes brighten and he snaps his fingers. "Got it!" He relays his plan to Dean.
"You're think it's gonna work?"
"No, but it's worth a shot. If anything, you'll sit in a cell until I figure out another plan."
"Well, thanks for that shot of confidence."
"Trust me, Dean."
"So says the lawyer." Dean sits forward and fixes Sam with another stare. "Seriously though, I'm really grateful that you came for me."
Sam bites back a nervous laugh and flashes his best cocky smile. "Of course you are! I'm the best goddamn defense attorney in town!" Oh God, I sound like a used car salesman, Sam thinks.
Dean nods, "You look good, Sam. You clean up real nice. Suit and tie and all professional-like."
This time the nervous laugh slips through, and Sam tries to play it like a cough, covers his mouth and stands quickly.
"Well, I'll see you at the arraignment Dean, just don't talk to anyone, stick to the plan, we'll be aces." He gathers his briefcase and makes a beeline for the door.
"Sammy, you forgot your-" Dean points at his thermos still on the table.
"Keep it!" Sam quickly opens and shuts the door, then turns and pokes his head back in the room.
"And don't call me Sammy!"
Sam gets through the building, down the stairs and past all the officers with a cool, composed expression. He gets into his car, locks all the doors and rolls up the windows. Turns the radio and the A/C on full blast. Takes out the paper bag from his gourmet deli-bought lunch and quietly hyperventilates.
God damn it, Dean looked good too.
***
The courtroom is buzzing with anticipation. Dean shuffles his feet next to Sam, bumps his shoulder and smiles. Sam huffs and ignores him.
The judge files into the courtroom from her office. By some grace of God, they've drawn a judge Sam is more than familiar with. It fills him with an extra shot of confidence, he turns and smiles to Milo, who is watching from the galley.
Hey, sometimes it pays to have these connections in high places. Even if it means an occasional wine & dine with the geriatric sort.
The court officer reads the indictment, "The People v. John Doe. 17 counts of murder in the first degree."
"Your honor, I object. I would like to amend the indictment and request you charge my client by his given name." Sam interrupts.
Judge Donnelly raises an eyebrow at Sam, "Well whoever he is, does he have a plea?"
"My client, Dean Winchester, certainly does, your honor."
The secession of mouths dropping open is audible.
"Mr. Winchester, do I presume that the shared surname is not a coincidence?"
"He's my brother, your honor."
"I ain't heavy either," Dean whispers to Sam.
James steps forward, "Your honor, you can't possibly allow Mr. Winchester to defend his own brother."
"I thought my job was to defend my client zealously and without prejudice. And I swear, the fact that my brother is a thorn in my side will play no part-"
Judge Donnelly bangs her gavel. "Counselors, please approach the bench."
The judge narrows he eyes at them. James complains, "Your honor, the people had no idea that Mr. Winchester was related to the defendant otherwise we would have made a motion to-"
"Your honor this is a waste of time. If the people want to motion me off the case, then I welcome the challenge. However, my client has the right to a speedy trial, I hardly see the point of delaying this arraignment any further."
"I agree Mr. Winchester. Now let's get to that plea."
Sam gives James a smug grin, and receives a venomous scowl in return.
Judge Donnelly clears her throat. "How does the defendant plead?"
"Not guilty," Sam nudges Dean in the side. "Um, your honor. Not guilty, your honor." Dean smiles.
"The people request the defendant be remanded without bail, your honor. The defendant is accused of a violent crime, and has until now kept his identity a secret. We have yet to run a background check and believe him to be a danger and a flight risk."
"And when the people run their background check they will find that my client has a spotless record and is a model citizen." Sam should know, he wiped his, Dean's and his father's records clean years ago.
Top lawfirms don't hire lawyers with family members on the FBI's top ten most wanted. It was expensive to hire the hacker, but he more then made it back his first year at Mercy & Brown.
"Your honor, seventeen headless young women, would tend to disagree with Mr. Winchester's assessment of his brother's character."
"I believe my client has already plead not guilty."
"Mr. Ross, save the testimony for a jury. Bail is set at $500,000, cash or bonds."
"Your honor! Seventeen women are dead! Decapitated! Anything short of remand is-"
Ignoring James' outburst, she bangs her gavel. "I've made my ruling, Mr. Ross. Continue and I will find you in contempt."
Dean's face falls, Sam just beams and quickly whispers. "You do realize, I'm posting your bail."
"What?" Dean furrows his brow in disbelief as the court officers escort him back to holding.
Sam smiles and gives himself a mental pat on the back, which is interrupted when James taps him on the shoulder. Sam turns around, grinning at him.
"Just so you know Winchester, my motion to bar you as counsel will be on your desk by three."
"James, I'm sure we'll have plenty to talk about tonight. No need to go waste time drafting motions that will go nowhere." Sam leans in close, "Wear something pretty, it's a nice restaurant."
"I really hate you."
"8 p.m. sharp." Sam laughs his way into the galley and found himself on the receiving end of another manly clap on the shoulder from Milo.
"Brilliant! Absolutely so!" Milo ducks his head and pulls Sam into a quiet corridor. "Now, is he really your brother?"
Sam sighs, "Unfortunately, yes."
"Sam, I just, I never even expected you to get anything but remand. The senior partners will be very, very pleased!"
"Yeah well, talk to me when the trial starts, if I can weasel A.D.A. Ross into not opposing my counsel. If anything, I may have to take second chair to-"
"Sam my friend, do not worry about a thing. We need to go post bail."
"We?"
"Mercy & Brown takes care of our own. We believe in family."
Sam feels a lump in his throat, but it's not from being touched by the gesture. He wanted to be the one to bail Dean out, because, man. He could've held that over him for years.
But to refuse Mercy & Brown's offer, would be much worse.
***
Dean whistles at the entrance to Sam's penthouse. "Niiiiice, Sammy."
Sam shudders inwardly. It's too much of a hassle to convince Dean to stop saying 'Sammy', he's too damn stubborn.
It was better to try and make nice now, because Dean was flat-out refusing to stay at a hotel. Even though Sam was more than willing to put him in an executive suite at a hotel.
His picture was all over the papers, and he was convinced the vampires were on the hunt for him. Sam's place at least had a doorman and an alarm. Plus, they were used to dealing with photographers and reporters wanting to scam information out of Sam's more high-profile cases.
Dean throws himself on the couch and sighs, closing his eyes. "Mind if I crash here for a few?"
Sam nods and drops his briefcase, "No problem, I've got a dinner meeting with A.D.A. Ross in about an hour. I trust you can stay here and out of trouble until then?"
"Dinner?"
"Yeah, see if he won't oppose an insanity plea, or at least plead you out on a lesser charge."
Dean sits up and looks Sam in the eye. "Uh, I don't think so."
"Dean, you have to take the best deal you can get-"
"Sam, I thought you understood me. Step one was getting out of jail, the next step is hunting down those vampires. Then, I'm gone."
"Dean, you can't just skip out on a criminal trial of this magnitude. There are 17 dead bodies-"
"Undead bodies."
"Whatever! 17 bodies that you are currently responsible for. The least, least you can hope for is an acquittal under an insanity plea."
"The least I can hope for is no traffic on the I-9, when I leave town. After finishing off those vampires."
"Look, Dean, it's very important that you walk away from this without a conviction."
"Why?"
Because I want this promotion, idiot. Sam thinks. "It's just- very important to me, okay? Do this for me."
"So I have to go through a trial? You can't just make this disappear like you did with our old records?"
"That was a different situation."
"Oh, so it's okay to fix your records so you get a job. But it's not okay to let me skip out on the charges so I can, y'know, fight evil and save lives."
"Dean…"
"Just figuring out where you and I stand, Sam. Y'know you used to be--nevermind."
Sam feels an awful pain in his chest. The distinct feeling of failure. He shouldn't though, it shouldn't matter anymore whether or not he meets some impossible standard.
But those standards were always set by his Dad, not Dean. Falling short for Dean means he must really, really be lacking.
Before Sam was the best at anything, Dean was. The strongest, the fastest, the sharpest shot and the lady-killer. Dean was ease and perfection, and he was there for Sam and Sam alone. Dean was his idol before he set out to make himself idol-worthy.
Falling short of some dumb-ass outdated, ridiculous expectation Dean has should not bother him. But it does. It gnaws at him.
Sam narrows his eyes on Dean and seethes. "Guest bedroom's on your left. Don't leave without telling me. My cell number is on my card, on the fridge. Don't wait up." He storms off.
Leaving angry and slamming doors is the Winchester way, after all.
***
Sam loves Thai food, the feeling of the spices burning in his mouth. James is on his fifth scotch.
Sam never thought hard liquor went with spicy food, so he contends himself with beer and black tea towards the end of the meal. He misses coffee.
However, that doesn't stop him from being perfectly charming. Smiling at James, promising him naughty things after dinner, leering at him until he twitches. It's a rush, that kind of power he has over people.
He figured out long ago, that's why Dean got off on flirting so ruthlessly in his youth.
James pounds his fist on the table. "No! No more, I'm not gonna. Not gonna budge on this. He does time."
Sam leans forward. "He walks. Remember that time I let you blow me in chambers?"
"Oh God, I hate you." James burps. "I'm going to make you pay later. State hoscipal. Host-spittal. Hospital. He's crazy crazy."
"He walks. And I'm going to fuck your brains out."
"Damn it Winchester."
"Gosh, I love it that you call everyone by their last name." He says sarcastically. Under the table, Sam rubs his foot on the inside of James' leg.
"Winchester."
"James, haven't you looked at the medical examiner's follow-up report from this afternoon?"
"Winchester, Winchester, Winchester."
"All the decapitations occurred post-mortem. The girls died from earlier exsanguinations. Let's say, what if my client cut off the heads from dead bodies? That's just a felony misdemeanor. Not first-degree murder."
"Exsangwin-what-ins? Winchester."
"Bled to death."
"Fuck. Fuckity fuck. God damn I hate that fucking M.E. Thinks she's fucking CSI-"
Sam's blackberry vibrates, it's Milo.
"Excuse me a moment," he says to James, who's still talking to his scotch. Sam walks away towards the corridor near the bathroom.
"Milo?"
