Over the Hills & Far Away (Chapter 2b)
Title: Over the Hills & Far Away - CHAPTER 2B
Author(s): operationhades
Artist: evian_fork
Warning: few curse words, once or twice, primarily from Dean.
Summary: Sam was a fourteen year old mutant when he walked in on an injured Dean staring up at the barrel of a gun held by John Winchester. And after that, with Sam at the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning and Dean throwing John, every other hunter in the country, and a pissed Yellow Eyed Demon of their trail, thing's only get progressively worse.
2B
CHAPTER 2 (2B)
Dean's kitchen endeavour ended up with him lugging the lion's share of the food he'd helped with, and stuffing much of it down Sam's never-ending stomach. Then Laura and Jennifer tag teamed him and forced a promise out of him to attend lunch, despite the fact both of them just ate - that, and a promise he better get some damn pie, at the very least - so a few hours later he was sitting at the long dining table keeping his hands the hell away from the delicate china. Because Dean? Dean was a lover and a fighter, and the only delicate thing he'd held in his life with any amount of success in it was his kid brother, who sat next to him with a regal expression, like if he did this freaking long-as-all-hell dining table thing everyday.
Sam grinned over at him, as if reading his expression, but most likely just reading his scowl. "Two words: Tara's parents."
Oh. Oh. Horror struck Dean's face, forcing him to scrunch up as he turned a glare on his grinning brother. "You did not have dinner with my date's parents."
Sam just grinned harder, the two of them speaking low to each other as others started to trickle in, some kids waving at Sam and looking at Dean strangely, while others looked at them both strangely. The Professor came from another door, wheeling himself in with a remote of sorts to the grand spectacle of everyone witnessing, which just reinforced Dean's suspicion that the guy was really a dick or something. A dick with DEFCON one superpower. No wonder why the government was secretly shitting itself. "Mrs. Thompson gave me peach cobbler." Sam boasted, dimples shining in both cheeks. "And Mr. Thompson wouldn't stop giving me career advice."
Dean tried, he really tried, but, "Who?"
The instant bitchface accompanied by a huff of expelled air was his response. "Tara's parents. God, Dean. Do you even remember Tara? Or did you just guess who she was because she was female?"
Ouch, busted. It's not his fault all his relationships with females his own age ended in a roll in the hay, and besides, he'd figured out who she was about twenty five seconds ago. "Bendy chick! I remember her. Thought it was cute how much you loved your big brother." He slapped Sam's back with far too much gusto than strictly necessary, but hey, he had to get his kicks somewhere, right? "All thanks to you; I got laid."
And that was it, Sam's smug grin and prideful boasting? Destroyed. Dean felt accomplished.
“Dean.” Sam hissed at him after a small bout of the silent treatment. “Storm - the woman that can control the weather - said I'll need a codename, that everybody uses it here.”
Dean blinked, slowly, waiting for the words to compute before he turned to stare incredulously at Sam. “If you tell me you let them name you Boy Wonder, I will disown you right here.”
The fourteen year old huffed, not impressed, before speaking up again. “They gave you the same name too, Dean, since it can be something like a surname I think. I spoke to Professor Xavier, who's a telepathic, and he asked me what I'd like.”
“Please, for the love of pie, tell me you chose something badass. Wait,” Dean turned narrowed eyes on his brother. “Did the guy mind read you or anything?”
“It was on short notice!” Sam squeaked, ignoring Dean's question with a wide panicked look and- and- oh no, he looked embarrassed, damn it. “The only thing I could think of was-!”
A glass tinkled suddenly, interrupting and grabbing both the brother's attention and focusing it onto the Professor, watching him rasp a spoon against his water filled glass with such a dainty expression Sam had to grab Dean by the thigh to keep him from leaving.
“Now that we're all settled,” Professor Xavier began, smiling amiably at everybody as the last gaggle of children seated themselves into open spots. “I believe I need to introduce everyone to our new guests. As you are all aware, the need for secrecy goes both ways, as such, both of our guests wish to be called Hunter, the younger of which will be staying with us from now on. I hope you treat them both well and help them feel comfortable here.”
Some of the kids around the table smiled warmly, waving at Sam with a familiarity that told of already having met. Dean only knew the Professor, the blue doctor, and red sunglasses out of everybody on the table besides his little brother, but rather than look around and put on a show, Dean turned murderous eyes on his little brother. “Hunter?” He gritted out, voice low and dangerous, smiling charmingly at a red haired woman sitting next to sunglasses dude. “Out of all the freaking names you could think of, you chose the one word in the freaking language that could get us caught by Dad and company?”
