Supernatural story: "lost invisible here"
Title: lost invisible here
Author: Signe
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 9,280 words
Notes: Written for pheebs1, for her request (invisible Wincest) made ages ago in the Massive Flist Fic Exhange o' Doom. Huge thanks as ever to my betas: flipmontigirl who I'm utterly dependant on, and annalazarus who is very patiently Americanising me.
lost invisible here
"Fucking religious nuts."
"I don't know," Sam says slyly. "A lot of what they say makes sense, when you think about it."
Dean turns his head away from the road ahead and stares at Sam. Long and considering. Then bursts out laughing.
"Good one, Sammy." He pats him on the thigh. "Good one."
*
They make good time out of Wichita Falls, long clear roads that the Impala eats up, steady and sure. Sam sleeps on and off, but every time he wakes up, Dean has the same content expression on his face, his foot heavy on the gas.
They're not heading anywhere in particular yet. Just away. Away from Wichita Falls and the Hermitic Order of the Golden Dawn. Not that there was anything demonic going on with them, not that they had to escape or anything, but Dean looked more freaked out by their praying over the two of them than Sam had seen him look at any demonic attack. When he'd started humming Metallica, that's when Sam knew they needed to get out, right there and then. He'd tease Dean about it later, but for now they'd gotten out, taken the first exit out of town and driven in a straight line ever since.
*
"Potty stop, Sammy boy," Sam hears as Dean prods him awake.
Sam ignores him. Looks out the window. There's a gigantic bird staring down at him, beady metal eyes unblinking.
"What the fuck?" Sam says. "That thing's at least twenty feet tall."
"Biggest road runner in the world." Dean nods knowingly.
"You're making that up."
"Yeah, but it's big enough to make even your beanpole legs look short."
The owner lets them use the restroom at the back of his office, then Dean wanders around to check out two scrap metal dinosaurs further back on the lot. He snaps photos of Sam and the dinosaurs on his cell, and then hands over the phone to a matronly woman who doesn't speak English but gets the gist of Dean's gesturing, and takes a shot of the two of them leaning against the road runner. Dean slings his arm around Sam's shoulders at the last second and Sam leans in and they're both smiling at each other like there's no one else in the world, and it's all there in the picture.
The woman turns to her husband after she's handed the phone back. "Un par tan lindo," she says to him, giving Sam and Dean a fond look.
Sam bites his lip, pretending not to understand, more pleased than embarrassed.
"What'd she say?" Dean asks as the couple wander off in the opposite direction.
"She said she's surprised you didn't crack the camera lens," Sam says, and Dean flicks his ear for it. He still sends Sam a copy of the picture though. He'll upload it to the laptop and get it printed out sometime. He hasn't had a photo in his wallet since the fire, and that's too long to be without.
*
They sleep in the car that night; they're between credit cards, and they left - Sam mentally adjusts the term to 'fled' - town before Dean had a chance to hustle any pool. So Sam's assuming money is tight. Not that Dean ever admits it, of course.
They've pulled off the road by a lake, just visible from the road through a rocky outcrop. It's warm in the car, even first thing when the sun forces Sam awake viciously early, and the lake looks inviting. Dean's not in the car. Gone for a leak probably, though it's not like him to miss the chance to wake Sam up with the horn. Sam feels stiff and gritty, the grime from two days sticking his shirts to him - pulling them off feels good. He drapes his clothes in a pile on a rock and jumps in. The water is frigid and he shrieks as he surfaces, howling with the cold.
If Dean were in sight, Sam would soak him. He can't be that far away though - Sam hears him chuckle.
"Cold, huh, Sam? Better make sure your junk doesn't shrivel up and fall off."
"Is that what happened to you as a kid?" Sam taunts.
There's a splash behind him, and Sam has to give Dean his due: he hadn't seen him creep up on him at all. In fact, he still can't see him, just the spread of ripples where he went under.
"Dean," he calls out pointlessly, as Dean must be swimming underwater, probably out to catch Sam by the legs. He's not going to make it though, because the water is perfectly clear, and Sam can see for yards around him. "Dean," he says again, trying to keep the alarm out of his voice.
"Need your hand held or something, baby brother?" Dean's voice is right next to him, in the direction Sam is looking, right where the ripples are still slithering across the surface of the water. But Sam can't see him.
"Where are you?" he asks.
"Very funny."
Sam gets a mouthful of cold water as his face is splashed. "Seriously, man, I can't see you."
"Can you see anything?" Dean's voice is all business now, concerned.
"I can see everything, fine. Just not you."
"You're bullshitting."
"No man, hunter's honor."
"You really can't see me?"
"Stop doing that." Sam has no idea what Dean is doing, but he could make several guesses.
"So you can see me."
"Dude, no, I'm telling you I can't. I just know you, is all."
"Well," Dean says, ponderingly, "this is a new one."
*
They dry off on rough towels lifted from the last motel. It's eerie, seeing a towel vanish into thin air.
"Did anything happen in the night?" Sam asks.
"I slept, you slept." There's a pause, and Sam can tell Dean's smirking. "Unless you groped me in my sleep again. Want to own up to anything?"
"It was just that one time, and it was an accident," Sam retorts quickly. It wasn't just once, and it wasn't an accident, and they both know that, but Sam's not giving Dean the satisfaction. And he's certainly not going to tell him that he misses being able to see him already. Dean'd never let him live that down.
"S'okay, Sammy, I understand that it's hard for you to keep your hands off of me."
Sam rolls his eyes and wishes Dean could have been rendered silent rather than invisible.
*
"We need to go somewhere we can get wireless," Sam says as he starts the engine. Dean had handed the keys over reluctantly, insisting he was fine to drive, but unable to argue with Sam's reasoning about the likelihood of them getting stopped if there were no one visible behind the wheel.
"And coffee," Dean says.
"You'll have to stay in the car."
"The fuck I will." Sam swears he can feel the heat of Dean's glare on the side of his neck.
"So you want me to have to explain a floating or disappearing coffee cup next to me? And you're going to keep absolutely silent and not say a single word if we're anywhere near other people?"
"S'just a waste, is all. Perfectly good superpower, and my kid brother doesn't want to let me use it."
"Superpower?" Sam sniggers. "Dude, you've been cursed or hexed or something. You don't have a superpower."
"What? You don't think invisibility counts as a superpower? Are you saying Lyle Norg and Susan Storm didn't have superpowers?"
"They could turn themselves visible or invisible at will. Besides, Invisible Woman could project invisible force fields. Now that would be useful. This, well, this is just a nuisance."
There's a muttered comment that sounds very much like spoilsport from the seat next to Sam, and he can't quite restrain his smile.
"You're trying to project a force field, aren't you?" Sam says.
There's a pause. Then a muted denial.
"You liar." Sam smiles.
"I have to get to use my superpower once before we sort this thing out though. I mean, man, girls' locker rooms, showers-it'd be criminal to miss out."
"And here I thought you were wanting to use your new," Sam lifts his hands off the wheel to make ironic quotes, "superpower for good."
"That too. But hot chicks. Hot naked chicks. Wet naked chicks. Come on, Sammy."
Sam can't help wondering if he used to sound that whiny as a kid. He thinks he probably did, but it doesn't make Dean's wheedling any more fun to deal with.
*
They pull off the road for a while to work out a few things before they reach anywhere populated Anything small that Dean picks up turns invisible. When Sam hands him something, it turns invisible as soon as Sam lets go. Anything large isn't affected. They haven't worked out an exact answer as to what will become invisible in Dean's hands and what won't, but he's gone through the weapon's chest and everything in there vanished as soon as he lifted it out. That's a relief - Sam didn't like the idea of Dean not being able to carry.
Dean tries lifting Sam up off the ground to see what will happen. He doesn't bother giving any warning first, so Sam nearly brains him when he finds himself grasped by the waist and hoisted up. Sam doesn't become invisible - not that he can tell that himself, because after all Dean can still see himself, and he's definitely invisible - but he can tell by the way Dean puts him down with a disappointed hmmph.
"Didn't work, huh?" Sam checks.
"Guess you're too big."
"Guess you've just got minipowers."
*
By the time Sam's spent four hours scouring tedious, ugly and mind-numbing websites, he's wishing yet again that Dean would let him give Ash a call. Sure, Ash'd laugh, and he'd probably never let Dean forget it, but Sam has a headache, and his laptop battery is running on empty, and his answer isn't the one he'd been hoping for. He's not looking forward to getting back to Dean - who he hopes is still waiting in the car - and giving him the answer.
Dean is in the car, though he's not fidgeting when Sam gets in so Sam suspects he's been out for an invisible walk around Tucson. He doesn't push the issue though, not when he's got news like this to give Dean.
"What the hell do you mean, I have to achieve self-realization?" If Sam thought Dean sounded whiny before, that has nothing on this.
"Looks like the priests of the Hermitic Order of the Golden Dawn took quite a liking to you, and thought they'd help you on your path to a higher level."
Dean groans. "Might've asked me first. And what's it got to do with me turning invisible, anyway?"
"That chanting we heard when we left. That must have been their invisibility ritual."
Sam looks up. It's weird not knowing exactly where to look, not being able to see Dean's reaction, even though he can guess it most of the time.
"And they performed that on me because-?"
Sam's made notes in dad's journal, which he has propped up against the steering wheel.
"It says on their website, their purpose is to assist individuals to awaken and unfold their dormant potential by providing them with the necessary tools to achieve self-realization. This process transforms body, mind, and spirit, and ultimately leads to an entirely new relationship with the universe wherein the experience of duality, ego identity, and the distinction between self and not-self, inner and outer, are completely transcended, resulting in the self-realization of being that One Thing which is the entire universe."
"Okay, Sammy, a little help here. What's all that about my ego got to do with me being invisible? They thought I was too handsome or something? Jealous of my power over hot women?"
"They think being invisible will allow you to overcome worldly distractions and achieve self-realization more easily."
"So how do we get the fuckers to turn me visible again?"