"Sam, my boy are you sitting down?"
"No."
"Well, nevermind then. The senior partners and I have just decided, we'd like to invite you to become one of us."
"Milo, I know that. Once Dean is cleared."
"No, now. Tomorrow. We're going to have a little party tomorrow night to celebrate. Bring your brother."
"…What?"
"The fact that you got him out on bail is incredible, Sam. Considering the severity of the charges. Why wait through the rigor of a criminal trial we know you can win? You're set, Sam. Or should I say, you're set, partner."
"I-I'm a partner?"
"Yes, party tomorrow night. Bring Dean, for you know, family is important. Goodnight Sam!" Milo cuts off.
Sam is stunned, and confused.
It's just, with Dean back in town, he's thinking like he used to. He's thinking with that old distrusting, paranoid modus operandi his father instilled in him. And it all does seem just a wee bit-
Off.
Convenient.
Sinister.
Sam walks back to the table in a haze. The liquor is starting to get to James because he blurts out that he'd be willing to accept an insanity plea after evaluations, and that he's also got the world's biggest hard-on for him.
Sam blinks, "I'm sorry, what?"
"Your place," James hiccups. "You drive, 'm too drinky drinky."
"I'll call you a cab." Sam can't believe himself.
"Huh?"
"I, have to go, home. My brother. I'll get you a cab, but I need to go home now. Talk to my brother." He gathers up his things and signals for the check.
***
When Sam gets in, he heads straight for the kitchen, Dean is at the sink. Ignoring him, he goes for his leftover coffee, chugging it like water.
"You're gonna be up all night," Dean comments.
Not when I take a tranquilizer after, Sam thinks. "Nah, it brings me down." Sam finally notices what Dean is doing at the sink. He's got about one quarter of his knife collection out, and he's pouring a vial of red liquid on the blades.
"The hell are you doing?"
Dean lifts his head, "Dead man's blood. It's like poison to vampires. Won't kill 'em, but it slows 'em down enough to."
"I mean, where'd they come from- is that a shotgun on my fucking kitchen table?!"
"Maybe."
"Where'd you hide the Impala?"
"Not telling you, Johnny Law. You'd probably have her towed to keep me here."
Sam shakes his head, "Just, clean my fucking sink when you're done."
"What's your problem?"
"Other then the obvious?" Sam gestures at him.
Dean rolls his shoulder and puts the knife down, turns to Sam. "No, okay? No, I am not playing this with you."
"Excuse me?"
"I haven't seen you in seven goddamn years. I'm not wasting however long I'm gonna be here fighting with you. So no, I'm not playing 'Sam and Dean argue with each other until they stop talking.' Yes I will clean your goddamn sink. Be nice."
"Fuck you."
Dean crosses his arms, "If that's what it takes."
Sam stares bitterly into his #1 Lawyer mug. "We are not starting this again."
"Really?"
"Yeah, not again. No sex."
"No sex. Just like no more 'Sammy'."
"I will concede on the Sammy issue. Just, if we're not fighting, then we're not fucking. Okay?"
"Okay, no sex."
***
So of course they had sex.
Which the initiation of sent Sam's mug flying to the ground smashing into a million pieces. But that just made Sam push Dean into the fridge, imprinting magnets into his ass for the next two days.
Sam had one hand on the back of Dean's head, their mouths locked together. The other arm was around Dean's back, holding him tight against Sam's body. Dean's arms were stuck pressed up against his chest.
Dean knew how to use the leverage, wrap his legs around Sam's waist even though he couldn't move his arms. Eventually, hands snake into Sam's hair, pulling.
"Ow!" Sam pulls back after a particularly nasty tug, and then scowls at Dean. "You're gonna pay for that."
"Oooh, big bad lawyer, I'm scared."
Sam wrestles Dean into his bedroom, alternating between groping and kissing him. Dean gets shoved onto the bed, and Sam jumps on top of him. Dean's clothes are thrown on the floor, and Sam begins unbuttoning his shirt. Dean rips it off.
"Hey!"
Dean grins, "Hurry the fuck up so we can not have sex."
Sam shakes his head and undoes his pants, "Nope, no sex at all."
"Just-"
"Fucking your brains out. Hard."
"Aww, Sammy you remembered what I like."
"Oh I know what you like," Sam reaches into his nightstand for the lube. "You like me on top of you."
"Yeah,"
"And you like it when I lick you all over first."
"Mmmn, fuck yeah." Dean's stroking himself now.
Sam runs out of words, he just wants actions. Like him, inside Dean, now now now.
Dean however, keeps talking, "Means a lot to me Sammy, that you came for me. When you knew I was in trouble. That you're helping me."
Sam bites back the guilt and sinks his teeth into Dean's shoulder. Dean cries out. Sam's got his fingers slicked up and he's fucking his hand into Dean.
Dean's moving with him, and Sam knows he needs to be inside Dean. He needs his hands free to hold Dean down, to touch him everywhere. He removes his fingers, and grabs a condom from the nightstand.
Dean quickly snatches it away and rips it open with his teeth. God, it's so fucking hot and Sam feels his dick throb. It's on him, and he's sliding into Dean, easy in and out. Then he feels good enough to pick up momentum. Harder, faster movements.
He pins Dean's arms down, teases him by breathing against his mouth, his chest. Dean tries to pull up, kiss him, but Sam holds him back. Keeping him at arm's length.
"You like holding me down, don't you?"
Shut up Dean, he thinks. Just let me fuck you, and shut up.
"You like being in control, you always have."
"Shhhh…" Sam moves his arms away and pumps Dean's cock.
"You don't need to try… unnnngh. So hard. With me you, you can have everything. I'm y-"
Sam bends down quickly to bite Dean's bottom lip. Runs the tip of his tongue over it, back and forth. Just to keep his mouth occupied. Dean attacks back, furious kisses and hums happily. Sam growls and comes inside of him.
"I love that I can still trick you into doing what I want." Dean sighs, his own come splashing against Sam's stomach.
***
When Dean begins drifting off, Sam gets out of bed and throws on his robe.
Something makes Sam stop at the doorway, turn around to look at Dean, forgoing his habitual post-sex shower and coffee fix.
Dean was in Sam's bed, with the velvety covers, and the thousand-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. Sam had never pictured him like this before. Dean was always motel-room linens, scratchy blankets, stained pillow cases.
Sam wrings his hands and watches Dean sleep, the rise and fall of his chest.
He knows he should wake him up, kick him out and tell him he sleeps alone. But instead Sam climbs back under the covers with him, lays an arm across the expanse of his chest.
Dean stirs and peers at him with one eye, smiles just a bit.
Sam kisses his cheek, his mouth, his chin, and a trail down his neck and onto his chest. Sam scrambles up on top of him, moves his mouth over every inch of Dean's torso, kissing his way down.
Dean's got both eyes open now, and reaches out hands to cup Sam's face. Sam moves back up to meet Dean, kissing. Sweet, soft, smattering of lips and tongue. Dean is warm saliva, cold beer and rough stubble. Sam wants it all over him.
It should've started it up again with that, another incredible fuck.
But Dean was never in beds like these.
"Stay here, tonight?"
Dean looks confused.
"With me."
Dean rolls his eyes, "Duh, Sammy, where else would I be?"
"Guest room. I usually sleep alone."
"Wow, really?" Dean looks aside and sits up, Sam rolls off of him and onto his stomach next to Dean. "You have changed."
"Mmmn." Sam nods against the pillows.
"So why do you want me to stay, you havin' nightmares, Sammy? Need me for protection?"
Sam closed his eyes tightly, ignores pangs in his stomach. One crisis at a time.
"What were you going to say before, about the way I used to be?" He asks.
"Oh, that? Well I guess, I was gonna say that you used to be like, my conscience."
"Oh."
Sam worries his lip, finally succumbing to the pangs of guilt. Even though he's going to regret it.
"I didn't know it was you."
"Huh?" Dean quirks his head to the side.
"I took your case because they offered me a partnership at my firm. On the condition that I got you acquitted. That's why I want you to stay for a trial. That's the only reason.
"Only, I got a phone call tonight from Milo Savanovic, one of the senior partners. They gave me the job because I got you out on bail. They want to make me a partner tomorrow night, and they want me to bring you to the party."
Dean's face hardens, "Well Sam, that's pretty goddamn-"
"Suspicious, I know. I think something's going on with Milo and your case."
Dean nods. "Okay, so what're you gonna do about it?"
***
Dean refused to let Sam go snooping alone. Sam refused to let him bring a machete. It's about 2 in the morning when they get to Mercy & Brown. Sam just wants a quick peek in Milo's files, see if he's up to something.
The elevator doors open, Sam and Dean creep into the darkened, empty office. Dean's still got the stupid blood-covered Bowie knife at the ready, watching Sam's back.
"Y'know, I've been here at night before, I'm fairly sure if there was anything supernatural going on, I would've noticed it by now."
"Whatever Sam, you don't know vampires, they're sneaky. "
"Ah yes, I'm sure they train their vampire foot-soldiers in a ninja-like fashion."
"And you're outta practice. You probably couldn't even catch Casper."
"Bite me, Buffy."
Dean gives him the eyebrow, "That's right Sam, keeping mocking the guy with the knife and cat-like reflexes."
Sam shakes his head and walks towards Milo's office. He's gone in to check client records before, without Milo's permission. Sometimes staying a few nights in the office can be all the difference between winning and losing a case. He dials the security code and strides right in.
The lights are on, and Milo's there, with some lady in minimal clothing. They're sitting on the floor, and have blood all over their mouths. Sam's fairly sure the eviscerated body they're hunched over is the clerical intern that was fired last Tuesday.
All the color drains from Sam's face, and his adrenaline surges.
"Sam?" Milo asks, only his mouth is full so it comes out like, "Shum?"
"The fuck?" Is all that Sam can say.
"Thif iffant whuf if loofs life." Blood and bits of flesh dribble out of Milo's mouth as he attempts to speak.
"Holy-" Dean's behind him now, eyes widening in surprise before he snaps his fingers and points at the girl. "Her! She's the one that got away that night."
She hisses at him like some animal. Curvy fangs fill her mouth.