Before Sam could reply, the Professor carried on. “Now, feel free to introduce yourself to the brothers as we eat. Ah, here comes the food.”
“It was word vomit,” Sam pleaded, hand on Dean's thigh still clutching him tight. “I'm sorry, Dean, I swear.” A pause, as members of the kitchen staff Dean recognised came filtering in from a side door with plates upon plates of food. Sam spoke up again, voice small and pained. “... Don't be angry.”
Shit. How could he be angry, when Sam said it in that abandoned voice? He was already going to have to leave the kid here after a few days. Dean sighed, making sure to keep his face free and charming in case someone was watching, and spared Sam a small smile. “It's 'kay, bro. Least you didn't choose something lame.” At the pointed jerk Dean directed at sunglasses dude, Sam snickered, looking guilty right after, the little bitch. But seriously, what sort of a codename was Cyclops? Maybe underneath the red tinted visor the guy only had one eye. Dean wondered what his power was meant to be.
The dark woman with the shockingly light hair he'd seen from before sipped at her water, putting it down a moment later and smiling at Dean. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I am called Storm.” She said, voice smoking hot and just on the right side of whoa, directed all at Dean. “I've already met you're brother. Do you plan on staying for long?”
So this was the weather-controlling lady? Sam had told him a bit more about her while they'd been supernatural-proofing Sam's room. Damn, she was hot, and Dean didn't even care she had such a transparent name like Storm. Kinda just added to the hot factor, actually. “Only a few days, actually.” He replied, seeing no reason to lie. He needed to keep himself as unassuming as possible, to lower the amount of people that would remember him here. You never knew when John Winchester might slip in pretending to be a friend, or what little piece of information someone in the building could give that would clue him in.
Hot Lady nodded, accepting the answer, allowing the conversation to be picked up by the doctor - Hank. “Well, as you know, I'm Beast.” The man said, winking at them with goodwill. Dean had to actually admit it, if to no one else but himself, that he sort of kinda liked the guy. For one, he was a helluva lot jollier than Dean expected of someone with blue freakin' fur. “And you better rest up that shoulder, young man.”
Cyclops-dude was sitting next to the red haired woman Dean had noticed before, perking up at the doctor's words from his seat. “How is your shoulder anyway, Hunter?”
Dean winced, remembering suddenly from Sam's words Cyclops dude and red haired woman had dragged his sorry ass out of the Impala, meaning they'd seen the injury left behind by the most pissed off vengeful ghost Dean had ever seen. They, including Hank, probably all thought Dad had done it, though how Dad would've inflicted five razor sharp wounds that looked like they belonged to an animal was beyond him, but hey, humans - they were good at coming up with unlikely explanations for things they couldn't understand.
“Uh, good.” He stomped on Sam's foot underneath the table, silently begging his brother to take over the course of the conversation. Sam's eyebrows made only the slightest movement to show the pain, too used to their violent under-the-table conversations for it to actually register on his face, but before little brother could come to Dean's rescue with a barrage of questions that would make Sherlock Holmes proud, the red haired woman spoke up with a suspiciously knowing glint in her eyes.
“I'm Jean, by the way.” She introduced herself. “No cool name for me.” She threw an arm over the person next to her, on the opposite side from Cyclops, and pulled him in close. “And this is Nightcrawler.”
First thing Dean noticed? The blue. Then while he was thinking of just what exactly was up with these guys and their fascination with the colour blue, he noticed the eyes - the yellow eyes. And even though the colour meant absolutely nothing to him, even though he honestly had no idea why, something just felt wrong, something just screamed at him to bless his glass of water and throw it, to grab Sam and just get the hell out of Dodge. He would have completely followed that through too if the blue guy - Nightcrawler - didn't suddenly open his mouth and speak with a German/Russian/God Knew What accent Dean had ever heard of and awkwardly wave.
“Hello. I am Nightcrawler.” And that wave. Just. How the hell could Dean run away from that? No self-respecting fugly would ever act like that. And Dean just didn't know of any supernatural creature that spoke with a... German? Maybe Russian? Whatever, one of those countries anyway - accent. So Dean resigned himself to only keep an eye on the blue man - damn, was that a tail behind the guy? - and give Sam a subtle warning.