Sam swallows.
"Sam. Out with it."
"They can't. There's no reverse ritual. You have to do it yourself, by reaching a new plane of understanding."
"We're going back to Wichita Falls, and I'm going to invisibly strangle their collective scrawny necks."
Sam judges it wisest to keep silent for now. And to keep tight hold of the car keys.
*
They hole up at a motel just off the I10. A single room, because Sam has to book it, and he stands for a moment trying to think of a good excuse for asking for two queens or a king and fails.
Dean's pissed off with him, even though it's hardly his fault that they're in this situation. But it's not Dean's either, so Sam doesn't say anything when the one bed sinks under Dean's weight and Dean orders Sam to fetch a six pack. Just goes off and fetches it, and throws a few of Dean's favorite snacks in the bag along with it.
By the time there's a pile of empty wrappers and a couple of empty bottles littering the floor beside the bed, the atmosphere feels a bit better.
Sam looks up from where he's sprawled on the floor on his stomach with dad's journal and a bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon. "We can still hunt, you know. While we're working this out. How to, you know, fix you."
"Great, sounds like you want to have me neutered."
Sam laughs, loud and open.
"Just saying, it could be a while, you know. And we can work something out. Even use your superpower."
"Ah, so now you're accepting that it's a superpower."
"Yeah, whatever, man."
Sam can hear Dean chugging his beer, even though the bottle disappeared as soon as Dean picked it up. It appears again, in mid-air, just before it lands on the floor with a clunk.
"No, I need to work on this. This self-realization thing."
"You sure?"
"Got any better ideas?"
Sam doesn't. He shakes his head. "Throw me a bag of doritos," he says.
*
In the dark it doesn't matter (so much) that Dean's invisible. Sam fucks him slow and steady, and he can hear Dean and feel every ripple of reaction, every grunt and every demand to just fucking get on with it, Sammy, and that's all he needs. He thinks that's all he needs. After, the bed is small enough that Dean can't complain if Sam wraps his arms around him and holds on tight. And Dean feels the same, solid and strong and there, and if Sam holds on a little tighter than usual, Dean doesn't say anything.
*
It's different in the daylight. Sam's in the shower, and he doesn't hear the door opening over the rush of the water, doesn't notice anything until the shower curtain rustles open and closed and there are hands on his hips, a mouth on his skin, licking warm water off him. He sees the pattern of water as it falls around Dean, hears the sound as Dean's elbow catches against the tiled wall, but Sam still gasps when his cock is palmed. He's soft, and Dean's hand encases him, but that doesn't last long. He's hard and ready by the time he hears the slap of bony knees on the shower floor, and more than ready when Dean starts to suck him.
"Is this part of your self-realization?" Sam asks, and Dean answers by tugging at his balls, then reaching back and pushing a finger up inside Sam. Sam guesses that's Dean's way of saying shut the fuck up.
*
Dean insists on being driven back into Tucson later. Sam can tell it grates on him, having to depend on Sam like this; any other time he'd make Dean beg for it, but he just pulls the keys out of his pocket. "Let's go," he says.
Dean comes into the library with Sam. They argue in the car about it first, but Dean points out that it's a quiet day, and the library won't be crowded, and he can fucking well too be stealthy when he wants to be.
It's hard not to jump each time Dean whispers in his ear - with Dean in stealth mode, he can't tell where he is, and he can't talk back to Dean, and he doesn't like it at all. It's all very open-plan, and there's nowhere they can sit unobserved, so after they've collected the pile of books Dean's interested in, Sam sits down with them and Dean leans over his shoulder, snorting his disgust into Sam's neck whenever they come across passages that are particularly frustrating. Which is pretty much every paragraph of every book they open. They all either extol the need to purify the soul and acquire divine virtues and moral sense, or talk vaguely about oneness with the universe.
"Guess that rules out me fucking you tonight," Dean whispers, as though it's a joke, but Sam can hear the desperation under the words.
By the time they've gone through every section of every book that looks at all promising, they've gotten no further. Either Dean becomes a paragon of divine virtues, at one with the universe, or he remains invisible. Sam doesn't like either option.
*
Dean orders Sam to get a newspaper the next day, and lounges on the bed reading it (at least Sam assumes that's what he's doing from the dip in the bed and the occasional rustle of pages turning).
"You shouldn't be able to read, you know," Sam says.
"What?"
"If you're invisible, then you should be blind too," Sam says with a shrug.
"Geek." There's silence for a while, then the sound of a newspaper being put down with a sigh. "Okay, I give. Why? Why should I be blind?"
"Simple physics. Your body isn't absorbing light, so your retinas shouldn't either, which means you shouldn't be able to see."
"Looks like magic trumps physics," Dean says, sounding almost pleased by it, and the newspaper rustling starts up again.
"Found one," Dean says eventually.
"Found one what?" Sam asks through his mouthful of pastry.
"A hunt, dumbskull. What else did you think I was looking for?"
"Is it a good idea? I mean-" Sam trails off, not sure how to say he doesn't think Dean's ready to start hunting in his current state.
"Can't hang around here doing nothing forever. And this is easy, a poltergeist playing up in an old folks home. We can do it in our sleep."
Sam knows when not to argue. Doesn't always stop him from arguing anyway, but this time he gives in. The hunt sounds easy enough, at least compared to others they've done, and the both of them will go batshit crazy if they sit around doing nothing much longer.
*
The poltergeist is as easy to deal with as Dean predicted.
Sam goes in as a handyman, weapons secreted under his tools. Dean's close behind him, and Sam would love to be able to see him right now because half their weapons have disappeared and Sam would bet his next meal they're all hanging off Dean like he's Rambo.
"I'm here to fix the pipes," he says at the reception desk, and gets motioned upstairs immediately. There's lively singing coming from one of the downstairs rooms, some old show tune by the sound of it, but it's quiet upstairs.
"I'm here to fix the pipes?" Dean mocks as they're exploring the upper floors. "That the best you can do?"
Sam ignores him, eyes fixed on a vase that's hovering in mid air, in the opposite direction from Dean's voice. "Duck," Sam says, and a second later the vase is smashed at the far end of the hallway.
"Fuck," Dean says.
"You hit?"
"Nope, but get reading, and make it fast."
The first banishing spell Sam tries works - five minutes, and it's all over. Easiest job they've had in years.
"Told you so," Dean says, and Sam would smack him if he could only see him.
They try to make a quick escape. Sam creeps quietly along the hallway to the exit, but just as he's nearly out the door there's an admiring oh, my behind him, and he makes the mistake of turning around.
Two white haired ladies, Ada and Margaret (call me Peggy, hon, my late husband always called me Peggy) descend on him with shocking speed and before he can make any excuses he finds himself in a high-backed chair in Ada's room, drinking tea from a tiny china cup and being plied with cake. Chunks of his cake keep vanishing, and he has to hope Ada and Peggy, and Eve and Doreen who've joined them, don't notice. Doreen keeps pinching his cheeks and exclaiming over his dimples, and Peggy's hand keeps landing on his thigh, higher and higher each time. Sam can hear muffled snickering around the room.
"You could've stayed there. Been their toy boy. You'd have been set for life," Dean says none too quietly when Sam finally manages to escape. "That Eve made a mean carrot cake. And Doreen and Peggy couldn't keep their hands off of you."
"I hate you," is all Sam can come up with.
*
They stop to pick up new credit cards from a P.O. Box in Albany, and Sam hustles pool, turning a blind eye when he knows the ball's been nudged into the pocket. He's never been as good at pool as Dean.
*
They leave Houston in a rush. There's a high school there now with a 'haunted' locker room. Dean doesn't even try to sound ashamed about it, and Sam reluctantly has to send him back in to return the momentos he took (Dean, you are so not stealing teenage girls' bras. It's sick. Honestly, I can't let you out of my sight-oh, shut up, you know what I mean.).
They stop at a roadside stand a comfortable distance outside Houston for snow cones. Dean complains, says he doesn't like them, but Sam pulls over anyway, and ignores the puzzled look from the vendor when he buys two. He takes them back to the car, puts his seat back and it's the best fucking snow cone he's ever tasted, thick with syrup. It's a cold slide of refreshment down his throat, and he wants to marry this snow cone and keep it forever.
He licks his fingers after he's finished, every trace of syrup.
"You want to go get another, I'm not stopping you man," Dean offers nonchalently.
Sam laughs. "You enjoyed it."
"It was okay. Not as bad as I was expecting."
"I'll just get myself a second one then."
"Might as well get me one too, if you're going back over there."
Sam gets two more, strawberry this time. Sweet and fruity.
Sam's tongue feels like it'll never warm up after the second one. He doesn't bother putting the seat upright, just stretches out as much as he can and closes his eyes for a moment.
And then Dean's fingers are on his fly, unbuttoning him. No warning, not when he couldn't even see Dean leaning over, and Sam lets out an involuntary grunt of approval before he complains.
"Dean, dude, this is a rest stop. With, you know, cars full of families. You can't do this here," Sam says and bats Dean's hand away. Half-hearted though.
"It isn't as though they can see me, so you just look normal - well, as best you can, considering - and we won't educate any kids in the improper uses of a rest stop."
Sam doesn't argue any more. Doesn't want to, honestly.
Dean palms him through his boxers, pressing the cotton seam against Sam's cock, then slips his hand inside. It's warm and sweaty, and Sam's not hard yet, but he will be soon, he'll swell into Dean's hand and he closes his eyes, already knowing.
Dean's slow and steady, like they have all the time in the world. Sure touch, Dean's hand almost as familiar as his own, though the angle's awkward even with Sam twisting in his seat as much as he can.
Heat's building inside him, sharp and bright. Osmosis from the thick still air inside the car. He'd crank a window, but he doesn't want to draw attention. It's as hot outside anyway.
Sam reaches out. "Let me feel you," he says, and Dean takes his hand, places it on his shoulder. Sam can find his own way from there, and does, tugging Dean's tee-shirt off and feeling the steady undulation of muscle.