Things move quickly, Dean pounces on the girl and shoves the knife in her belly and she wails in pain. Sam steps in the room cautiously as Milo rises from the floor, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
"Milo…"
"I can explain."
"You're a vampire."
"…Maybe I don't need to explain."
It's silent except for the sounds of Dean cursing as he punches the girl, demanding information.
"Were you ever-?"
"I was going to tell you, yes. Very soon in fact-"
"Sammy!" Dean interrupts, "She says there're twelve head vampires. They started turning the prostitutes about four months ago."
Realization dawns, "The senior partners…"
"We needed a new scheme, we were running out of interns to feed on."
"But, you asked me to join?"
"Needed some 'fresh blood' so to speak. You're a natural-born killer, Sam. I've seen you work. You're going to make a great-" Milo approaches him to touch his arm.
Sam jerks away. "That's why you just wanted me to get Dean out of jail, so you could kill him before he killed the rest of you!"
"Well, actually it was more or less a revenge-kill. But yes. You surprised us all Sam, we thought he'd stay safely locked up until his trial."
Again there is a deadly silence, punctuated by the sounds of Dean tying up the girl with the extension cord from Milo's computer.
"So, what now?"
Milo looks thoughtfully at the ceiling, and then back at Sam. "Killing your brother, turning you. 'S pretty much the plan, still." He opens his mouth as his fangs drop down.
Milo is much stronger then he looks, Sam's thrown against the wall like a ragdoll. Then Milo's over him, holding him by his throat and forcing a bloody arm towards his mouth. He's pretty sure he's hissing "Drink…" at him.
Then Milo's eyes roll back in his head and he screams in pain. Dean's face rises over his shoulder and smiles. "Hi, I'm Dean. Hands off Sammy."
Milo drops Sam, who rolls to the floor and gasps in air. Dean twists the knife around a few more times before moving to the throat.
"Mm sorry I didn't really get a chance to sharpen this properly, 's gonna be a while. But you don't mind waiting, do ya?" He lowers Milo to the floor and starts going at Milo's neck with the knife.
"Wait!" Sam coughs, "He's gotta do something first."
***
The senior partners are called, Milo reads exactly what he and Dean write for him to say, so no code words can be dropped. He tells them the meeting with Sam is pushed up to that morning to accommodate a trial he's involved in. The senior partners will be gathered in the upstairs meeting room at 7 a.m., sharp.
Then Dean proceeds to decapitate Milo and his flunky using a Bowie knife, complaining all the way that Sam should've let him go get the machete first. Sam watches in horrified fascination.
After the bodies are stuffed in a closet, Dean decides to make an Impala run for more supplies to take care of the rest of them.
"Ugh, how is it I've got blood all over me and you're practically spotless?"
"Like I said, you're out of practice. Also? Layers." Dean buttons up his plaid overshirt, hiding the minimal bloodstains on his tee.
"Whatever," Sam tosses his house-keys at Dean. "Get me a clean suit, a nice one. And a change of clothes, for afterwards. And bring me my coffee. Milo only brews decaf."
Dean jams his hands in his pockets and leaves. Sam sits down at Milo's desk and concentrates on his breathing.
***
Sam's hasn't moved when Dean gets back. He's got his duffle of supplies from the Impala, as well as clothes for Sam.
"Do you think if you weren't here, I would have joined up with them if they offered?"
"I dunno Sam, you seem to enjoy power tripping."
"I'd like to think I'd say no."
Dean nods. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure you would, after brooding about it. Get your ass killed in the process. They might've just turned you anyway, not given you a choice."
"I wouldn't say yes, I wouldn't."
Dean steps closer, walks around to his side of the desk.
"I want to believe you."
Sam presses his lips into a fine line and looks away.
"You've really changed, Sammy." Dean holds up a cup of coffee to his face.
It's clearly not his preferred brew, blue cup with generic printing, probably got it at some deli. Sam forgets that Dean usually has little to no cash on him. It's lukewarm from the chill of the night air.
Sam pulls on Dean's outstretched hand and yanks him down for a kiss. Like the way he used to. It was a routine, Dean, coffee, morning breath, kissing, and shower. Getting yelled at by Dad when they showed up late.
So okay, maybe his coffee fixation isn't really an addiction after all. Maybe it's sublimation. Maybe it's a coping mechanism.
Maybe the cliché is right, and you don't know what you've got until it's gone.
"Yeah well, not everything changed. I'm still an addict."
"Coffee?" Dean sits in Sam's lap, hands wrapping around his neck.
"Whatever you want to call it." Sam rests his hands on Dean's thighs.
"We never really had a name for it."
"We were young."
"You got so big."
"And you got heavier. Probably not helped by all that truck-stop cuisine."
"Shut it."
"Not a bad thing mind you, I'm stronger now. I mean, we knew that last night when I-"
Dean kisses him, pulls back. "I want to suck you off."
"Not stopping you."
It's fast and dirty. Dean slides off Sam's lap and opens his pants. He was going to have to change anyway, Sam figures it's par for the course.
Dean wraps his wet, warm mouth around him and Sam's eyes roll back. God, he's done it just about everywhere in the building, but never Milo's office. Scratch that one off.
***
There are streamers and balloons around the meeting room when they arrive, machetes and daggers in hand. Like it was some kind of birthday party for Sam. On the occasion of his becoming a vampire. It's all sickly funny.
Later, Dean will make a comment about it, "Happy Deathday, dear Sammy! To you!" and Sam will crack up in a fit of laughter for the first time in weeks. It'll feel really good.
It'll be a 360 from his current situation, pinning down the eldest senior partner with one hand, the machete ready at his neck. The old man, George Brown is hissing at him. God, why did they all have to hiss like a freaking cat? It was annoying.
Sam raises the machete over his head, and the majestic gesture of it all is ruined when George stops hissing and looks him dead in the eye.
"You're fired."
Sam whacks his head off. "Fuck! Fuck you! Fuck your fucking lame-ass Fourth of July barbecue! Your 22-year old bimbo trophy wife is a horrible cook!"
"Sam,"
"And your house smelled like turnips! And-"
"Uh Sam," Dean taps him.
"And I hate your fucking dog, I hate your fucking employee self-evaluations, and that goddamn ridiculous retreat to Spring Lake was-"
"Sam!" Dean spins him around, he's got Mary Mercy's severed head under his arm. "I'm pretty sure he's dead."
"I just, I put so much work into this job, Dean."
"Well, what was the guy supposed to say?! 'Even though you're about to kill me, good job sport! Here, let me write you a letter of recommendation in my own blood.'"
Sam pouts and mumbles, "Would've been nice."
Dean tosses the head in the pile. "Think we're done here. I got the address of the main nest where the rest of them are. Let's go take care of that, and I'll buy you an ice-cream or something."
Sam rolls his eyes and follows Dean out the door. Once they're in the parking garage, Sam swears he can hear the secretaries screaming upon discovering the bodies.
He never liked those ladies anyway, always gossiping about him.
***
The vampires are wiped clean off the map, every last one of them. Dean says he feels sorry for the girls turned against their will, and Sam reminds him that prostitution is still illegal, and the girls accepted the dangers that came with the job.
Sam is still a pragmatist, even when soaked in the blood of vampire prostitutes.
The Impala is well hidden, Sam has to admit. Dean stashed it outside a maintenance garage under a tarp. Anyone would think it was just part of the garage's collection, or in for service.
"I can't believe I'm back here." Sam says as he settles back into the passenger's side. "Oh God, it even smells the same."
Dean chuckles and wipes his hands on a rag, pops in his favorite mixtape.
"Seriously Dean, if I'm doing this again, we need to set some ground rules."
"Uh-huh," Dean turns the key in the ignition and they begin to pull out onto the street.
"First of all, I'm not your sidekick, you can't just boss me around anymore. We're equal partners in this, okay?"
"Okay." Dean nods.
"Second of all, you're letting me pay."
"Shyeah, with what? You said the cops were probably going to freeze your accounts, once they find out we've left town."
"Not my completely and totally untraceable- (and I swear to God Dean, keep your mouth shut!) -Swiss bank account."
"Wow. How much you got stashed away in there?"
"Don't ask. Just from now on, when it comes to money? No more scams. Just let me pay for things."
"Can I have a pony?"
"Dean..."
"Seriously Sam, I think you owe me and Dad some Christmas and birthday presents. Pony-sized if not greater."
"And you don't?"
"Hey! We sent postcards!"
"After I moved?"
"How were we supposed to know you moved?"
"Uh, I had my mail forwarded, genius. So it didn't matter, the cards just stopped coming. Which means you either spontaneously decided to stop writing me, or you'd been secretly keeping tabs on me; and when I moved you two were too damn proud to even bother asking me for my new address."
"… Shut-up, Sammy." Dean grumbles as they speed off.
***
Sam lays on his bed in the motel, he hasn't slept in two days, and he's in some kind of nausea-haze of insomnia. He hadn't realized how dependent on Xanax he'd become.
Dean opens the door, he's talking to someone on his nice, new untraceable cell phone. "So you found it? Uh huh. Well that's--Yes sir, yes I understand. Sam's here, do you wanna? Let me ask-" Dean puts the phone against his chest. "You wanna talk to Dad?"
"Nope."
"Eh, 's just as well, he didn't wanna talk to you either." Sam rolls his eyes. "Yes, yeah I wrote it down. We'll meetcha there in about two days. Uh huh. Fine, one and a half. No, I said one and a half. Bye." Dean snaps his phone shut. "Well, thank God that's over."
"What's that?"
"Sam, it's a long story."
"Well gee whiz Dean, better give me the Cliff's Notes, 'cause it's a school night." Sam rolls his eyes.
"Well since you wanted to know, smartass. Dad 'n me have been going after these vamps for a while now. Seems they got their hands on this gun that belonged to one of Dad's friends."
"Why's the gun so important?"
"Ho boy, 'important' is an understatement…" Dean rubs his face. "I'll explain later, need to get to Salvation, Iowa, ASAFP."
"Well, if that isn't perfectly ominous."
"You're coming with me, right?" Dean moves to sit on Sam's bed.
Sam wriggles to accommodate him and Dean lies down on his side. Sam looks past him, out the window or something. "Where else am I gonna go?"