“And that, over there,” Jean continued, nodding her head to the guy sitting next to Dean. “Is Wolverine.”
Wolverine.
Holy shit, he was sitting next to the guy with six inch blades inside his knuckles?
Sure, he'd noticed the big lumbar jack guy sitting next to him, looking like he enjoyed cutting down huge tree's with a giant axe as a satisfying past time. The sideburns and wild as all hell hair was a bit too hard to miss too, but Dean was in a room full of freaks - when you got right down to it - and he was a bit more preoccupied with trying to secretly ogle the casual displays of abilities coming from the kids that he hadn't considered the relatively normal looking guy sitting next to him high on his priority. Way Sam said it, Wolverine would fit in damn well with Dad and the others, had barely blinked when Sam held a gun to his face and cut to the issue without any of the diplomatic crap Storm had tried. So basically he was Dean's kinda guy, and that was only reconfirmed with the distracted grunt of a greeting Wolverine gave, too busy tearing into a steak to offer any actual words.
Jean was staring at Dean though, had been from the moment she introduced Wolverine, and Dean wandered for a moment what her power was. Maybe she was some sort of a human phoenix, bursting into flames at random intervals to come alive again. Or maybe he was confusing actual lore with Harry Potter and her red hair again. Her expression was different from before, now closed off and angry, whereas before she'd been open and happy. Sunglasses dude touched her arm, grabbing her attention with the simple movement, and the two did nothing but look at each other for a bit before Jean gave a small nod and returned her attention to the plate in front of her. The way the two acted with each other - hell, the way everybody around the table acted with each other - was something borne of familiarity, which made sense in an abstract sort of fashion. They were all 'mutants', different from other people, and because of it had come together like some ragtag family and bonded over it. A bit like how hunters banded together to hash out shit they'd seen and try and make a few friends in a world that was out to eat them. Though these guys actually stuck together. Hunters were all solitary by nature, more or less.
But Dean could get behind that. And it'd be seriously cool to have superpower-wielding friends to call up in a time of need - or, to have superpower-wielding friends he could get Sam to call up for him in a time of need. Man, how things would be easier if Dean could run at the speed of light. Never get sidelined by a werewolf again.
Wouldn't that be sweet?
. . .
It was pitch black when the bed depressed, a weight settling in besides Dean and startling him from sleep. Muggy and confused, he belatedly realised it was Sam climbing into bed with him, gangly teenage arms moving the duvet on top of the two before he curled them around Dean's chest, legs intertwining with Dean's own. Grunting out his “what are you doing, Sam?” Dean rubbed at his face and the crust around his eyes, yawning loudly as the digital clock lit up silently with the numbers 04:23 glowing in the dark.
“Leavin' tomorrow.” Sam muttered in an answer, gripping onto Dean like an octopus. “Leavin' me.”
Oh god. He could barely handle chick flick moments when the sun was hanging up high in the sky, how was he supposed to handle them now? “I'm not leavin' you, you girl.” Dean mumbled back irritably, slurring the words. “Fuck, le' me sleep. It's too early in the mornin' to deal with this shit.”
“No.” Sam immediately responded petulantly, squeezing Dean harder. “You gotta call as soon as you get a room. Kay?”
Dean really wanted to say 'or what' but held back by a thin strand. “You gonna let me sleep if I do?”
“Promise.”
“Fuck yes, now let me sleep.”
Sam snorted, letting up on the pressure of his arm-squeeze, but didn't get up from the bed. Considering it wasn't at all too big and both Winchester's were growing boys fated to at least six feet (it was in the genes, just look at Dad, and Dean had already hit that marked but still ate like a horse), it was an uncomfortable fit. But they'd been sharing a bed on and off since Sam was six months old, and the bed was bigger than the singles they sometimes had to co-sleep on, so Dean just huffed in irritation and squirmed about until he was comfortable enough, sleeping on his stomach with Sam draped all over him like a too hot blanket. Actually, the position they were in was the general favourite one, and the only one where the night didn't end in bloodshed.
Yawning widely above him, Sam snuffled as he began to fall prey to exhaustion, breathing slowing down to resting level. Some skewered form of words came out, whispered into the small space between them right before he fell unconscious, sounding suspiciously like a “love you.”
Dean pointedly ignored it.