And then Dean swipes his tongue down Sam's cock, and it's like ice. Sam jumps, can't help himself. "Fuck," he says.
"Just wait until I swallow you down," Dean says, and then does.
The cold is almost painful, but it's exhilarating too, and Sam hopes no one comes anywhere near the car because he's head flung back and legs outspread and his cock is hanging loose, proud and red and aching now, and it's worth being arrested for.
Dean makes it last, pulling back every time Sam thinks he can't hold on a second longer, teasing him to the point where Sam just tugs on him, holds him in place and begs. "Do it," he says. "Make me come," and Dean takes instructions sometimes, when it suits him. Swallows him down far as he can and slips his hand inside the dark of Sam's boxers, finding the fragile mass of Sam's balls. Holds him through it.
Dean tucks him away afterwards, Sam feeling too sleepy even to care about passersby.
"Want me to-"
"I'm fine." Dean doesn't sound it though, and it frustrates Sam that he can't keep up with Dean's moods, can't tell what will make him laugh and what will make him quiet, can't make everything right.
"You-"
"I need a piss," Dean says, and the door opens and closes.
He's gone ten minutes, and Sam doesn't know if he's gone for a walk, or if he's standing by the side of the road jacking off.
"Are you okay?" Sam asks, even though he knows it's a pointless question.
"We're not gonna talk."
"We'll find something, some answer. I promise you."
"Not. Gonna. Talk."
*
Some days, Sam's angry.
Angry with the fucking religious freaks who thought they could just interfere with his brother's life like this, without even asking, without having a cure for what they've done to him. He's angry with Dean when he's joking around and pretending it's no big deal. He's angry even though he knows Dean's scared of being like this forever, and trying to hide it, and Sam knows he's being unfair. He's angry at the thought that he might spend the rest of the life stuck with Dean like this, and then he really hates himself. He's angry with Bobby and Ash for not having the answer, and he's angry at his dad for not being around.
He shakes with it sometimes.
"We need another job, man," Dean says, and Sam nods and opens his laptop.
*
They pick up a job in central New Mexico, a haunted holiday house. It's been empty for months, but when they look around, there's no visible sign of anything evil.
"Picking up anything?" Sam asks, unable to see the EMF meter Dean's holding.
There's no immediate answer. "Are you nodding or shaking your head, Dean?" Sam asks.
"Shaking it," Dean says.
The owners have a new property near by - brand spanking new, we don't want any more trouble - and welcome Sam in when he brandishes a badge from the Alamogordo Daily News. They ply him with ice tea and non-stop talk.
Millie, their daughter, is back home in Chicago - she's too old to come holidaying with us old foggies - but Mrs. Delgado is eager to tell how Millie came running into their bedroom one morning, convinced she'd seen a ghost in the shower.
"And she's not a girl given to fancies. She's a sensible girl, smart head on her shoulders," her father says proudly. "She's going to UIC in the fall."
"She's never seen anything like that before, so we believe her. And of course there were the bells as well," Mrs. Delgado says.
"The bells?" Sam asks.
"At night, we'd lie in bed and hear these bells. Both of us, didn't we, Perry?" She turns to her husband for comfirmation, and he nods, looking embarrassed. "I sent my Perry out one night looking to see if we could find out the cause, but we never did."
"Never," Perry says.
"Always had a bad feeling when we lived there. Never felt right, even though it was a pretty little place. Buying this place was the best thing we could have done."
Sam finishes his drink, and finally manages to interrupt a monologue on Millie's charms and accomplishments to say goodbye.
"Tight schedule, you know. Gotta meet deadlines," he says, and Mr. and Mrs. Delgado nod and usher him out the door.
Sam's lost track of Dean's whereabouts - he was unusually quiet in the house - so he's relieved to hear his voice when he gets back to the Impala.
"Thought they'd never shut up," Dean says.
"At least we know what it is we're dealing with now," Sam says as he starts the car.
"We do? Yes, of course we do."
"You don't have a clue, do you?" Sam loves it when he's ahead of Dean on a hunt.
"I have a clue. Of course I have a clue." There's a pause. "Dammit, Sam, just tell me already."
"We're going to the hardware store to pick up a carbon monoxide detector."
"Exactly what I was about to suggest."
Sam rolls his eyes. "It sounds like the classic symptoms of carbon monoxide induced hallucinations."
They set up the detector, and sleep outside in the Impala overnight. Next morning, Sam's theory is proven correct, and after Dean tinkers around with the gas furnace for a few minutes, he finds the problem.
"Shoddy workmanship," Dean complains, angry. "Someone could have died, not just thought they were seeing a ghost."
"Can you fix it?"
"Why? We can just let the Delgados know, and let them get it sorted."
"Because if we fix it, we can use the place for a while." Sam's surprised he's the one suggesting it, but Dean's eager once the idea's in his head. Half an hour later there's one final clank, and a satisfied done.
The house is in a quiet spot, right on the edge of a clear blue lake, picture postcard pretty and no neighbors in sight. The only regular sounds are the flocks of birds - Sam doesn't know what they're called - that settle noisily on the edge of the lake every morning and fly off at sunset.
There's a town nearby, with a diner that bakes ten different pies on the premises every morning, and lots of touristy knick-knack shops full of fat matronly women with too much jewelry, and Dean's wallet gets fatter each time they go into town. Sam thinks he ought to remonstrate, but he can't bring himself to do so. Would feel like a hypocrite, so they buy decent takeout that tastes almost homemade and drink good coffee, and Sam picks up a spare battery for his laptop and a new spare tire for the impala.
In the morning they swim, straight out of bed and into the water, last one in's a pussy. The water's freezing, only bearable if they jump straight in. Sam feels more alive than he's done in ages. They towel off roughly afterwards and go running along the side of the lake, pounding along hard-packed dust, two sets of footsteps so closely in sync that it sounds like there's only one person running. Sam changes his pace just so he can hear Dean beside him.
They race intervals. Dean gives a shout at the agreed finish line every time, high and proud like a winner, and insists he was first even when Sam knows the shout came from behind him. He makes sure they only race in straight lines - he knows Dean will cheat any chance he gets.
Afterwards, breathless and panting, they flop down outside the shack in the sun and argue over who should go inside for drinks.
Dean lays his guns out on two layers of sheets to make sure they don't get any dust on them, and cleans them until the metal gets too hot in the sun for him to handle. He packs them away, each in its proper place, and then he lies down and falls asleep in the sun. Sam wakes him up, but not soon enough. He's sunburned, and winces like a baby when Sam tries to rub aloe vera lotion on his back - not easy when he can't see what he's doing, it's not his fault if he pokes at sore spots.
It feels like they're on vacation, almost.
*
Sam turns the light out at night. It makes things easier, it doesn't seem so wrong that he can't see Dean when it's dark. If Dean goes to bed first, then Sam can see the shape of the bedclothes, can tell if Dean's sprawled expansively on his back or curled up on his side, can tell if his shoulders are relaxed or hunched and miserable. It's the closest there is to a normal moment.
*
Sam hasn't had a vision in weeks. He's grateful for the reprieve, thinks it's probably lack of proximity to the yellow-eyed demon, though they've not really been able to test out that theory. Whatever the reason, it's good. Saves on pain-killers.
Nightmares, though, they're another matter. By day he thinks he's dealing, but at night he dreams of losing Dean, reaches out for him and he slips through his fingers, dissolves into the air like cheap special effects or vanishes into the distance and Sam can never catch up, never find him again. He wakes up sweating, bedclothes thrown to the floor, and he has to reach out and feel for Dean, trace familiar lines long enough to reassure himself back into sleep.
*
"Oh, disgusting," Dean whispers, a stage whisper that's too loud for the almost empty coffee shop. It's quiet enough that they've risked Dean coming in and taking a seat - Sam prefers to keep him within hearing range when he can.
Sam takes a sip of his coffee. "It's not that bad," he says. "Try putting some sugar in it."
"Not the coffee. That."
"What?"
"That."
"You do remember that I can't tell when you're pointing?"
There's a brief silence that's clearly Dean remembering, and trying to pretend he isn't just now remembering that. "Nine o'clock," he says.
Sam turns around discreetly, and back again. "What's disgusting? It's just a family, having breakfast." There are parents, a young girl and a baby, no reason that Sam can see to have Dean so flustered.
"She's-"
"What?"
"You know."
"Dean, if I knew what the fricking hell you were talking about, would I keep on saying what?"
"Yes. To annoy me."
"Okay, true. But I really don't know what's got your panties in a twist this time."
"She's feeding the baby. At the table. In public."
Sam snorts when he realizes Dean's problem. His brother the prude. "Dude, you're such a prude."
"I'm trying to eat here."
Sam leans over the table towards Dean, disguising it as a lazy stretch. He drops his voice a little. "Never known you have problems-eating just because there are a pair of boobs on display."
Sam can practically hear Dean's shudder. "That's different. That is completely different. And she's all-saggy and veiny."
"You're watching, aren't you? Dean."
"Come on, like you wouldn't."
Sam wouldn't, but he doubts he can persuade Dean of that. He just makes sure to catch hold of Dean's shirt as he heads out, to avoid Dean making any little detours around the tables.
*
"Come on, Harvey," Sam calls under his breath, dodging a little girl riding her bike on the sidewalk.
"If I'm Harvey, you're Elwood. Come to think of it, you are as irritating as Elwood." Sam hears the sniggering, and to judge by a couple of turned heads and puzzled looks, he's not the only one.
"Come to think of it, you're too much of a midget to be Harvey. Though I suppose if we transplanted your ears to the top of your head, that'd give you a couple more inches-"
Sam stumbles, a kick to the back of his knee to blame. He recovers quickly, experience. "Testy little pooka, aren't you?"
"Fuck you," Dean says into his ear, and grabs his crotch hard enough to make Sam squeak.
*
Dean acts put upon for the rest of the day, as though the sight of a breast-feeding woman was a personal affront. "I'm starving," he announces mid-morning, dragging them out of the library after less than an hour's research.