"I wouldn't force you to-"
"Maybe you should. Maybe I need someone to kick my ass once in a while."
Dean smiles. "Fine, you're coming with me under penalty of ass-kickery. Should you violate this, I will sue you for possession of your pants."
Dean's mood is infectious, Sam starts feeling playful too. "Oh yeah, well I'll counter-sue for your pants and your shirt."
"I demand custody of your naked body."
Dean is mangling the legal metaphors, but Sam doesn't care. "I object. On grounds of sexual harassment. And the current lack thereof."
"I'll give you no less then full molestation charges."
"I throw myself upon the mercy of the court."
"I… I've run out of things from Judge Wapner. Can't we just fuck?"
"Sure." Sam laughs. Dean's hands reach under his shirt, pull it off slowly. The lack of sleep has made Sam's head slow. He feels lazy, like he's just spent the last seven years running a marathon. Now he wants to sit back, and enjoy the spoils of his journey.
Dean's more then willing to do all the work, to strip Sammy and lay him on his back. Hook Sam's legs over his shoulder. Sam takes in the sight of Dean. Lust soaked, straw-colored body against the sunset. Almost golden with the orange and yellow light that fills the room. Dean's reaching into Sam then, he's losing his train of thought.
Fingers in him, gentle movements, normally Sam would growl and press back into him. But it's just Dean. Dean stroking him and stretching him. Dean filling him.
When Dean starts fucking him proper, he leans in close. Sam curls his legs tighter around Dean's shoulders, trying to pull him down as far as he'll go. Dean takes the cue, and drops his head to Sam's mouth, giving him long lazy kisses.
Sam's hands are gripped tight in the sheets before he can realize. They're plain, white and starched beyond belief. He misses his big comfortable bed.
Dean starts to stroke his cock in rhythm with his thrusts.
Sam will never work as an attorney again. They're going to suspend his license. Warrants will be issued. His cases will be up for review, opposing parties would love to appeal any of his convictions. His clients will be upset. His co-workers will hate him. The FBI is going to put the name "Winchester" back in the top ten. James Ross will probably need counseling and rehab.
He's burning a lot of bridges, ruining lives he played a big part in.
"Missed you, Sammy."
Sam wishes he didn't come upon hearing Dean say his nickname. But god damn it, it's what he needed. Dean pumps him dry, Sam licks his lips.
"Worth it…" he groans.
Dean doesn't understand what he means, but comes shortly after him. Collapsing on top of Sam. Eventually sliding out, making a nice sticky mess Sam doesn't have to worry about cleaning up. Dean curls himself around Sam's body.
"Stay with me." Sam murmurs absently, his head swimming with the onset of sleep.
"Always." Dean replies, holding him closer.
"Dean?"
"Yeah, Sammy?"
Sam doesn't know if he should say it, but it's already tumbling out. "I don't know if I can be your conscience anymore. I don't think I remember how."
Dean nods, "That's fine Sammy. I think you leaving kinda forced me to grow one of my own. I've probably got enough for the both of us." He laughs, softly.
Sam closes his eyes and relaxes against Dean's body. Feels Dean run his fingers in little circles though his hair. Knows that in the morning, Dean will vanish and then reappear with a big cup of coffee just for him.
Dean's the best.
end
Name sources:
Mercy Brown Vampire Incident
Sava Savanovic
Law & Order Characters
Special thanks to Dark Chocolate Peanut Butter. Through whom, all things are possible.
It took me all my strength not to call the lawfirm Wolfram and Hart
Off to clean my gerbils! Will catch up on the comments that are FINALLY in my inbox soon.
I seriously was down on this about two or three days ago, with regards to the fact that my porn was busted. Because it just. Would. Not. Come. Literally.
This morning I realized it's not broken, it just wasn't going to be short.
Title: Making Partner
Author: memphis86
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9,019
Pairing: Sam/Dean, (mentions of Sam/OFC, Sam/OMC)
Summary: Sam's pretty much the best damn defense attorney ever, and he'll be the first to tell you that. However, all is not well for very long; he's just been asked by his firm to take on one more case before he makes partner--Dean's. Sexy chaos ensues.
Author's Note: For sevenfists's Evil Sam fic-a-thon! Although this is more decidedly Badass Sammy. My original prompt was: au!badass!Sam becomes a defense lawyer (EVOL!) and ends up defending Dean. Until they reconcile and abscond. Followed by sex. More notes at the end.
Making Partner
Sam Winchester is the best. And he knows it.
After all, that's what she's saying right now, as she rides the final spasms of her orgasm.
"Oh GOD Sam! You're the BEST! The BEST!"
So, it's not like he's just stroking his own ego here, there are plenty of people who'll attest to his prowess.
First of all, his latest client. Star football player Arthur Higgins, who just this afternoon was acquitted in his late wife's murder trial. He was accused of drowning her in a swimming pool.
Sam Winchester is the best goddamn defense attorney there is. He could get a jury to turn on a dime. Well, that's what Higgins said as he left the courthouse, clapping Sam on the back with the same hand he used to hold his wife under the water.
Oh yeah, Sam was good at what he did. He'd finished top of his class at Stanford. Killed his bar exam, flat out murdered it. For a brief moment he thought of going into environmental law, something noble like that. His college girlfriend, Jessica, would have approved.
Then he remembered how nice it was to crush someone beneath his feet using sharp-tongued words as weapons. He was captain of the debate team at Stanford, brought home trophies and ribbons galore. Jessica scoffed at him and joined the Peace Corps. Sam shrugged her off and fucked about half of the campus.
The lawfirm of Mercy & Brown snapped him up, right after graduation. He sat second chair with some of the senior partners for about a month before he was trying and winning his own cases. For someone his age, it was unheard of.
"Oh God…" She says turning over on her back, reaching into her nearby purse for a cigarette.
"Actually, I prefer Sam." He replies smugly, stretching his arms above his head and cracking his back.
She laughs, and the cigarette between her lips bobs up and down. "That was just, incredible, Sam."
"I take it you're feeling better, Claire?"
She nods, lighting her cigarette. "Oh, tons. Thanks for reminding me." She inhales deeply, and then lets her mouth hang open. The smoke curls out in light little wafts, like from a chimneystack.
"Hey, you put up a good fight. My case was just better."
"His hands were covered in chlorine when the police got to the scene! His skin was under her fingernails!"
"Well, I'm afraid that the jury found that all circumstantial."
"I hate you." Claire Southerlyn glares at him. And yes, that's the Claire Southerlyn. The very same Assistant District Attorney who opposed him in the case of the People v. Higgins.
Sam found her in the usual bar after the trial. He was always a sucker for the underdog.
"That so…?" Sam says getting up and throwing on his favorite silk robe. He ties it quickly and heads for the door.
"Where're you going? C'mon I didn't mean-"
"You know the drill, Claire." Sam turns his head over his shoulder. "You can stay here as long as you want, but I sleep alone."
Claire huffs and ashes her cigarette on the bed to spite him, Sam clicks the door shut.
His room is bigger anyway, he usually handled business like that in his guest bedroom, before retiring to the master. There was a nice, big four-poster bed with crisp, clean Egyptian cotton sheets and a soft, velvety comforter waiting for him. But first, he needed his coffee fix.
Sam always drinks coffee after sex. He reaches into the fridge for the leftovers from that morning, pours out the dregs into his "#1 Lawyer" mug and downs it. The cold bitterness, the familiar taste, always brings him down. Then again, maybe it's the Xanax he takes with his coffee. One of those things always does the trick.
Passing through to the master bath, he quickly washes Claire off of him. She was all sweat, perfume, and the cherry brandy she'd been drowning her sorrows in. The case was supposed to be a slam-dunk for the D.A.'s office, and he doubted he'd see her trying anything important soon. She'd probably be prosecuting traffic violations and liquor-store robberies for the next few months.
He flips the TV in his room on when he finishes showering. Sometimes he just needs that flicking glow and background noise to sleep. The local news has interrupted his regularly scheduled mindless talk shows. Sam frowns but watches the first few minutes of the lead story. Something about some whack-job and 17 dead prostitutes in a brothel. Jeez, what's this world coming to?
Sam falls back on the bed and blinks a few times before his eye are too heavy to keep open.
***
Claire's gone in the morning, he tosses out the angry letter she leaves on the fridge. He honestly doesn't care anymore after the 100th variant of the "Sam, you emotionally retarded asshole"-letter. He could collect them all and write a book.
Whatever, he has to get to work. He eats two slices of whole-wheat toast and three pieces of turkey bacon and an apple. Following that he brews about twelve cups of Guatemalan premium roast coffee. He drinks as much as he can over breakfast, and most goes into his silver thermos. The rest sits in the fridge for when he gets home.
There are worse vices, after all. It's not like it's ever stunted his growth.
Like clockwork, just as he finishes cinching his tie, his blackberry rings to life. It's Milo, his closest friend and mentor, and also one of the twelve senior partners at Mercy & Brown.
"Yeah, Milo?" He answers.
"Congratulations on your latest case, my boy!" His Slavic accented-English sings out. "Come see me in my office, I have some very good news for you."
"Well that's great, Milo! See you in an hour."
Sam's face splits in the widest grin imaginable, he knew it was coming. He's going to make partner. And he's going to be the youngest in the history of the firm to do so.
Life is good.
***
Sam pulls into Mercy & Brown, and parks his Jaguar. He's practically running up the stairs to the main level, taking them two at a time, like some overexcited child. But he really can't help it.
It doesn't stop there, he's practically humming and bouncing on his heels in the elevator. He gets some questioning looks, but politely ignores them.
He strides into Milo Savanovic's office and throws his hand up in greeting. Milo stands and does the same, "There he is! There's our superstar!" They exchange very manly hugs, replete with patting and other meaningless affectations.
Sam plays the game.
They settle into plush red leather chairs. Milo is a bit of an eccentric, he loves deep red curtains and writes his memos in red ink. He claims it's because it gets more attention then all the other colors could.
"So," Sam smiles knowingly, "Why'd you ask me here today?"
"Well Sam, the senior partners have been talking. About you, about all you bring to the firm. How you handled the Higgins case? Brilliant. We've been tossing around an idea, let me run it by you-"
Sam leans in closer, ready to fall back in surprise when he hears:
"You heard about the incident last night? The man who is accused of decapitating 17 prostitutes?"