NEXT CHAPTER
MASTERPOST
Author(s): operationhades
Artist: evian_fork
Warning: few curse words, once or twice, primarily from Dean.
Summary: Sam was a fourteen year old mutant when he walked in on an injured Dean staring up at the barrel of a gun held by John Winchester. And after that, with Sam at the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning and Dean throwing John, every other hunter in the country, and a pissed Yellow Eyed Demon of their trail, thing's only get progressively worse.
2B
CHAPTER 2 (2B)
Dean's kitchen endeavour ended up with him lugging the lion's share of the food he'd helped with, and stuffing much of it down Sam's never-ending stomach. Then Laura and Jennifer tag teamed him and forced a promise out of him to attend lunch, despite the fact both of them just ate - that, and a promise he better get some damn pie, at the very least - so a few hours later he was sitting at the long dining table keeping his hands the hell away from the delicate china. Because Dean? Dean was a lover and a fighter, and the only delicate thing he'd held in his life with any amount of success in it was his kid brother, who sat next to him with a regal expression, like if he did this freaking long-as-all-hell dining table thing everyday.
Sam grinned over at him, as if reading his expression, but most likely just reading his scowl. "Two words: Tara's parents."
Oh. Oh. Horror struck Dean's face, forcing him to scrunch up as he turned a glare on his grinning brother. "You did not have dinner with my date's parents."
Sam just grinned harder, the two of them speaking low to each other as others started to trickle in, some kids waving at Sam and looking at Dean strangely, while others looked at them both strangely. The Professor came from another door, wheeling himself in with a remote of sorts to the grand spectacle of everyone witnessing, which just reinforced Dean's suspicion that the guy was really a dick or something. A dick with DEFCON one superpower. No wonder why the government was secretly shitting itself. "Mrs. Thompson gave me peach cobbler." Sam boasted, dimples shining in both cheeks. "And Mr. Thompson wouldn't stop giving me career advice."
Dean tried, he really tried, but, "Who?"
The instant bitchface accompanied by a huff of expelled air was his response. "Tara's parents. God, Dean. Do you even remember Tara? Or did you just guess who she was because she was female?"
Ouch, busted. It's not his fault all his relationships with females his own age ended in a roll in the hay, and besides, he'd figured out who she was about twenty five seconds ago. "Bendy chick! I remember her. Thought it was cute how much you loved your big brother." He slapped Sam's back with far too much gusto than strictly necessary, but hey, he had to get his kicks somewhere, right? "All thanks to you; I got laid."
And that was it, Sam's smug grin and prideful boasting? Destroyed. Dean felt accomplished.
“Dean.” Sam hissed at him after a small bout of the silent treatment. “Storm - the woman that can control the weather - said I'll need a codename, that everybody uses it here.”
Dean blinked, slowly, waiting for the words to compute before he turned to stare incredulously at Sam. “If you tell me you let them name you Boy Wonder, I will disown you right here.”
The fourteen year old huffed, not impressed, before speaking up again. “They gave you the same name too, Dean, since it can be something like a surname I think. I spoke to Professor Xavier, who's a telepathic, and he asked me what I'd like.”
“Please, for the love of pie, tell me you chose something badass. Wait,” Dean turned narrowed eyes on his brother. “Did the guy mind read you or anything?”
“It was on short notice!” Sam squeaked, ignoring Dean's question with a wide panicked look and- and- oh no, he looked embarrassed, damn it. “The only thing I could think of was-!”
A glass tinkled suddenly, interrupting and grabbing both the brother's attention and focusing it onto the Professor, watching him rasp a spoon against his water filled glass with such a dainty expression Sam had to grab Dean by the thigh to keep him from leaving.
“Now that we're all settled,” Professor Xavier began, smiling amiably at everybody as the last gaggle of children seated themselves into open spots. “I believe I need to introduce everyone to our new guests. As you are all aware, the need for secrecy goes both ways, as such, both of our guests wish to be called Hunter, the younger of which will be staying with us from now on. I hope you treat them both well and help them feel comfortable here.”
Some of the kids around the table smiled warmly, waving at Sam with a familiarity that told of already having met. Dean only knew the Professor, the blue doctor, and red sunglasses out of everybody on the table besides his little brother, but rather than look around and put on a show, Dean turned murderous eyes on his little brother. “Hunter?” He gritted out, voice low and dangerous, smiling charmingly at a red haired woman sitting next to sunglasses dude. “Out of all the freaking names you could think of, you chose the one word in the freaking language that could get us caught by Dad and company?”