"Want a carrot?"
"Ha, ha, very funny," Dean says grumpily.
"How can you be hungry already anyway?"
"Couldn't eat my breakfast."
Sam roars with laughter, right in the middle of the main street. But he makes it up to Dean later, with extra chilli fries first, and then by sucking Dean down so hard he feels it in the back of his throat for days afterwards.
*
Even invisible, Dean's bad at hiding things from Sam. He might think Sam doesn't see the pilfered books - philosophy and self-help, all subjects Dean would normally dismiss as crap - stuffed in the bottom of his duffle, or hear the rustling of pages turning at night, but it's obvious something is going on. Something Dean isn't comfortable sharing with Sam. Which means Sam has to force his hand.
He sits on the edge of the bed, aware of the dip beside him that gives away Dean's position. "A beer?" he asks, holding a bottle of Molson out a fraction.
"Sure," Dean says. Sam feels Dean's hand take hold of it, and lunges. Seconds later, he has Dean's book in his hand, still open to the page Dean must have been reading.
"What the fuck?" Dean shouts, and is all over Sam. Sam just stands up to his full height and holds the book over his head, fending Dean off with his other hand. He tries to read the book upside down, tilting his head sideways. Finding your inner peace, he reads out loud with a snicker.
"Whatever, man," Dean says, and suddenly he's gone, a draft from the slammed door the only trace of him.
Sam feels like a jerk, pushing too hard. Sometimes he forgets that it's not just a joke to Dean, forgets how desperately he must want to solve this problem.
He opens the door, sticks his head out and calls softly. "Dean? Look, get your sorry ass back in here. It's cold out." He's sorry, and it torments him that he hasn't been able to find anything to help so far, anything beyond the vague plan of Dean reaching a higher plan of understanding, whatever that is.
*
Dean doesn't show up until the next morning, by which time Sam's gone through remorse, anger, remorse again, and kicking the bed leg in sheer frustration.
The door opens and closes, and a box of jelly donuts shows up on the bed. "You'll have to get coffee," Dean says. "The shop was too crowded for me to lift any."
Sam gets coffees and more donuts - there's one left in the box by the time he gets back, which is one more than he expects - and they drink in silence.
"If you want to go on alone, that's okay, you know," Dean says eventually.
Sam's shocked. They're in this, all of this, together. It's clear to him, but obviously it's not that clear to Dean. "For better, for worse," he mutters without thinking, and then smiles at the sound of Dean's laughter.
"We're not married," Dean says later, when Sam's almost forgotten his own words. "We're not joined at the hip."
"I know." Sam is emphatic. "I know that. But I'm not going to let your sorry invisible ass terrorize the country, if that's what you're hoping."
"Spoilsport."
*
They're lying together, still sex-sticky and hot, but too lazy to move, and Sam won't admit it but he needs to touch Dean more now, reassurance as much as anything, that he's there and safe. And maybe Dean doesn't feel so awkward resting his head in the curve of Sam's arm when Sam can't see him.
"I've read everything," he says, out of the blue, muffled words into Sam's armpit. "Every fucking book on self-realization I can get my hands on. And they're all contradictory, a bunch of new age crap."
"There's got to be something in some of them," Sam says, attempting optimism.
"Yeah, well, you're the scholar, you find it."
"I will, Dean. We will find the answer."
"Blow me."
"We will, I promise. There's Bobby and Ash looking as well-"
"Sam, just shut up already and blow me." Dean wriggles his hips in emphasis, his burgeoning hard-on pushing into the sweaty crease of Sam's thigh.
"Oh." And Sam forgets self-realization for a while in the weight of Dean's cock on his tongue.
*
Then things go wrong. This job's from Ellen - she phones apologetically, but tells them it's urgent.
"Sounds like there's something big going down in Utah. Someone calling up demons they can't handle. Invisible ones too, sounds like. I'm sorry boys, I know it's not the best timing for you, but there's no one else I know of nearby who can take it on."
"I'm not sure, Ellen. It's really not a good idea," Sam demures, but then Dean grabs his cell. It vanishes, so Sam can't even grab it back.
"It's okay, Ellen, of course we'll take it. Just give us the details, and we're there."
"Ash is emailing us his notes," Dean says after he's said goodbye to Ellen. Sam is pissed, because this is tough hunt, and it sounds like there's not much time before the main event plays - the killings started off small, a hiker in Bryce Canyon, a child in Panguitch, but they're developing an exponential pattern, and the trail is heading towards more populated areas.
So, they study Ash's notes - they're good, Sam'll give him that, even though he's irrationally annoyed with both him and Ellen right now - and they come up with a plan, and even a backup plan of sorts. They just don't have time to think everything through, play out all the possible outcomes, but Dean's confident, excited. Sam can practically feel him quivering in the seat beside him as they cross into Utah, like a dog about to be let off the leash.
Turns out, invisible demons can see Dean plain as day, but the advantage doesn't go the other way. They're caught off guard, plan A failing instantly, plan B a wash as that counted on Dean's invisibility, and no plan C to fall back on. All they can do is try to fight their way out of it, but they're separated, and Sam can't fucking see Dean, or the demons, not even shadows, and he's terrified he might injure Dean instead of them, and he doesn't know what to do.
"Where are you?" he calls out, and there's an answer in one direction and then another, and he can't tell which is Dean.
"Sammy, it's me," he hears behind him, but the tone is wrong. He hesitates though, and then there's pain ripping through his arm, and blood dripping down it, and then another slash, and another, and he can feel himself getting weaker and weaker with each slash and he still doesn't know where to aim. He feels claws dig bone deep before there's a flash of bright light and a hideous howling from all directions. And then an arm around him, unmistakable, Dean.
Sam can barely stand - he can feel the warm trail of blood down his arm, dripping off the end of his hand, and his chest feels wrong too, but it doesn't hurt any more, because he can't feel anything else. Not even his legs, and he needs to feel his legs to walk, because he has to get out of here. He can hear Dean, faintly, nagging him on and on to keep walking, there's not much time Sammy, they'll be back, but he just wants to sit down for a bit, rest. Not for long, he won't let Dean down, he just needs a few seconds, catch his breath. A minute, maybe.
Just a rest.
For a moment.
*
He wakes up alone, somewhere clean-smelling and painful-bright through his closed eyelids, sheets folded tight and geometric around him. He recognizes it's a hospital long before he makes the effort to open his eyes.
He swallows, throat rusty-dry and sore. Then feels an ice chip on his lips, and opens up for it.
"Dean," he whispers, looking around and seeing no one.
"Of course, man," Dean stage-whispers back. "Know anyone else who can make ice chips appear out of thin air?"
Sam laughs, except it turns into a cough, and it hurts to breath that hard, and he sinks gratefully back into sleep.
*
He thinks he might have woken again after that, but when he calls for Dean there's no answer, so he tries to change the dream, or fall back into a dreamless sleep where it doesn't matter that he can't see or hear his brother.
Next time he wakes it's dark, the hospital sounds a quiet steady monotone the other side of closed doors. He's sure he's awake this time - the throbbing in his arm and chest assure him of that.
"Hey," Dean says, and Sam feels a hand take hold of his.
"What happened," Sam asks, after he's managed half a glass of water through a straw.
"You got torn up pretty bad. Had to phone for an ambulance and follow along behind," Dean says shortly. "You lost a lot of blood. Couldn't even offer to give mine," he adds, and Sam winces at the frustration in his voice.
"Sorry," he says.
"Yeah, well, you're doing okay now, I think. Not that I can actually ask the doctors for a plain English version of how you are-"
Sam would laugh, but he can hear the fear underneath Dean's easy words, and he knows how it feels.
"You been here all the time?"
There's a pause before Dean answers. "Of course."
Sam tilts his head to one side, and wishes desperately he could see Dean. The normal tells don't work, that sideways glance and fidget with his ring that Dean does when he's lying. But the pause was enough of a clue.
"Where've you been?" Sam asks.
"Here."
"And?"
"You're a persistant bastard, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Okay, I went to church. Satisfied?"
"You went to church? What, there was something needed exorcising there or something?"
"Yeah, Sammy, because I'm going to leave my baby brother dying in hospital to go do a job." Dean's pissed.
"Sorry."
"I went to pray. I just-I thought it worked for you sometimes, and you're not totally dumb, so if you believe in it there must be some point, and I thought it might work better if I was, I dunno, closer to God or something. In a church. So I went there and I prayed. And you're awake."
Sam is amazed that Dean can make it sound so simple.
*
After Sam gets out, they backtrack south, tracing their route back towards the desert. It's not a decision they make, as such. Sam just gets behind the wheel and heads that way, and Dean doesn't argue. They're not ready for big jobs yet, Sam still kitten-weak and Dean invisible, and Dean says he's phoned around and someone else is dealing with the Utah demons. He doesn't give any details, so Sam doesn't ask, just accepts it. He has to sometimes. So they go towards the empty heat and the quiet, and Sam silently hopes the supernatural world will let them have a brief respite. And when they pass a church, square white stone by the side of the road, Dean doesn't argue when Sam pulls up just beyond it.
Sam has his hand on the door handle when Dean asks.
"D'you think prayers always work? I mean, it's not like He can listen to all of them, right? And what if they're contradictory? What if I'm praying for one thing, and someone else is praying for something different, and both things can't happen?" The questions rush out, one after another.
"Dude, you've been thinking this through far too much."
"Don't you think about it?"
"No." Sam shakes his head. "No, I just-have faith. It's easier that way, trusting. I don't think we're meant to understand the big picture. It's too big for us, you know?"
Sam hears the sigh. "Whatever." But Dean sounds more thoughtful than frustrated - Sam's gotten good at reading him just from the little sounds and sighs and the way he speaks, doesn't even need to see his face any more. Though he misses it, misses Dean's cocky grin, and the look he gets in his eyes when he thinks Sam's asleep and doesn't notice him watching him.