Sam furrows his brow, he'd yet to hear about the decapitations, ouch. "Uh, yeah?"
"You are going to want to take his case."
Sam shakes his head, "I'm sorry, what?" He doesn't defend serial killers. First of all, they can't even afford his retainer!
"Sam, my boy. You are going to take his case, pro-bono. And what's more, you are going to win."
"Why would I ever-"
"Because when John Doe walks free, you will make partner."
Sam's jaw drops. He laughs nervously, "Y-you're serious?"
"As a heart attack." Milo stands and walks to his bar, pours out two glasses of red wine. Another eccentricity of his, he toasts everything with red, his favorite, and it's always as dry as the desert. Milo holds his glass up to Sam.
"To you, Sam Winchester, and your future at Mercy & Brown."
Sam smiles, "To John Doe, and his future acquittal." He clinks Milo's glass.
***
The precinct is buzzing with extra security since the capture of John Doe. Sam passes through and straightens his tie, smoothes his suit down and checks his slicked-back hair in a nearby window. He's never met a real-life serial killer before, he's not sure if he should look too nice.
He's a shark, damn it.
An officer waves him in and he's lead to the interrogation room. There's a double-sided mirror, he can see two officers really giving it to John Doe, arms waving and fists pounding. John's got his head down on the table, in nesting in-between crossed arms. If Sam didn't know better, he'd say John was taking a nap.
The A.D.A. on the case, James Ross, is watching from outside with the bureau chief.
"James," Sam holds his hand out to him. James eyes it with caution before accepting.
"Winchester, what the hell are you doing here?"
Sam smirks. "I'm here to see my client. I assume you've already charged him with-"
"Seventeen counts of murder in the first degree, yes." James blinks several times and crosses his arms, "W-wait a minute, your client? You're not a public defender-"
"I'm taking this case."
"He can't afford-!"
"Pro-bono."
"You're taking this case, Winchester, for the future book deal and talk show appearances. Let's not play games here."
Sam grabs his chest and gasps, "James Ross! I am shocked-shocked, that you would think my intentions were not simply to set an innocent man free."
"Innocent!?" James gapes.
"Yes, innocent." Sam pulls his business card out and scribbles the name of his favorite Thai restaurant on the back, along with the address and a time. He slips it into James' jacket pocket.
"Meet me there tonight, we can talk deal then." And I can probably fuck some information out of you afterwards, he thinks.
James raises an eyebrow but nods, before turning on his heels and muttering "Good luck."
James really wasn't half-bad in bed. And Sam was nothing if not an opportunistic sonavabitch.
The chief lets him into the room. One cop has just about lost his shit, he's red in the face and there's a nasty looking vein throbbing on his neck.
The chief shakes his shoulder, "Hey, hey! Lay off him, his lawyer-"
Sam interrupts, "My client has nothing more to say to you, if you'll excuse us." Sam maneuvers his way past the grumbling officers, sitting across from the shackled John Doe, and holds out his hand.
"My name is Sam Winchester, I'll be defending you today, mister-?"
Dean Winchester lifts his head from in-between his arms. Runs his eyes up and down Sam's body, quirks his eyebrow and smiles like the cat that got into the cream.
If the officers were a half-step closer; they might have been able to see Sam's hand start to quiver. The cracks you can see in his earlier calm, uniform expression. They also might have been able to see Dean's fingers tickling Sam's palm when he finally took the proffered handshake. The little twitch in Sam's eye as a result of that.
"Joseph Walsh," Dean says.
"That's from the Eagles! He's doing it again!" The younger cop snaps and grabs his head.
"Cassidy!" The chief yells.
"What? He's been doing this all goddamn day! Joe Walsh, Eddie Money, Saul Hudson, Johnny Thunders, Kirk Hammett, Ronnie James Dio."
Dean snorts, "Can't believe you bought that one. Y'know he actually started a background check on me?"
Cassidy screams and curses, and his partner has to hold him back.
"Shhh!" Sam resists the urge to smack his brother on the head. It wouldn't be professional. "My client is done talking to you, so could you please leave us? Now?"
The officers shuffle out and the door slams shut.
Sam drums his fingers on the table and Dean shakes his head and fixes him with a warm smile.
"Sam…"
Sam holds up his hand, "Double-sided mirror, Dean."
"I know that. I used to watch Kojak."
"I'm just saying-"
"Wasn't like I was gonna jump on you." Dean holds up his shackled hands. "But damn it Sammy, it's good to see you."
Okay, so his relationship with his brother is a lot more complicated then anyone knows. Even their father. Maybe the sex wasn't normal, but neither was anything else in his screwed up little childhood.
It's hard when those happy memories of Dean and lust overlapped with each other.
"Sam. No more Sammy, Dean. Not now, not ever. Now your case-"
Dean scoffed, "Oh come on, Sammy! It's been years! I mean, there's time for that later, right?"
"It's Sam. And no there isn't, we need to prepare for your arraignment."
"How'd you find me anyhow? Catch me on the news? How's my hair look-did they get my good side?"
Sam rolls his eyes but doesn't answer the question. "I'm assuming you want to go for an insanity plea."
"Ouch." Dean scratches his neck, "Yeah, well whatever gets me back out there the quickest."
Sam's jaw drops in disbelief, "Back out there? Dean, you don't understand. You decapitated 17 prostitutes!"
"Vampires."
Sam's face falls and he leans in closer, "I'm sorry, what?"
"I decapitated 17 vampires."
Sam nods his head slowly. After seven years outside of his father's and Dean's world; he really thought he'd secured his grip back on reality.
"Now the problem is that there were 18 at the place when I got there. I gotta find the one that got away, see if she can lead me to the main nest. Those vamps I wasted were just foot soldiers. Now that one has warned the others, they've gotta be onto me by now. If I don't get out quickly, they could move on and I'll have to track them down again."
"Vampires."
"Uh huh."
"Vampires are real. And they build nests."
"Yep."
"And have… foot soldiers."
"Yeah. Prostitution ring's easy enough to infiltrate. The John's are easy meals, and no one reports the girls that go missing."
"And you had to cut off their heads."
"It's the only way to really kill 'em. None of that stake-through-the-heart crap. Just whhcct! Whack off their heads." Dean chuckles, "C'mon Sam, haven't you been keepin' up with the Joneses?"
Sam rubs his eyes and leans back in his chair, it's going to be a very long day. He wishes he had more coffee.
"Sam?"
"Shht! I'm thinking."
"Oh-kay." Dean nods, fidgets with his cuffs. Sam takes his thermos out of his bag, and starts drinking straight from it.
Minutes later, Sam's eyes brighten and he snaps his fingers. "Got it!" He relays his plan to Dean.
"You're think it's gonna work?"
"No, but it's worth a shot. If anything, you'll sit in a cell until I figure out another plan."
"Well, thanks for that shot of confidence."
"Trust me, Dean."
"So says the lawyer." Dean sits forward and fixes Sam with another stare. "Seriously though, I'm really grateful that you came for me."
Sam bites back a nervous laugh and flashes his best cocky smile. "Of course you are! I'm the best goddamn defense attorney in town!" Oh God, I sound like a used car salesman, Sam thinks.
Dean nods, "You look good, Sam. You clean up real nice. Suit and tie and all professional-like."
This time the nervous laugh slips through, and Sam tries to play it like a cough, covers his mouth and stands quickly.
"Well, I'll see you at the arraignment Dean, just don't talk to anyone, stick to the plan, we'll be aces." He gathers his briefcase and makes a beeline for the door.
"Sammy, you forgot your-" Dean points at his thermos still on the table.
"Keep it!" Sam quickly opens and shuts the door, then turns and pokes his head back in the room.
"And don't call me Sammy!"
Sam gets through the building, down the stairs and past all the officers with a cool, composed expression. He gets into his car, locks all the doors and rolls up the windows. Turns the radio and the A/C on full blast. Takes out the paper bag from his gourmet deli-bought lunch and quietly hyperventilates.
God damn it, Dean looked good too.
***
The courtroom is buzzing with anticipation. Dean shuffles his feet next to Sam, bumps his shoulder and smiles. Sam huffs and ignores him.
The judge files into the courtroom from her office. By some grace of God, they've drawn a judge Sam is more than familiar with. It fills him with an extra shot of confidence, he turns and smiles to Milo, who is watching from the galley.
Hey, sometimes it pays to have these connections in high places. Even if it means an occasional wine & dine with the geriatric sort.
The court officer reads the indictment, "The People v. John Doe. 17 counts of murder in the first degree."
"Your honor, I object. I would like to amend the indictment and request you charge my client by his given name." Sam interrupts.
Judge Donnelly raises an eyebrow at Sam, "Well whoever he is, does he have a plea?"
"My client, Dean Winchester, certainly does, your honor."
The secession of mouths dropping open is audible.
"Mr. Winchester, do I presume that the shared surname is not a coincidence?"
"He's my brother, your honor."
"I ain't heavy either," Dean whispers to Sam.
James steps forward, "Your honor, you can't possibly allow Mr. Winchester to defend his own brother."
"I thought my job was to defend my client zealously and without prejudice. And I swear, the fact that my brother is a thorn in my side will play no part-"
Judge Donnelly bangs her gavel. "Counselors, please approach the bench."
The judge narrows he eyes at them. James complains, "Your honor, the people had no idea that Mr. Winchester was related to the defendant otherwise we would have made a motion to-"
"Your honor this is a waste of time. If the people want to motion me off the case, then I welcome the challenge. However, my client has the right to a speedy trial, I hardly see the point of delaying this arraignment any further."
"I agree Mr. Winchester. Now let's get to that plea."
Sam gives James a smug grin, and receives a venomous scowl in return.
Judge Donnelly clears her throat. "How does the defendant plead?"
"Not guilty," Sam nudges Dean in the side. "Um, your honor. Not guilty, your honor." Dean smiles.
"The people request the defendant be remanded without bail, your honor. The defendant is accused of a violent crime, and has until now kept his identity a secret. We have yet to run a background check and believe him to be a danger and a flight risk."