Before Sam could reply, the Professor carried on. “Now, feel free to introduce yourself to the brothers as we eat. Ah, here comes the food.”
“It was word vomit,” Sam pleaded, hand on Dean's thigh still clutching him tight. “I'm sorry, Dean, I swear.” A pause, as members of the kitchen staff Dean recognised came filtering in from a side door with plates upon plates of food. Sam spoke up again, voice small and pained. “... Don't be angry.”
Shit. How could he be angry, when Sam said it in that abandoned voice? He was already going to have to leave the kid here after a few days. Dean sighed, making sure to keep his face free and charming in case someone was watching, and spared Sam a small smile. “It's 'kay, bro. Least you didn't choose something lame.” At the pointed jerk Dean directed at sunglasses dude, Sam snickered, looking guilty right after, the little bitch. But seriously, what sort of a codename was Cyclops? Maybe underneath the red tinted visor the guy only had one eye. Dean wondered what his power was meant to be.
The dark woman with the shockingly light hair he'd seen from before sipped at her water, putting it down a moment later and smiling at Dean. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I am called Storm.” She said, voice smoking hot and just on the right side of whoa, directed all at Dean. “I've already met you're brother. Do you plan on staying for long?”
So this was the weather-controlling lady? Sam had told him a bit more about her while they'd been supernatural-proofing Sam's room. Damn, she was hot, and Dean didn't even care she had such a transparent name like Storm. Kinda just added to the hot factor, actually. “Only a few days, actually.” He replied, seeing no reason to lie. He needed to keep himself as unassuming as possible, to lower the amount of people that would remember him here. You never knew when John Winchester might slip in pretending to be a friend, or what little piece of information someone in the building could give that would clue him in.
Hot Lady nodded, accepting the answer, allowing the conversation to be picked up by the doctor - Hank. “Well, as you know, I'm Beast.” The man said, winking at them with goodwill. Dean had to actually admit it, if to no one else but himself, that he sort of kinda liked the guy. For one, he was a helluva lot jollier than Dean expected of someone with blue freakin' fur. “And you better rest up that shoulder, young man.”
Cyclops-dude was sitting next to the red haired woman Dean had noticed before, perking up at the doctor's words from his seat. “How is your shoulder anyway, Hunter?”
Dean winced, remembering suddenly from Sam's words Cyclops dude and red haired woman had dragged his sorry ass out of the Impala, meaning they'd seen the injury left behind by the most pissed off vengeful ghost Dean had ever seen. They, including Hank, probably all thought Dad had done it, though how Dad would've inflicted five razor sharp wounds that looked like they belonged to an animal was beyond him, but hey, humans - they were good at coming up with unlikely explanations for things they couldn't understand.
“Uh, good.” He stomped on Sam's foot underneath the table, silently begging his brother to take over the course of the conversation. Sam's eyebrows made only the slightest movement to show the pain, too used to their violent under-the-table conversations for it to actually register on his face, but before little brother could come to Dean's rescue with a barrage of questions that would make Sherlock Holmes proud, the red haired woman spoke up with a suspiciously knowing glint in her eyes.
“I'm Jean, by the way.” She introduced herself. “No cool name for me.” She threw an arm over the person next to her, on the opposite side from Cyclops, and pulled him in close. “And this is Nightcrawler.”
First thing Dean noticed? The blue. Then while he was thinking of just what exactly was up with these guys and their fascination with the colour blue, he noticed the eyes - the yellow eyes. And even though the colour meant absolutely nothing to him, even though he honestly had no idea why, something just felt wrong, something just screamed at him to bless his glass of water and throw it, to grab Sam and just get the hell out of Dodge. He would have completely followed that through too if the blue guy - Nightcrawler - didn't suddenly open his mouth and speak with a German/Russian/God Knew What accent Dean had ever heard of and awkwardly wave.
“Hello. I am Nightcrawler.” And that wave. Just. How the hell could Dean run away from that? No self-respecting fugly would ever act like that. And Dean just didn't know of any supernatural creature that spoke with a... German? Maybe Russian? Whatever, one of those countries anyway - accent. So Dean resigned himself to only keep an eye on the blue man - damn, was that a tail behind the guy? - and give Sam a subtle warning.