"Coming?" he asks, and heads back towards the church, running his fingers through his hair to tame it into some semblance of order and respect.
The door's open, but there's no one around. Sam sits at the back anyway, more comfortable there, but he hears Dean's footsteps go all the way to the front.
Dean doesn't stay long, grabbing Sam's sleeve on the way back as though he doesn't realize the noise he makes with his boots on the wooden floor.
"I said thanks," he says, later, when they're driving along, windows open and Pink Floyd cranked right up.
Sam doesn't get it for a second. "For what?" he asks, and then it's obvious even before Dean answers.
"For you. Being alive. For having someone greater than us to turn to, I guess. For not feeling quite so helpless after I'd begged Him not to let you die." The words are tumbling out of Dean's mouth, like it's a relief to let them go. "We've dealt with some weird shit, and this-" - Sam pictures Dean gesturing - "this is some of the weirdest, and maybe I'll never work out how to make myself visible again, but-"
There's silence so long Sam doesn't think Dean's going to continue. Then there's a hand on his thigh, quick touch. "But it doesn't matter, not really. You're alive and I'm alive, and we can get by like this, and someone out there answered my prayer. That's what's important."
"Yeah, it really is," Sam agrees.
"And now, for fucks sake, let's never talk of this again." The radio volume goes up a notch, from too loud to nearly unbearable, and Dean starts singing along with it.
Sam feels oddly content, despite the cacophony.
*
He feels stronger in the morning, nothing more than a bad twinge in his arm if he moves suddenly, but he lazes on the bed anyway. Dean's in the shower, and there's no rush to get up. He almost closes his eyes and stays like that, not fully awake, but not sleeping either.
The shower turns off, and the door squeaks open and closed, unusually carefully. And Sam sees Dean tip-toeing towards him. He sees him, clear and visible as he ever was, naked and dripping. There's a smirk on Dean's face, and a bottle in his hand, top off, and Sam just knows the plan is for the contents to end up on Sam.
Sam waits. He doesn't move, doesn't twitch. He waits until Dean is in reach, just before the bottle starts to tip, and then he pounces. The bottle ends up all over Dean, which doesn't do much seeing as he's already soaking, and Sam settles on top of Dean, pushing him down on the wet carpet.
Dean narrows his eyes and looks at Sam. "You can see me."
Sam tilts his head. "So it seems."
"I thought I had to be at one with the universe or some such crap first."
"Looks like you and the universe are all one now." Sam laughs.
"So, what, I just had to pray? You're telling me it was that simple, and you couldn't have found that out before?" Dean sounds peeved. "Because, dude, I'm not proud, I'd have been in the first church we found."
"I think it was a bit more than that."
"Like what?"
Sam sits up, serious now, and thinks a moment. "Like, finding your place in the universe, recognizing that you're not alone, that it's okay to ask for help. Coming to terms with that, maybe?"
Dean fidgets underneath Sam, his discomfort visible. "They teach you this crap at Stanford?"
"Yes, in Higher Consciousness through Meditation Blah Blah Blah 101. My favorite class. You'd have loved it."
"Smart ass."
*
Later, Dean's on the bed, air dried but still naked, and Sam's leaning on his good arm, idly tracing freckles with his finger.
"Missed this," Sam mutters, wanting to say it almost as much as he doesn't want to.
"Yeah," Dean says, and just looks at him a moment. "I would've too, if, you know, it'd been the other way around."
"I know," Sam says.
"Doesn't mean you're not ugly as sin, because you are," Dean adds. "Uglier, even."
"You love me." Sam smiles, smug.
Dean doesn't bother answering. Just pulls Sam down into a kiss, slow making out like they never seem to find time for.
Sam keeps his eyes open, takes in the familiar and the changes. There's a scabbed over slash on Dean's cheek - must have been a nasty cut - and Sam traces the edge of it with his tongue.
"Was this the Utah demons?" Sam asks.
There's a fraction of a pause before Dean mumbles an answer. "Yes," he says.
"Oh fuck, no," Sam exclaims. "It was me."
"Don't be such a pussy. It's not like it was intentional, and I'm still way handsomer than you."
"What else?" Sam asks.
Dean shrugs. "That's it."
Sam holds Dean still, head cradled in his hands, fingers gently searching. Dean's squirming underneath him, but Sam has to do this, and Dean must get it, because he doesn't actually throw Sam off, just grumbles and looks uncomfortable.
"You sure?" Sam asks.
"God, you're such a girl. I might have been invisible, but I wasn't made of glass. I'm still whole, nothing missing. All parts fully operational. See?" Dean spreads his arms out and thrusts his hips up a fraction, and Sam takes it as an invitation. It's the same, but different, tracing Dean's skin now he can see him again, and if he's slower and gentler and lingers over every scar and bruise, Dean at least for once holds back on the wisecracks.
He pulls Sam back up eventually though, kisses him, slow and wet and messy, and Sam could do this forever. He's no more than half-hard, and neither is Dean. There's no urgency. It's warm in the room, and Sam's comfortable wrapped around Dean and he thinks he might fall asleep again before they get any further, but it's all good.
Dean's at one with the universe, and Sam's feeling remarkably the same right now.
end
I dragged my feet across a seat
Jumped out the passenger side
The only thing worth looking for
Is what you find inside
But that had not yet appeared
Lost invisible here.
R.E.M. - Disappear
Notes: The huge road runner made of scrap metal does exist. So do the Hermitic Order of the Golden Dawn (the quote from their website is genuine), though I'm sure they don't go around making people invisible! "Un par tan lindo" is Spanish for such a cute couple.
Author: Signe
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 9,280 words
Notes: Written for pheebs1, for her request (invisible Wincest) made ages ago in the Massive Flist Fic Exhange o' Doom. Huge thanks as ever to my betas: flipmontigirl who I'm utterly dependant on, and annalazarus who is very patiently Americanising me.
lost invisible here
"Fucking religious nuts."
"I don't know," Sam says slyly. "A lot of what they say makes sense, when you think about it."
Dean turns his head away from the road ahead and stares at Sam. Long and considering. Then bursts out laughing.
"Good one, Sammy." He pats him on the thigh. "Good one."
*
They make good time out of Wichita Falls, long clear roads that the Impala eats up, steady and sure. Sam sleeps on and off, but every time he wakes up, Dean has the same content expression on his face, his foot heavy on the gas.
They're not heading anywhere in particular yet. Just away. Away from Wichita Falls and the Hermitic Order of the Golden Dawn. Not that there was anything demonic going on with them, not that they had to escape or anything, but Dean looked more freaked out by their praying over the two of them than Sam had seen him look at any demonic attack. When he'd started humming Metallica, that's when Sam knew they needed to get out, right there and then. He'd tease Dean about it later, but for now they'd gotten out, taken the first exit out of town and driven in a straight line ever since.
*
"Potty stop, Sammy boy," Sam hears as Dean prods him awake.
Sam ignores him. Looks out the window. There's a gigantic bird staring down at him, beady metal eyes unblinking.
"What the fuck?" Sam says. "That thing's at least twenty feet tall."
"Biggest road runner in the world." Dean nods knowingly.
"You're making that up."
"Yeah, but it's big enough to make even your beanpole legs look short."
The owner lets them use the restroom at the back of his office, then Dean wanders around to check out two scrap metal dinosaurs further back on the lot. He snaps photos of Sam and the dinosaurs on his cell, and then hands over the phone to a matronly woman who doesn't speak English but gets the gist of Dean's gesturing, and takes a shot of the two of them leaning against the road runner. Dean slings his arm around Sam's shoulders at the last second and Sam leans in and they're both smiling at each other like there's no one else in the world, and it's all there in the picture.
The woman turns to her husband after she's handed the phone back. "Un par tan lindo," she says to him, giving Sam and Dean a fond look.
Sam bites his lip, pretending not to understand, more pleased than embarrassed.
"What'd she say?" Dean asks as the couple wander off in the opposite direction.
"She said she's surprised you didn't crack the camera lens," Sam says, and Dean flicks his ear for it. He still sends Sam a copy of the picture though. He'll upload it to the laptop and get it printed out sometime. He hasn't had a photo in his wallet since the fire, and that's too long to be without.
*
They sleep in the car that night; they're between credit cards, and they left - Sam mentally adjusts the term to 'fled' - town before Dean had a chance to hustle any pool. So Sam's assuming money is tight. Not that Dean ever admits it, of course.
They've pulled off the road by a lake, just visible from the road through a rocky outcrop. It's warm in the car, even first thing when the sun forces Sam awake viciously early, and the lake looks inviting. Dean's not in the car. Gone for a leak probably, though it's not like him to miss the chance to wake Sam up with the horn. Sam feels stiff and gritty, the grime from two days sticking his shirts to him - pulling them off feels good. He drapes his clothes in a pile on a rock and jumps in. The water is frigid and he shrieks as he surfaces, howling with the cold.
If Dean were in sight, Sam would soak him. He can't be that far away though - Sam hears him chuckle.
"Cold, huh, Sam? Better make sure your junk doesn't shrivel up and fall off."
"Is that what happened to you as a kid?" Sam taunts.
There's a splash behind him, and Sam has to give Dean his due: he hadn't seen him creep up on him at all. In fact, he still can't see him, just the spread of ripples where he went under.
"Dean," he calls out pointlessly, as Dean must be swimming underwater, probably out to catch Sam by the legs. He's not going to make it though, because the water is perfectly clear, and Sam can see for yards around him. "Dean," he says again, trying to keep the alarm out of his voice.
"Need your hand held or something, baby brother?" Dean's voice is right next to him, in the direction Sam is looking, right where the ripples are still slithering across the surface of the water. But Sam can't see him.
"Where are you?" he asks.
"Very funny."
Sam gets a mouthful of cold water as his face is splashed. "Seriously, man, I can't see you."
"Can you see anything?" Dean's voice is all business now, concerned.
"I can see everything, fine. Just not you."
"You're bullshitting."
"No man, hunter's honor."