"And when the people run their background check they will find that my client has a spotless record and is a model citizen." Sam should know, he wiped his, Dean's and his father's records clean years ago.
Top lawfirms don't hire lawyers with family members on the FBI's top ten most wanted. It was expensive to hire the hacker, but he more then made it back his first year at Mercy & Brown.
"Your honor, seventeen headless young women, would tend to disagree with Mr. Winchester's assessment of his brother's character."
"I believe my client has already plead not guilty."
"Mr. Ross, save the testimony for a jury. Bail is set at $500,000, cash or bonds."
"Your honor! Seventeen women are dead! Decapitated! Anything short of remand is-"
Ignoring James' outburst, she bangs her gavel. "I've made my ruling, Mr. Ross. Continue and I will find you in contempt."
Dean's face falls, Sam just beams and quickly whispers. "You do realize, I'm posting your bail."
"What?" Dean furrows his brow in disbelief as the court officers escort him back to holding.
Sam smiles and gives himself a mental pat on the back, which is interrupted when James taps him on the shoulder. Sam turns around, grinning at him.
"Just so you know Winchester, my motion to bar you as counsel will be on your desk by three."
"James, I'm sure we'll have plenty to talk about tonight. No need to go waste time drafting motions that will go nowhere." Sam leans in close, "Wear something pretty, it's a nice restaurant."
"I really hate you."
"8 p.m. sharp." Sam laughs his way into the galley and found himself on the receiving end of another manly clap on the shoulder from Milo.
"Brilliant! Absolutely so!" Milo ducks his head and pulls Sam into a quiet corridor. "Now, is he really your brother?"
Sam sighs, "Unfortunately, yes."
"Sam, I just, I never even expected you to get anything but remand. The senior partners will be very, very pleased!"
"Yeah well, talk to me when the trial starts, if I can weasel A.D.A. Ross into not opposing my counsel. If anything, I may have to take second chair to-"
"Sam my friend, do not worry about a thing. We need to go post bail."
"We?"
"Mercy & Brown takes care of our own. We believe in family."
Sam feels a lump in his throat, but it's not from being touched by the gesture. He wanted to be the one to bail Dean out, because, man. He could've held that over him for years.
But to refuse Mercy & Brown's offer, would be much worse.
***
Dean whistles at the entrance to Sam's penthouse. "Niiiiice, Sammy."
Sam shudders inwardly. It's too much of a hassle to convince Dean to stop saying 'Sammy', he's too damn stubborn.
It was better to try and make nice now, because Dean was flat-out refusing to stay at a hotel. Even though Sam was more than willing to put him in an executive suite at a hotel.
His picture was all over the papers, and he was convinced the vampires were on the hunt for him. Sam's place at least had a doorman and an alarm. Plus, they were used to dealing with photographers and reporters wanting to scam information out of Sam's more high-profile cases.
Dean throws himself on the couch and sighs, closing his eyes. "Mind if I crash here for a few?"
Sam nods and drops his briefcase, "No problem, I've got a dinner meeting with A.D.A. Ross in about an hour. I trust you can stay here and out of trouble until then?"
"Dinner?"
"Yeah, see if he won't oppose an insanity plea, or at least plead you out on a lesser charge."
Dean sits up and looks Sam in the eye. "Uh, I don't think so."
"Dean, you have to take the best deal you can get-"
"Sam, I thought you understood me. Step one was getting out of jail, the next step is hunting down those vampires. Then, I'm gone."
"Dean, you can't just skip out on a criminal trial of this magnitude. There are 17 dead bodies-"
"Undead bodies."
"Whatever! 17 bodies that you are currently responsible for. The least, least you can hope for is an acquittal under an insanity plea."
"The least I can hope for is no traffic on the I-9, when I leave town. After finishing off those vampires."
"Look, Dean, it's very important that you walk away from this without a conviction."
"Why?"
Because I want this promotion, idiot. Sam thinks. "It's just- very important to me, okay? Do this for me."
"So I have to go through a trial? You can't just make this disappear like you did with our old records?"
"That was a different situation."
"Oh, so it's okay to fix your records so you get a job. But it's not okay to let me skip out on the charges so I can, y'know, fight evil and save lives."
"Dean…"
"Just figuring out where you and I stand, Sam. Y'know you used to be--nevermind."
Sam feels an awful pain in his chest. The distinct feeling of failure. He shouldn't though, it shouldn't matter anymore whether or not he meets some impossible standard.
But those standards were always set by his Dad, not Dean. Falling short for Dean means he must really, really be lacking.
Before Sam was the best at anything, Dean was. The strongest, the fastest, the sharpest shot and the lady-killer. Dean was ease and perfection, and he was there for Sam and Sam alone. Dean was his idol before he set out to make himself idol-worthy.
Falling short of some dumb-ass outdated, ridiculous expectation Dean has should not bother him. But it does. It gnaws at him.
Sam narrows his eyes on Dean and seethes. "Guest bedroom's on your left. Don't leave without telling me. My cell number is on my card, on the fridge. Don't wait up." He storms off.
Leaving angry and slamming doors is the Winchester way, after all.
***
Sam loves Thai food, the feeling of the spices burning in his mouth. James is on his fifth scotch.
Sam never thought hard liquor went with spicy food, so he contends himself with beer and black tea towards the end of the meal. He misses coffee.
However, that doesn't stop him from being perfectly charming. Smiling at James, promising him naughty things after dinner, leering at him until he twitches. It's a rush, that kind of power he has over people.
He figured out long ago, that's why Dean got off on flirting so ruthlessly in his youth.
James pounds his fist on the table. "No! No more, I'm not gonna. Not gonna budge on this. He does time."
Sam leans forward. "He walks. Remember that time I let you blow me in chambers?"
"Oh God, I hate you." James burps. "I'm going to make you pay later. State hoscipal. Host-spittal. Hospital. He's crazy crazy."
"He walks. And I'm going to fuck your brains out."
"Damn it Winchester."
"Gosh, I love it that you call everyone by their last name." He says sarcastically. Under the table, Sam rubs his foot on the inside of James' leg.
"Winchester."
"James, haven't you looked at the medical examiner's follow-up report from this afternoon?"
"Winchester, Winchester, Winchester."
"All the decapitations occurred post-mortem. The girls died from earlier exsanguinations. Let's say, what if my client cut off the heads from dead bodies? That's just a felony misdemeanor. Not first-degree murder."
"Exsangwin-what-ins? Winchester."
"Bled to death."
"Fuck. Fuckity fuck. God damn I hate that fucking M.E. Thinks she's fucking CSI-"
Sam's blackberry vibrates, it's Milo.
"Excuse me a moment," he says to James, who's still talking to his scotch. Sam walks away towards the corridor near the bathroom.
"Milo?"
"Sam, my boy are you sitting down?"
"No."
"Well, nevermind then. The senior partners and I have just decided, we'd like to invite you to become one of us."
"Milo, I know that. Once Dean is cleared."
"No, now. Tomorrow. We're going to have a little party tomorrow night to celebrate. Bring your brother."
"…What?"
"The fact that you got him out on bail is incredible, Sam. Considering the severity of the charges. Why wait through the rigor of a criminal trial we know you can win? You're set, Sam. Or should I say, you're set, partner."
"I-I'm a partner?"
"Yes, party tomorrow night. Bring Dean, for you know, family is important. Goodnight Sam!" Milo cuts off.
Sam is stunned, and confused.
It's just, with Dean back in town, he's thinking like he used to. He's thinking with that old distrusting, paranoid modus operandi his father instilled in him. And it all does seem just a wee bit-
Off.
Convenient.
Sinister.
Sam walks back to the table in a haze. The liquor is starting to get to James because he blurts out that he'd be willing to accept an insanity plea after evaluations, and that he's also got the world's biggest hard-on for him.
Sam blinks, "I'm sorry, what?"
"Your place," James hiccups. "You drive, 'm too drinky drinky."
"I'll call you a cab." Sam can't believe himself.
"Huh?"
"I, have to go, home. My brother. I'll get you a cab, but I need to go home now. Talk to my brother." He gathers up his things and signals for the check.
***
When Sam gets in, he heads straight for the kitchen, Dean is at the sink. Ignoring him, he goes for his leftover coffee, chugging it like water.
"You're gonna be up all night," Dean comments.
Not when I take a tranquilizer after, Sam thinks. "Nah, it brings me down." Sam finally notices what Dean is doing at the sink. He's got about one quarter of his knife collection out, and he's pouring a vial of red liquid on the blades.
"The hell are you doing?"
Dean lifts his head, "Dead man's blood. It's like poison to vampires. Won't kill 'em, but it slows 'em down enough to."
"I mean, where'd they come from- is that a shotgun on my fucking kitchen table?!"
"Maybe."
"Where'd you hide the Impala?"
"Not telling you, Johnny Law. You'd probably have her towed to keep me here."
Sam shakes his head, "Just, clean my fucking sink when you're done."
"What's your problem?"
"Other then the obvious?" Sam gestures at him.
Dean rolls his shoulder and puts the knife down, turns to Sam. "No, okay? No, I am not playing this with you."
"Excuse me?"
"I haven't seen you in seven goddamn years. I'm not wasting however long I'm gonna be here fighting with you. So no, I'm not playing 'Sam and Dean argue with each other until they stop talking.' Yes I will clean your goddamn sink. Be nice."
"Fuck you."
Dean crosses his arms, "If that's what it takes."
Sam stares bitterly into his #1 Lawyer mug. "We are not starting this again."
"Really?"
"Yeah, not again. No sex."
"No sex. Just like no more 'Sammy'."
"I will concede on the Sammy issue. Just, if we're not fighting, then we're not fucking. Okay?"
"Okay, no sex."
***
So of course they had sex.
Which the initiation of sent Sam's mug flying to the ground smashing into a million pieces. But that just made Sam push Dean into the fridge, imprinting magnets into his ass for the next two days.
Sam had one hand on the back of Dean's head, their mouths locked together. The other arm was around Dean's back, holding him tight against Sam's body. Dean's arms were stuck pressed up against his chest.
Dean knew how to use the leverage, wrap his legs around Sam's waist even though he couldn't move his arms. Eventually, hands snake into Sam's hair, pulling.