“And that, over there,” Jean continued, nodding her head to the guy sitting next to Dean. “Is Wolverine.”
Wolverine.
Holy shit, he was sitting next to the guy with six inch blades inside his knuckles?
Sure, he'd noticed the big lumbar jack guy sitting next to him, looking like he enjoyed cutting down huge tree's with a giant axe as a satisfying past time. The sideburns and wild as all hell hair was a bit too hard to miss too, but Dean was in a room full of freaks - when you got right down to it - and he was a bit more preoccupied with trying to secretly ogle the casual displays of abilities coming from the kids that he hadn't considered the relatively normal looking guy sitting next to him high on his priority. Way Sam said it, Wolverine would fit in damn well with Dad and the others, had barely blinked when Sam held a gun to his face and cut to the issue without any of the diplomatic crap Storm had tried. So basically he was Dean's kinda guy, and that was only reconfirmed with the distracted grunt of a greeting Wolverine gave, too busy tearing into a steak to offer any actual words.
Jean was staring at Dean though, had been from the moment she introduced Wolverine, and Dean wandered for a moment what her power was. Maybe she was some sort of a human phoenix, bursting into flames at random intervals to come alive again. Or maybe he was confusing actual lore with Harry Potter and her red hair again. Her expression was different from before, now closed off and angry, whereas before she'd been open and happy. Sunglasses dude touched her arm, grabbing her attention with the simple movement, and the two did nothing but look at each other for a bit before Jean gave a small nod and returned her attention to the plate in front of her. The way the two acted with each other - hell, the way everybody around the table acted with each other - was something borne of familiarity, which made sense in an abstract sort of fashion. They were all 'mutants', different from other people, and because of it had come together like some ragtag family and bonded over it. A bit like how hunters banded together to hash out shit they'd seen and try and make a few friends in a world that was out to eat them. Though these guys actually stuck together. Hunters were all solitary by nature, more or less.
But Dean could get behind that. And it'd be seriously cool to have superpower-wielding friends to call up in a time of need - or, to have superpower-wielding friends he could get Sam to call up for him in a time of need. Man, how things would be easier if Dean could run at the speed of light. Never get sidelined by a werewolf again.
Wouldn't that be sweet?
. . .
It was pitch black when the bed depressed, a weight settling in besides Dean and startling him from sleep. Muggy and confused, he belatedly realised it was Sam climbing into bed with him, gangly teenage arms moving the duvet on top of the two before he curled them around Dean's chest, legs intertwining with Dean's own. Grunting out his “what are you doing, Sam?” Dean rubbed at his face and the crust around his eyes, yawning loudly as the digital clock lit up silently with the numbers 04:23 glowing in the dark.
“Leavin' tomorrow.” Sam muttered in an answer, gripping onto Dean like an octopus. “Leavin' me.”
Oh god. He could barely handle chick flick moments when the sun was hanging up high in the sky, how was he supposed to handle them now? “I'm not leavin' you, you girl.” Dean mumbled back irritably, slurring the words. “Fuck, le' me sleep. It's too early in the mornin' to deal with this shit.”
“No.” Sam immediately responded petulantly, squeezing Dean harder. “You gotta call as soon as you get a room. Kay?”
Dean really wanted to say 'or what' but held back by a thin strand. “You gonna let me sleep if I do?”
“Promise.”
“Fuck yes, now let me sleep.”
Sam snorted, letting up on the pressure of his arm-squeeze, but didn't get up from the bed. Considering it wasn't at all too big and both Winchester's were growing boys fated to at least six feet (it was in the genes, just look at Dad, and Dean had already hit that marked but still ate like a horse), it was an uncomfortable fit. But they'd been sharing a bed on and off since Sam was six months old, and the bed was bigger than the singles they sometimes had to co-sleep on, so Dean just huffed in irritation and squirmed about until he was comfortable enough, sleeping on his stomach with Sam draped all over him like a too hot blanket. Actually, the position they were in was the general favourite one, and the only one where the night didn't end in bloodshed.
Yawning widely above him, Sam snuffled as he began to fall prey to exhaustion, breathing slowing down to resting level. Some skewered form of words came out, whispered into the small space between them right before he fell unconscious, sounding suspiciously like a “love you.”
Dean pointedly ignored it.
NEXT CHAPTER
MASTERPOST