"You really can't see me?"
"Stop doing that." Sam has no idea what Dean is doing, but he could make several guesses.
"So you can see me."
"Dude, no, I'm telling you I can't. I just know you, is all."
"Well," Dean says, ponderingly, "this is a new one."
*
They dry off on rough towels lifted from the last motel. It's eerie, seeing a towel vanish into thin air.
"Did anything happen in the night?" Sam asks.
"I slept, you slept." There's a pause, and Sam can tell Dean's smirking. "Unless you groped me in my sleep again. Want to own up to anything?"
"It was just that one time, and it was an accident," Sam retorts quickly. It wasn't just once, and it wasn't an accident, and they both know that, but Sam's not giving Dean the satisfaction. And he's certainly not going to tell him that he misses being able to see him already. Dean'd never let him live that down.
"S'okay, Sammy, I understand that it's hard for you to keep your hands off of me."
Sam rolls his eyes and wishes Dean could have been rendered silent rather than invisible.
*
"We need to go somewhere we can get wireless," Sam says as he starts the engine. Dean had handed the keys over reluctantly, insisting he was fine to drive, but unable to argue with Sam's reasoning about the likelihood of them getting stopped if there were no one visible behind the wheel.
"And coffee," Dean says.
"You'll have to stay in the car."
"The fuck I will." Sam swears he can feel the heat of Dean's glare on the side of his neck.
"So you want me to have to explain a floating or disappearing coffee cup next to me? And you're going to keep absolutely silent and not say a single word if we're anywhere near other people?"
"S'just a waste, is all. Perfectly good superpower, and my kid brother doesn't want to let me use it."
"Superpower?" Sam sniggers. "Dude, you've been cursed or hexed or something. You don't have a superpower."
"What? You don't think invisibility counts as a superpower? Are you saying Lyle Norg and Susan Storm didn't have superpowers?"
"They could turn themselves visible or invisible at will. Besides, Invisible Woman could project invisible force fields. Now that would be useful. This, well, this is just a nuisance."
There's a muttered comment that sounds very much like spoilsport from the seat next to Sam, and he can't quite restrain his smile.
"You're trying to project a force field, aren't you?" Sam says.
There's a pause. Then a muted denial.
"You liar." Sam smiles.
"I have to get to use my superpower once before we sort this thing out though. I mean, man, girls' locker rooms, showers-it'd be criminal to miss out."
"And here I thought you were wanting to use your new," Sam lifts his hands off the wheel to make ironic quotes, "superpower for good."
"That too. But hot chicks. Hot naked chicks. Wet naked chicks. Come on, Sammy."
Sam can't help wondering if he used to sound that whiny as a kid. He thinks he probably did, but it doesn't make Dean's wheedling any more fun to deal with.
*
They pull off the road for a while to work out a few things before they reach anywhere populated Anything small that Dean picks up turns invisible. When Sam hands him something, it turns invisible as soon as Sam lets go. Anything large isn't affected. They haven't worked out an exact answer as to what will become invisible in Dean's hands and what won't, but he's gone through the weapon's chest and everything in there vanished as soon as he lifted it out. That's a relief - Sam didn't like the idea of Dean not being able to carry.
Dean tries lifting Sam up off the ground to see what will happen. He doesn't bother giving any warning first, so Sam nearly brains him when he finds himself grasped by the waist and hoisted up. Sam doesn't become invisible - not that he can tell that himself, because after all Dean can still see himself, and he's definitely invisible - but he can tell by the way Dean puts him down with a disappointed hmmph.
"Didn't work, huh?" Sam checks.
"Guess you're too big."
"Guess you've just got minipowers."
*
By the time Sam's spent four hours scouring tedious, ugly and mind-numbing websites, he's wishing yet again that Dean would let him give Ash a call. Sure, Ash'd laugh, and he'd probably never let Dean forget it, but Sam has a headache, and his laptop battery is running on empty, and his answer isn't the one he'd been hoping for. He's not looking forward to getting back to Dean - who he hopes is still waiting in the car - and giving him the answer.
Dean is in the car, though he's not fidgeting when Sam gets in so Sam suspects he's been out for an invisible walk around Tucson. He doesn't push the issue though, not when he's got news like this to give Dean.
"What the hell do you mean, I have to achieve self-realization?" If Sam thought Dean sounded whiny before, that has nothing on this.
"Looks like the priests of the Hermitic Order of the Golden Dawn took quite a liking to you, and thought they'd help you on your path to a higher level."
Dean groans. "Might've asked me first. And what's it got to do with me turning invisible, anyway?"
"That chanting we heard when we left. That must have been their invisibility ritual."
Sam looks up. It's weird not knowing exactly where to look, not being able to see Dean's reaction, even though he can guess it most of the time.
"And they performed that on me because-?"
Sam's made notes in dad's journal, which he has propped up against the steering wheel.
"It says on their website, their purpose is to assist individuals to awaken and unfold their dormant potential by providing them with the necessary tools to achieve self-realization. This process transforms body, mind, and spirit, and ultimately leads to an entirely new relationship with the universe wherein the experience of duality, ego identity, and the distinction between self and not-self, inner and outer, are completely transcended, resulting in the self-realization of being that One Thing which is the entire universe."
"Okay, Sammy, a little help here. What's all that about my ego got to do with me being invisible? They thought I was too handsome or something? Jealous of my power over hot women?"
"They think being invisible will allow you to overcome worldly distractions and achieve self-realization more easily."
"So how do we get the fuckers to turn me visible again?"
Sam swallows.
"Sam. Out with it."
"They can't. There's no reverse ritual. You have to do it yourself, by reaching a new plane of understanding."
"We're going back to Wichita Falls, and I'm going to invisibly strangle their collective scrawny necks."
Sam judges it wisest to keep silent for now. And to keep tight hold of the car keys.
*
They hole up at a motel just off the I10. A single room, because Sam has to book it, and he stands for a moment trying to think of a good excuse for asking for two queens or a king and fails.
Dean's pissed off with him, even though it's hardly his fault that they're in this situation. But it's not Dean's either, so Sam doesn't say anything when the one bed sinks under Dean's weight and Dean orders Sam to fetch a six pack. Just goes off and fetches it, and throws a few of Dean's favorite snacks in the bag along with it.
By the time there's a pile of empty wrappers and a couple of empty bottles littering the floor beside the bed, the atmosphere feels a bit better.
Sam looks up from where he's sprawled on the floor on his stomach with dad's journal and a bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon. "We can still hunt, you know. While we're working this out. How to, you know, fix you."
"Great, sounds like you want to have me neutered."
Sam laughs, loud and open.
"Just saying, it could be a while, you know. And we can work something out. Even use your superpower."
"Ah, so now you're accepting that it's a superpower."
"Yeah, whatever, man."
Sam can hear Dean chugging his beer, even though the bottle disappeared as soon as Dean picked it up. It appears again, in mid-air, just before it lands on the floor with a clunk.
"No, I need to work on this. This self-realization thing."
"You sure?"
"Got any better ideas?"
Sam doesn't. He shakes his head. "Throw me a bag of doritos," he says.
*
In the dark it doesn't matter (so much) that Dean's invisible. Sam fucks him slow and steady, and he can hear Dean and feel every ripple of reaction, every grunt and every demand to just fucking get on with it, Sammy, and that's all he needs. He thinks that's all he needs. After, the bed is small enough that Dean can't complain if Sam wraps his arms around him and holds on tight. And Dean feels the same, solid and strong and there, and if Sam holds on a little tighter than usual, Dean doesn't say anything.
*
It's different in the daylight. Sam's in the shower, and he doesn't hear the door opening over the rush of the water, doesn't notice anything until the shower curtain rustles open and closed and there are hands on his hips, a mouth on his skin, licking warm water off him. He sees the pattern of water as it falls around Dean, hears the sound as Dean's elbow catches against the tiled wall, but Sam still gasps when his cock is palmed. He's soft, and Dean's hand encases him, but that doesn't last long. He's hard and ready by the time he hears the slap of bony knees on the shower floor, and more than ready when Dean starts to suck him.
"Is this part of your self-realization?" Sam asks, and Dean answers by tugging at his balls, then reaching back and pushing a finger up inside Sam. Sam guesses that's Dean's way of saying shut the fuck up.
*
Dean insists on being driven back into Tucson later. Sam can tell it grates on him, having to depend on Sam like this; any other time he'd make Dean beg for it, but he just pulls the keys out of his pocket. "Let's go," he says.
Dean comes into the library with Sam. They argue in the car about it first, but Dean points out that it's a quiet day, and the library won't be crowded, and he can fucking well too be stealthy when he wants to be.
It's hard not to jump each time Dean whispers in his ear - with Dean in stealth mode, he can't tell where he is, and he can't talk back to Dean, and he doesn't like it at all. It's all very open-plan, and there's nowhere they can sit unobserved, so after they've collected the pile of books Dean's interested in, Sam sits down with them and Dean leans over his shoulder, snorting his disgust into Sam's neck whenever they come across passages that are particularly frustrating. Which is pretty much every paragraph of every book they open. They all either extol the need to purify the soul and acquire divine virtues and moral sense, or talk vaguely about oneness with the universe.
"Guess that rules out me fucking you tonight," Dean whispers, as though it's a joke, but Sam can hear the desperation under the words.
By the time they've gone through every section of every book that looks at all promising, they've gotten no further. Either Dean becomes a paragon of divine virtues, at one with the universe, or he remains invisible. Sam doesn't like either option.
*
Dean orders Sam to get a newspaper the next day, and lounges on the bed reading it (at least Sam assumes that's what he's doing from the dip in the bed and the occasional rustle of pages turning).
"You shouldn't be able to read, you know," Sam says.
"What?"
"If you're invisible, then you should be blind too," Sam says with a shrug.
"Geek." There's silence for a while, then the sound of a newspaper being put down with a sigh. "Okay, I give. Why? Why should I be blind?"