"Ow!" Sam pulls back after a particularly nasty tug, and then scowls at Dean. "You're gonna pay for that."
"Oooh, big bad lawyer, I'm scared."
Sam wrestles Dean into his bedroom, alternating between groping and kissing him. Dean gets shoved onto the bed, and Sam jumps on top of him. Dean's clothes are thrown on the floor, and Sam begins unbuttoning his shirt. Dean rips it off.
"Hey!"
Dean grins, "Hurry the fuck up so we can not have sex."
Sam shakes his head and undoes his pants, "Nope, no sex at all."
"Just-"
"Fucking your brains out. Hard."
"Aww, Sammy you remembered what I like."
"Oh I know what you like," Sam reaches into his nightstand for the lube. "You like me on top of you."
"Yeah,"
"And you like it when I lick you all over first."
"Mmmn, fuck yeah." Dean's stroking himself now.
Sam runs out of words, he just wants actions. Like him, inside Dean, now now now.
Dean however, keeps talking, "Means a lot to me Sammy, that you came for me. When you knew I was in trouble. That you're helping me."
Sam bites back the guilt and sinks his teeth into Dean's shoulder. Dean cries out. Sam's got his fingers slicked up and he's fucking his hand into Dean.
Dean's moving with him, and Sam knows he needs to be inside Dean. He needs his hands free to hold Dean down, to touch him everywhere. He removes his fingers, and grabs a condom from the nightstand.
Dean quickly snatches it away and rips it open with his teeth. God, it's so fucking hot and Sam feels his dick throb. It's on him, and he's sliding into Dean, easy in and out. Then he feels good enough to pick up momentum. Harder, faster movements.
He pins Dean's arms down, teases him by breathing against his mouth, his chest. Dean tries to pull up, kiss him, but Sam holds him back. Keeping him at arm's length.
"You like holding me down, don't you?"
Shut up Dean, he thinks. Just let me fuck you, and shut up.
"You like being in control, you always have."
"Shhhh…" Sam moves his arms away and pumps Dean's cock.
"You don't need to try… unnnngh. So hard. With me you, you can have everything. I'm y-"
Sam bends down quickly to bite Dean's bottom lip. Runs the tip of his tongue over it, back and forth. Just to keep his mouth occupied. Dean attacks back, furious kisses and hums happily. Sam growls and comes inside of him.
"I love that I can still trick you into doing what I want." Dean sighs, his own come splashing against Sam's stomach.
***
When Dean begins drifting off, Sam gets out of bed and throws on his robe.
Something makes Sam stop at the doorway, turn around to look at Dean, forgoing his habitual post-sex shower and coffee fix.
Dean was in Sam's bed, with the velvety covers, and the thousand-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. Sam had never pictured him like this before. Dean was always motel-room linens, scratchy blankets, stained pillow cases.
Sam wrings his hands and watches Dean sleep, the rise and fall of his chest.
He knows he should wake him up, kick him out and tell him he sleeps alone. But instead Sam climbs back under the covers with him, lays an arm across the expanse of his chest.
Dean stirs and peers at him with one eye, smiles just a bit.
Sam kisses his cheek, his mouth, his chin, and a trail down his neck and onto his chest. Sam scrambles up on top of him, moves his mouth over every inch of Dean's torso, kissing his way down.
Dean's got both eyes open now, and reaches out hands to cup Sam's face. Sam moves back up to meet Dean, kissing. Sweet, soft, smattering of lips and tongue. Dean is warm saliva, cold beer and rough stubble. Sam wants it all over him.
It should've started it up again with that, another incredible fuck.
But Dean was never in beds like these.
"Stay here, tonight?"
Dean looks confused.
"With me."
Dean rolls his eyes, "Duh, Sammy, where else would I be?"
"Guest room. I usually sleep alone."
"Wow, really?" Dean looks aside and sits up, Sam rolls off of him and onto his stomach next to Dean. "You have changed."
"Mmmn." Sam nods against the pillows.
"So why do you want me to stay, you havin' nightmares, Sammy? Need me for protection?"
Sam closed his eyes tightly, ignores pangs in his stomach. One crisis at a time.
"What were you going to say before, about the way I used to be?" He asks.
"Oh, that? Well I guess, I was gonna say that you used to be like, my conscience."
"Oh."
Sam worries his lip, finally succumbing to the pangs of guilt. Even though he's going to regret it.
"I didn't know it was you."
"Huh?" Dean quirks his head to the side.
"I took your case because they offered me a partnership at my firm. On the condition that I got you acquitted. That's why I want you to stay for a trial. That's the only reason.
"Only, I got a phone call tonight from Milo Savanovic, one of the senior partners. They gave me the job because I got you out on bail. They want to make me a partner tomorrow night, and they want me to bring you to the party."
Dean's face hardens, "Well Sam, that's pretty goddamn-"
"Suspicious, I know. I think something's going on with Milo and your case."
Dean nods. "Okay, so what're you gonna do about it?"
***
Dean refused to let Sam go snooping alone. Sam refused to let him bring a machete. It's about 2 in the morning when they get to Mercy & Brown. Sam just wants a quick peek in Milo's files, see if he's up to something.
The elevator doors open, Sam and Dean creep into the darkened, empty office. Dean's still got the stupid blood-covered Bowie knife at the ready, watching Sam's back.
"Y'know, I've been here at night before, I'm fairly sure if there was anything supernatural going on, I would've noticed it by now."
"Whatever Sam, you don't know vampires, they're sneaky. "
"Ah yes, I'm sure they train their vampire foot-soldiers in a ninja-like fashion."
"And you're outta practice. You probably couldn't even catch Casper."
"Bite me, Buffy."
Dean gives him the eyebrow, "That's right Sam, keeping mocking the guy with the knife and cat-like reflexes."
Sam shakes his head and walks towards Milo's office. He's gone in to check client records before, without Milo's permission. Sometimes staying a few nights in the office can be all the difference between winning and losing a case. He dials the security code and strides right in.
The lights are on, and Milo's there, with some lady in minimal clothing. They're sitting on the floor, and have blood all over their mouths. Sam's fairly sure the eviscerated body they're hunched over is the clerical intern that was fired last Tuesday.
All the color drains from Sam's face, and his adrenaline surges.
"Sam?" Milo asks, only his mouth is full so it comes out like, "Shum?"
"The fuck?" Is all that Sam can say.
"Thif iffant whuf if loofs life." Blood and bits of flesh dribble out of Milo's mouth as he attempts to speak.
"Holy-" Dean's behind him now, eyes widening in surprise before he snaps his fingers and points at the girl. "Her! She's the one that got away that night."
She hisses at him like some animal. Curvy fangs fill her mouth.
Things move quickly, Dean pounces on the girl and shoves the knife in her belly and she wails in pain. Sam steps in the room cautiously as Milo rises from the floor, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
"Milo…"
"I can explain."
"You're a vampire."
"…Maybe I don't need to explain."
It's silent except for the sounds of Dean cursing as he punches the girl, demanding information.
"Were you ever-?"
"I was going to tell you, yes. Very soon in fact-"
"Sammy!" Dean interrupts, "She says there're twelve head vampires. They started turning the prostitutes about four months ago."
Realization dawns, "The senior partners…"
"We needed a new scheme, we were running out of interns to feed on."
"But, you asked me to join?"
"Needed some 'fresh blood' so to speak. You're a natural-born killer, Sam. I've seen you work. You're going to make a great-" Milo approaches him to touch his arm.
Sam jerks away. "That's why you just wanted me to get Dean out of jail, so you could kill him before he killed the rest of you!"
"Well, actually it was more or less a revenge-kill. But yes. You surprised us all Sam, we thought he'd stay safely locked up until his trial."
Again there is a deadly silence, punctuated by the sounds of Dean tying up the girl with the extension cord from Milo's computer.
"So, what now?"
Milo looks thoughtfully at the ceiling, and then back at Sam. "Killing your brother, turning you. 'S pretty much the plan, still." He opens his mouth as his fangs drop down.
Milo is much stronger then he looks, Sam's thrown against the wall like a ragdoll. Then Milo's over him, holding him by his throat and forcing a bloody arm towards his mouth. He's pretty sure he's hissing "Drink…" at him.
Then Milo's eyes roll back in his head and he screams in pain. Dean's face rises over his shoulder and smiles. "Hi, I'm Dean. Hands off Sammy."
Milo drops Sam, who rolls to the floor and gasps in air. Dean twists the knife around a few more times before moving to the throat.
"Mm sorry I didn't really get a chance to sharpen this properly, 's gonna be a while. But you don't mind waiting, do ya?" He lowers Milo to the floor and starts going at Milo's neck with the knife.
"Wait!" Sam coughs, "He's gotta do something first."
***
The senior partners are called, Milo reads exactly what he and Dean write for him to say, so no code words can be dropped. He tells them the meeting with Sam is pushed up to that morning to accommodate a trial he's involved in. The senior partners will be gathered in the upstairs meeting room at 7 a.m., sharp.
Then Dean proceeds to decapitate Milo and his flunky using a Bowie knife, complaining all the way that Sam should've let him go get the machete first. Sam watches in horrified fascination.
After the bodies are stuffed in a closet, Dean decides to make an Impala run for more supplies to take care of the rest of them.
"Ugh, how is it I've got blood all over me and you're practically spotless?"
"Like I said, you're out of practice. Also? Layers." Dean buttons up his plaid overshirt, hiding the minimal bloodstains on his tee.
"Whatever," Sam tosses his house-keys at Dean. "Get me a clean suit, a nice one. And a change of clothes, for afterwards. And bring me my coffee. Milo only brews decaf."
Dean jams his hands in his pockets and leaves. Sam sits down at Milo's desk and concentrates on his breathing.
***
Sam's hasn't moved when Dean gets back. He's got his duffle of supplies from the Impala, as well as clothes for Sam.
"Do you think if you weren't here, I would have joined up with them if they offered?"
"I dunno Sam, you seem to enjoy power tripping."
"I'd like to think I'd say no."
Dean nods. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure you would, after brooding about it. Get your ass killed in the process. They might've just turned you anyway, not given you a choice."
"I wouldn't say yes, I wouldn't."