"Simple physics. Your body isn't absorbing light, so your retinas shouldn't either, which means you shouldn't be able to see."
"Looks like magic trumps physics," Dean says, sounding almost pleased by it, and the newspaper rustling starts up again.
"Found one," Dean says eventually.
"Found one what?" Sam asks through his mouthful of pastry.
"A hunt, dumbskull. What else did you think I was looking for?"
"Is it a good idea? I mean-" Sam trails off, not sure how to say he doesn't think Dean's ready to start hunting in his current state.
"Can't hang around here doing nothing forever. And this is easy, a poltergeist playing up in an old folks home. We can do it in our sleep."
Sam knows when not to argue. Doesn't always stop him from arguing anyway, but this time he gives in. The hunt sounds easy enough, at least compared to others they've done, and the both of them will go batshit crazy if they sit around doing nothing much longer.
*
The poltergeist is as easy to deal with as Dean predicted.
Sam goes in as a handyman, weapons secreted under his tools. Dean's close behind him, and Sam would love to be able to see him right now because half their weapons have disappeared and Sam would bet his next meal they're all hanging off Dean like he's Rambo.
"I'm here to fix the pipes," he says at the reception desk, and gets motioned upstairs immediately. There's lively singing coming from one of the downstairs rooms, some old show tune by the sound of it, but it's quiet upstairs.
"I'm here to fix the pipes?" Dean mocks as they're exploring the upper floors. "That the best you can do?"
Sam ignores him, eyes fixed on a vase that's hovering in mid air, in the opposite direction from Dean's voice. "Duck," Sam says, and a second later the vase is smashed at the far end of the hallway.
"Fuck," Dean says.
"You hit?"
"Nope, but get reading, and make it fast."
The first banishing spell Sam tries works - five minutes, and it's all over. Easiest job they've had in years.
"Told you so," Dean says, and Sam would smack him if he could only see him.
They try to make a quick escape. Sam creeps quietly along the hallway to the exit, but just as he's nearly out the door there's an admiring oh, my behind him, and he makes the mistake of turning around.
Two white haired ladies, Ada and Margaret (call me Peggy, hon, my late husband always called me Peggy) descend on him with shocking speed and before he can make any excuses he finds himself in a high-backed chair in Ada's room, drinking tea from a tiny china cup and being plied with cake. Chunks of his cake keep vanishing, and he has to hope Ada and Peggy, and Eve and Doreen who've joined them, don't notice. Doreen keeps pinching his cheeks and exclaiming over his dimples, and Peggy's hand keeps landing on his thigh, higher and higher each time. Sam can hear muffled snickering around the room.
"You could've stayed there. Been their toy boy. You'd have been set for life," Dean says none too quietly when Sam finally manages to escape. "That Eve made a mean carrot cake. And Doreen and Peggy couldn't keep their hands off of you."
"I hate you," is all Sam can come up with.
*
They stop to pick up new credit cards from a P.O. Box in Albany, and Sam hustles pool, turning a blind eye when he knows the ball's been nudged into the pocket. He's never been as good at pool as Dean.
*
They leave Houston in a rush. There's a high school there now with a 'haunted' locker room. Dean doesn't even try to sound ashamed about it, and Sam reluctantly has to send him back in to return the momentos he took (Dean, you are so not stealing teenage girls' bras. It's sick. Honestly, I can't let you out of my sight-oh, shut up, you know what I mean.).
They stop at a roadside stand a comfortable distance outside Houston for snow cones. Dean complains, says he doesn't like them, but Sam pulls over anyway, and ignores the puzzled look from the vendor when he buys two. He takes them back to the car, puts his seat back and it's the best fucking snow cone he's ever tasted, thick with syrup. It's a cold slide of refreshment down his throat, and he wants to marry this snow cone and keep it forever.
He licks his fingers after he's finished, every trace of syrup.
"You want to go get another, I'm not stopping you man," Dean offers nonchalently.
Sam laughs. "You enjoyed it."
"It was okay. Not as bad as I was expecting."
"I'll just get myself a second one then."
"Might as well get me one too, if you're going back over there."
Sam gets two more, strawberry this time. Sweet and fruity.
Sam's tongue feels like it'll never warm up after the second one. He doesn't bother putting the seat upright, just stretches out as much as he can and closes his eyes for a moment.
And then Dean's fingers are on his fly, unbuttoning him. No warning, not when he couldn't even see Dean leaning over, and Sam lets out an involuntary grunt of approval before he complains.
"Dean, dude, this is a rest stop. With, you know, cars full of families. You can't do this here," Sam says and bats Dean's hand away. Half-hearted though.
"It isn't as though they can see me, so you just look normal - well, as best you can, considering - and we won't educate any kids in the improper uses of a rest stop."
Sam doesn't argue any more. Doesn't want to, honestly.
Dean palms him through his boxers, pressing the cotton seam against Sam's cock, then slips his hand inside. It's warm and sweaty, and Sam's not hard yet, but he will be soon, he'll swell into Dean's hand and he closes his eyes, already knowing.
Dean's slow and steady, like they have all the time in the world. Sure touch, Dean's hand almost as familiar as his own, though the angle's awkward even with Sam twisting in his seat as much as he can.
Heat's building inside him, sharp and bright. Osmosis from the thick still air inside the car. He'd crank a window, but he doesn't want to draw attention. It's as hot outside anyway.
Sam reaches out. "Let me feel you," he says, and Dean takes his hand, places it on his shoulder. Sam can find his own way from there, and does, tugging Dean's tee-shirt off and feeling the steady undulation of muscle.
And then Dean swipes his tongue down Sam's cock, and it's like ice. Sam jumps, can't help himself. "Fuck," he says.
"Just wait until I swallow you down," Dean says, and then does.
The cold is almost painful, but it's exhilarating too, and Sam hopes no one comes anywhere near the car because he's head flung back and legs outspread and his cock is hanging loose, proud and red and aching now, and it's worth being arrested for.
Dean makes it last, pulling back every time Sam thinks he can't hold on a second longer, teasing him to the point where Sam just tugs on him, holds him in place and begs. "Do it," he says. "Make me come," and Dean takes instructions sometimes, when it suits him. Swallows him down far as he can and slips his hand inside the dark of Sam's boxers, finding the fragile mass of Sam's balls. Holds him through it.
Dean tucks him away afterwards, Sam feeling too sleepy even to care about passersby.
"Want me to-"
"I'm fine." Dean doesn't sound it though, and it frustrates Sam that he can't keep up with Dean's moods, can't tell what will make him laugh and what will make him quiet, can't make everything right.
"You-"
"I need a piss," Dean says, and the door opens and closes.
He's gone ten minutes, and Sam doesn't know if he's gone for a walk, or if he's standing by the side of the road jacking off.
"Are you okay?" Sam asks, even though he knows it's a pointless question.
"We're not gonna talk."
"We'll find something, some answer. I promise you."
"Not. Gonna. Talk."
*
Some days, Sam's angry.
Angry with the fucking religious freaks who thought they could just interfere with his brother's life like this, without even asking, without having a cure for what they've done to him. He's angry with Dean when he's joking around and pretending it's no big deal. He's angry even though he knows Dean's scared of being like this forever, and trying to hide it, and Sam knows he's being unfair. He's angry at the thought that he might spend the rest of the life stuck with Dean like this, and then he really hates himself. He's angry with Bobby and Ash for not having the answer, and he's angry at his dad for not being around.
He shakes with it sometimes.
"We need another job, man," Dean says, and Sam nods and opens his laptop.
*
They pick up a job in central New Mexico, a haunted holiday house. It's been empty for months, but when they look around, there's no visible sign of anything evil.
"Picking up anything?" Sam asks, unable to see the EMF meter Dean's holding.
There's no immediate answer. "Are you nodding or shaking your head, Dean?" Sam asks.
"Shaking it," Dean says.
The owners have a new property near by - brand spanking new, we don't want any more trouble - and welcome Sam in when he brandishes a badge from the Alamogordo Daily News. They ply him with ice tea and non-stop talk.
Millie, their daughter, is back home in Chicago - she's too old to come holidaying with us old foggies - but Mrs. Delgado is eager to tell how Millie came running into their bedroom one morning, convinced she'd seen a ghost in the shower.
"And she's not a girl given to fancies. She's a sensible girl, smart head on her shoulders," her father says proudly. "She's going to UIC in the fall."
"She's never seen anything like that before, so we believe her. And of course there were the bells as well," Mrs. Delgado says.
"The bells?" Sam asks.
"At night, we'd lie in bed and hear these bells. Both of us, didn't we, Perry?" She turns to her husband for comfirmation, and he nods, looking embarrassed. "I sent my Perry out one night looking to see if we could find out the cause, but we never did."
"Never," Perry says.
"Always had a bad feeling when we lived there. Never felt right, even though it was a pretty little place. Buying this place was the best thing we could have done."
Sam finishes his drink, and finally manages to interrupt a monologue on Millie's charms and accomplishments to say goodbye.
"Tight schedule, you know. Gotta meet deadlines," he says, and Mr. and Mrs. Delgado nod and usher him out the door.
Sam's lost track of Dean's whereabouts - he was unusually quiet in the house - so he's relieved to hear his voice when he gets back to the Impala.
"Thought they'd never shut up," Dean says.
"At least we know what it is we're dealing with now," Sam says as he starts the car.
"We do? Yes, of course we do."
"You don't have a clue, do you?" Sam loves it when he's ahead of Dean on a hunt.
"I have a clue. Of course I have a clue." There's a pause. "Dammit, Sam, just tell me already."
"We're going to the hardware store to pick up a carbon monoxide detector."
"Exactly what I was about to suggest."
Sam rolls his eyes. "It sounds like the classic symptoms of carbon monoxide induced hallucinations."
They set up the detector, and sleep outside in the Impala overnight. Next morning, Sam's theory is proven correct, and after Dean tinkers around with the gas furnace for a few minutes, he finds the problem.
"Shoddy workmanship," Dean complains, angry. "Someone could have died, not just thought they were seeing a ghost."