Dean steps closer, walks around to his side of the desk.
"I want to believe you."
Sam presses his lips into a fine line and looks away.
"You've really changed, Sammy." Dean holds up a cup of coffee to his face.
It's clearly not his preferred brew, blue cup with generic printing, probably got it at some deli. Sam forgets that Dean usually has little to no cash on him. It's lukewarm from the chill of the night air.
Sam pulls on Dean's outstretched hand and yanks him down for a kiss. Like the way he used to. It was a routine, Dean, coffee, morning breath, kissing, and shower. Getting yelled at by Dad when they showed up late.
So okay, maybe his coffee fixation isn't really an addiction after all. Maybe it's sublimation. Maybe it's a coping mechanism.
Maybe the cliché is right, and you don't know what you've got until it's gone.
"Yeah well, not everything changed. I'm still an addict."
"Coffee?" Dean sits in Sam's lap, hands wrapping around his neck.
"Whatever you want to call it." Sam rests his hands on Dean's thighs.
"We never really had a name for it."
"We were young."
"You got so big."
"And you got heavier. Probably not helped by all that truck-stop cuisine."
"Shut it."
"Not a bad thing mind you, I'm stronger now. I mean, we knew that last night when I-"
Dean kisses him, pulls back. "I want to suck you off."
"Not stopping you."
It's fast and dirty. Dean slides off Sam's lap and opens his pants. He was going to have to change anyway, Sam figures it's par for the course.
Dean wraps his wet, warm mouth around him and Sam's eyes roll back. God, he's done it just about everywhere in the building, but never Milo's office. Scratch that one off.
***
There are streamers and balloons around the meeting room when they arrive, machetes and daggers in hand. Like it was some kind of birthday party for Sam. On the occasion of his becoming a vampire. It's all sickly funny.
Later, Dean will make a comment about it, "Happy Deathday, dear Sammy! To you!" and Sam will crack up in a fit of laughter for the first time in weeks. It'll feel really good.
It'll be a 360 from his current situation, pinning down the eldest senior partner with one hand, the machete ready at his neck. The old man, George Brown is hissing at him. God, why did they all have to hiss like a freaking cat? It was annoying.
Sam raises the machete over his head, and the majestic gesture of it all is ruined when George stops hissing and looks him dead in the eye.
"You're fired."
Sam whacks his head off. "Fuck! Fuck you! Fuck your fucking lame-ass Fourth of July barbecue! Your 22-year old bimbo trophy wife is a horrible cook!"
"Sam,"
"And your house smelled like turnips! And-"
"Uh Sam," Dean taps him.
"And I hate your fucking dog, I hate your fucking employee self-evaluations, and that goddamn ridiculous retreat to Spring Lake was-"
"Sam!" Dean spins him around, he's got Mary Mercy's severed head under his arm. "I'm pretty sure he's dead."
"I just, I put so much work into this job, Dean."
"Well, what was the guy supposed to say?! 'Even though you're about to kill me, good job sport! Here, let me write you a letter of recommendation in my own blood.'"
Sam pouts and mumbles, "Would've been nice."
Dean tosses the head in the pile. "Think we're done here. I got the address of the main nest where the rest of them are. Let's go take care of that, and I'll buy you an ice-cream or something."
Sam rolls his eyes and follows Dean out the door. Once they're in the parking garage, Sam swears he can hear the secretaries screaming upon discovering the bodies.
He never liked those ladies anyway, always gossiping about him.
***
The vampires are wiped clean off the map, every last one of them. Dean says he feels sorry for the girls turned against their will, and Sam reminds him that prostitution is still illegal, and the girls accepted the dangers that came with the job.
Sam is still a pragmatist, even when soaked in the blood of vampire prostitutes.
The Impala is well hidden, Sam has to admit. Dean stashed it outside a maintenance garage under a tarp. Anyone would think it was just part of the garage's collection, or in for service.
"I can't believe I'm back here." Sam says as he settles back into the passenger's side. "Oh God, it even smells the same."
Dean chuckles and wipes his hands on a rag, pops in his favorite mixtape.
"Seriously Dean, if I'm doing this again, we need to set some ground rules."
"Uh-huh," Dean turns the key in the ignition and they begin to pull out onto the street.
"First of all, I'm not your sidekick, you can't just boss me around anymore. We're equal partners in this, okay?"
"Okay." Dean nods.
"Second of all, you're letting me pay."
"Shyeah, with what? You said the cops were probably going to freeze your accounts, once they find out we've left town."
"Not my completely and totally untraceable- (and I swear to God Dean, keep your mouth shut!) -Swiss bank account."
"Wow. How much you got stashed away in there?"
"Don't ask. Just from now on, when it comes to money? No more scams. Just let me pay for things."
"Can I have a pony?"
"Dean..."
"Seriously Sam, I think you owe me and Dad some Christmas and birthday presents. Pony-sized if not greater."
"And you don't?"
"Hey! We sent postcards!"
"After I moved?"
"How were we supposed to know you moved?"
"Uh, I had my mail forwarded, genius. So it didn't matter, the cards just stopped coming. Which means you either spontaneously decided to stop writing me, or you'd been secretly keeping tabs on me; and when I moved you two were too damn proud to even bother asking me for my new address."
"… Shut-up, Sammy." Dean grumbles as they speed off.
***
Sam lays on his bed in the motel, he hasn't slept in two days, and he's in some kind of nausea-haze of insomnia. He hadn't realized how dependent on Xanax he'd become.
Dean opens the door, he's talking to someone on his nice, new untraceable cell phone. "So you found it? Uh huh. Well that's--Yes sir, yes I understand. Sam's here, do you wanna? Let me ask-" Dean puts the phone against his chest. "You wanna talk to Dad?"
"Nope."
"Eh, 's just as well, he didn't wanna talk to you either." Sam rolls his eyes. "Yes, yeah I wrote it down. We'll meetcha there in about two days. Uh huh. Fine, one and a half. No, I said one and a half. Bye." Dean snaps his phone shut. "Well, thank God that's over."
"What's that?"
"Sam, it's a long story."
"Well gee whiz Dean, better give me the Cliff's Notes, 'cause it's a school night." Sam rolls his eyes.
"Well since you wanted to know, smartass. Dad 'n me have been going after these vamps for a while now. Seems they got their hands on this gun that belonged to one of Dad's friends."
"Why's the gun so important?"
"Ho boy, 'important' is an understatement…" Dean rubs his face. "I'll explain later, need to get to Salvation, Iowa, ASAFP."
"Well, if that isn't perfectly ominous."
"You're coming with me, right?" Dean moves to sit on Sam's bed.
Sam wriggles to accommodate him and Dean lies down on his side. Sam looks past him, out the window or something. "Where else am I gonna go?"
"I wouldn't force you to-"
"Maybe you should. Maybe I need someone to kick my ass once in a while."
Dean smiles. "Fine, you're coming with me under penalty of ass-kickery. Should you violate this, I will sue you for possession of your pants."
Dean's mood is infectious, Sam starts feeling playful too. "Oh yeah, well I'll counter-sue for your pants and your shirt."
"I demand custody of your naked body."
Dean is mangling the legal metaphors, but Sam doesn't care. "I object. On grounds of sexual harassment. And the current lack thereof."
"I'll give you no less then full molestation charges."
"I throw myself upon the mercy of the court."
"I… I've run out of things from Judge Wapner. Can't we just fuck?"
"Sure." Sam laughs. Dean's hands reach under his shirt, pull it off slowly. The lack of sleep has made Sam's head slow. He feels lazy, like he's just spent the last seven years running a marathon. Now he wants to sit back, and enjoy the spoils of his journey.
Dean's more then willing to do all the work, to strip Sammy and lay him on his back. Hook Sam's legs over his shoulder. Sam takes in the sight of Dean. Lust soaked, straw-colored body against the sunset. Almost golden with the orange and yellow light that fills the room. Dean's reaching into Sam then, he's losing his train of thought.
Fingers in him, gentle movements, normally Sam would growl and press back into him. But it's just Dean. Dean stroking him and stretching him. Dean filling him.
When Dean starts fucking him proper, he leans in close. Sam curls his legs tighter around Dean's shoulders, trying to pull him down as far as he'll go. Dean takes the cue, and drops his head to Sam's mouth, giving him long lazy kisses.
Sam's hands are gripped tight in the sheets before he can realize. They're plain, white and starched beyond belief. He misses his big comfortable bed.
Dean starts to stroke his cock in rhythm with his thrusts.
Sam will never work as an attorney again. They're going to suspend his license. Warrants will be issued. His cases will be up for review, opposing parties would love to appeal any of his convictions. His clients will be upset. His co-workers will hate him. The FBI is going to put the name "Winchester" back in the top ten. James Ross will probably need counseling and rehab.
He's burning a lot of bridges, ruining lives he played a big part in.
"Missed you, Sammy."
Sam wishes he didn't come upon hearing Dean say his nickname. But god damn it, it's what he needed. Dean pumps him dry, Sam licks his lips.
"Worth it…" he groans.
Dean doesn't understand what he means, but comes shortly after him. Collapsing on top of Sam. Eventually sliding out, making a nice sticky mess Sam doesn't have to worry about cleaning up. Dean curls himself around Sam's body.
"Stay with me." Sam murmurs absently, his head swimming with the onset of sleep.
"Always." Dean replies, holding him closer.
"Dean?"
"Yeah, Sammy?"
Sam doesn't know if he should say it, but it's already tumbling out. "I don't know if I can be your conscience anymore. I don't think I remember how."
Dean nods, "That's fine Sammy. I think you leaving kinda forced me to grow one of my own. I've probably got enough for the both of us." He laughs, softly.
Sam closes his eyes and relaxes against Dean's body. Feels Dean run his fingers in little circles though his hair. Knows that in the morning, Dean will vanish and then reappear with a big cup of coffee just for him.
Dean's the best.
end
Name sources:
Mercy Brown Vampire Incident
Sava Savanovic
Law & Order Characters
Special thanks to Dark Chocolate Peanut Butter. Through whom, all things are possible.
It took me all my strength not to call the lawfirm Wolfram and Hart
Off to clean my gerbils! Will catch up on the comments that are FINALLY in my inbox soon.