"Can you fix it?"
"Why? We can just let the Delgados know, and let them get it sorted."
"Because if we fix it, we can use the place for a while." Sam's surprised he's the one suggesting it, but Dean's eager once the idea's in his head. Half an hour later there's one final clank, and a satisfied done.
The house is in a quiet spot, right on the edge of a clear blue lake, picture postcard pretty and no neighbors in sight. The only regular sounds are the flocks of birds - Sam doesn't know what they're called - that settle noisily on the edge of the lake every morning and fly off at sunset.
There's a town nearby, with a diner that bakes ten different pies on the premises every morning, and lots of touristy knick-knack shops full of fat matronly women with too much jewelry, and Dean's wallet gets fatter each time they go into town. Sam thinks he ought to remonstrate, but he can't bring himself to do so. Would feel like a hypocrite, so they buy decent takeout that tastes almost homemade and drink good coffee, and Sam picks up a spare battery for his laptop and a new spare tire for the impala.
In the morning they swim, straight out of bed and into the water, last one in's a pussy. The water's freezing, only bearable if they jump straight in. Sam feels more alive than he's done in ages. They towel off roughly afterwards and go running along the side of the lake, pounding along hard-packed dust, two sets of footsteps so closely in sync that it sounds like there's only one person running. Sam changes his pace just so he can hear Dean beside him.
They race intervals. Dean gives a shout at the agreed finish line every time, high and proud like a winner, and insists he was first even when Sam knows the shout came from behind him. He makes sure they only race in straight lines - he knows Dean will cheat any chance he gets.
Afterwards, breathless and panting, they flop down outside the shack in the sun and argue over who should go inside for drinks.
Dean lays his guns out on two layers of sheets to make sure they don't get any dust on them, and cleans them until the metal gets too hot in the sun for him to handle. He packs them away, each in its proper place, and then he lies down and falls asleep in the sun. Sam wakes him up, but not soon enough. He's sunburned, and winces like a baby when Sam tries to rub aloe vera lotion on his back - not easy when he can't see what he's doing, it's not his fault if he pokes at sore spots.
It feels like they're on vacation, almost.
*
Sam turns the light out at night. It makes things easier, it doesn't seem so wrong that he can't see Dean when it's dark. If Dean goes to bed first, then Sam can see the shape of the bedclothes, can tell if Dean's sprawled expansively on his back or curled up on his side, can tell if his shoulders are relaxed or hunched and miserable. It's the closest there is to a normal moment.
*
Sam hasn't had a vision in weeks. He's grateful for the reprieve, thinks it's probably lack of proximity to the yellow-eyed demon, though they've not really been able to test out that theory. Whatever the reason, it's good. Saves on pain-killers.
Nightmares, though, they're another matter. By day he thinks he's dealing, but at night he dreams of losing Dean, reaches out for him and he slips through his fingers, dissolves into the air like cheap special effects or vanishes into the distance and Sam can never catch up, never find him again. He wakes up sweating, bedclothes thrown to the floor, and he has to reach out and feel for Dean, trace familiar lines long enough to reassure himself back into sleep.
*
"Oh, disgusting," Dean whispers, a stage whisper that's too loud for the almost empty coffee shop. It's quiet enough that they've risked Dean coming in and taking a seat - Sam prefers to keep him within hearing range when he can.
Sam takes a sip of his coffee. "It's not that bad," he says. "Try putting some sugar in it."
"Not the coffee. That."
"What?"
"That."
"You do remember that I can't tell when you're pointing?"
There's a brief silence that's clearly Dean remembering, and trying to pretend he isn't just now remembering that. "Nine o'clock," he says.
Sam turns around discreetly, and back again. "What's disgusting? It's just a family, having breakfast." There are parents, a young girl and a baby, no reason that Sam can see to have Dean so flustered.
"She's-"
"What?"
"You know."
"Dean, if I knew what the fricking hell you were talking about, would I keep on saying what?"
"Yes. To annoy me."
"Okay, true. But I really don't know what's got your panties in a twist this time."
"She's feeding the baby. At the table. In public."
Sam snorts when he realizes Dean's problem. His brother the prude. "Dude, you're such a prude."
"I'm trying to eat here."
Sam leans over the table towards Dean, disguising it as a lazy stretch. He drops his voice a little. "Never known you have problems-eating just because there are a pair of boobs on display."
Sam can practically hear Dean's shudder. "That's different. That is completely different. And she's all-saggy and veiny."
"You're watching, aren't you? Dean."
"Come on, like you wouldn't."
Sam wouldn't, but he doubts he can persuade Dean of that. He just makes sure to catch hold of Dean's shirt as he heads out, to avoid Dean making any little detours around the tables.
*
"Come on, Harvey," Sam calls under his breath, dodging a little girl riding her bike on the sidewalk.
"If I'm Harvey, you're Elwood. Come to think of it, you are as irritating as Elwood." Sam hears the sniggering, and to judge by a couple of turned heads and puzzled looks, he's not the only one.
"Come to think of it, you're too much of a midget to be Harvey. Though I suppose if we transplanted your ears to the top of your head, that'd give you a couple more inches-"
Sam stumbles, a kick to the back of his knee to blame. He recovers quickly, experience. "Testy little pooka, aren't you?"
"Fuck you," Dean says into his ear, and grabs his crotch hard enough to make Sam squeak.
*
Dean acts put upon for the rest of the day, as though the sight of a breast-feeding woman was a personal affront. "I'm starving," he announces mid-morning, dragging them out of the library after less than an hour's research.
"Want a carrot?"
"Ha, ha, very funny," Dean says grumpily.
"How can you be hungry already anyway?"
"Couldn't eat my breakfast."
Sam roars with laughter, right in the middle of the main street. But he makes it up to Dean later, with extra chilli fries first, and then by sucking Dean down so hard he feels it in the back of his throat for days afterwards.
*
Even invisible, Dean's bad at hiding things from Sam. He might think Sam doesn't see the pilfered books - philosophy and self-help, all subjects Dean would normally dismiss as crap - stuffed in the bottom of his duffle, or hear the rustling of pages turning at night, but it's obvious something is going on. Something Dean isn't comfortable sharing with Sam. Which means Sam has to force his hand.
He sits on the edge of the bed, aware of the dip beside him that gives away Dean's position. "A beer?" he asks, holding a bottle of Molson out a fraction.
"Sure," Dean says. Sam feels Dean's hand take hold of it, and lunges. Seconds later, he has Dean's book in his hand, still open to the page Dean must have been reading.
"What the fuck?" Dean shouts, and is all over Sam. Sam just stands up to his full height and holds the book over his head, fending Dean off with his other hand. He tries to read the book upside down, tilting his head sideways. Finding your inner peace, he reads out loud with a snicker.
"Whatever, man," Dean says, and suddenly he's gone, a draft from the slammed door the only trace of him.
Sam feels like a jerk, pushing too hard. Sometimes he forgets that it's not just a joke to Dean, forgets how desperately he must want to solve this problem.
He opens the door, sticks his head out and calls softly. "Dean? Look, get your sorry ass back in here. It's cold out." He's sorry, and it torments him that he hasn't been able to find anything to help so far, anything beyond the vague plan of Dean reaching a higher plan of understanding, whatever that is.
*
Dean doesn't show up until the next morning, by which time Sam's gone through remorse, anger, remorse again, and kicking the bed leg in sheer frustration.
The door opens and closes, and a box of jelly donuts shows up on the bed. "You'll have to get coffee," Dean says. "The shop was too crowded for me to lift any."
Sam gets coffees and more donuts - there's one left in the box by the time he gets back, which is one more than he expects - and they drink in silence.
"If you want to go on alone, that's okay, you know," Dean says eventually.
Sam's shocked. They're in this, all of this, together. It's clear to him, but obviously it's not that clear to Dean. "For better, for worse," he mutters without thinking, and then smiles at the sound of Dean's laughter.
"We're not married," Dean says later, when Sam's almost forgotten his own words. "We're not joined at the hip."
"I know." Sam is emphatic. "I know that. But I'm not going to let your sorry invisible ass terrorize the country, if that's what you're hoping."
"Spoilsport."
*
They're lying together, still sex-sticky and hot, but too lazy to move, and Sam won't admit it but he needs to touch Dean more now, reassurance as much as anything, that he's there and safe. And maybe Dean doesn't feel so awkward resting his head in the curve of Sam's arm when Sam can't see him.
"I've read everything," he says, out of the blue, muffled words into Sam's armpit. "Every fucking book on self-realization I can get my hands on. And they're all contradictory, a bunch of new age crap."
"There's got to be something in some of them," Sam says, attempting optimism.
"Yeah, well, you're the scholar, you find it."
"I will, Dean. We will find the answer."
"Blow me."
"We will, I promise. There's Bobby and Ash looking as well-"
"Sam, just shut up already and blow me." Dean wriggles his hips in emphasis, his burgeoning hard-on pushing into the sweaty crease of Sam's thigh.
"Oh." And Sam forgets self-realization for a while in the weight of Dean's cock on his tongue.
*
Then things go wrong. This job's from Ellen - she phones apologetically, but tells them it's urgent.
"Sounds like there's something big going down in Utah. Someone calling up demons they can't handle. Invisible ones too, sounds like. I'm sorry boys, I know it's not the best timing for you, but there's no one else I know of nearby who can take it on."
"I'm not sure, Ellen. It's really not a good idea," Sam demures, but then Dean grabs his cell. It vanishes, so Sam can't even grab it back.
"It's okay, Ellen, of course we'll take it. Just give us the details, and we're there."
"Ash is emailing us his notes," Dean says after he's said goodbye to Ellen. Sam is pissed, because this is tough hunt, and it sounds like there's not much time before the main event plays - the killings started off small, a hiker in Bryce Canyon, a child in Panguitch, but they're developing an exponential pattern, and the trail is heading towards more populated areas.
So, they study Ash's notes - they're good, Sam'll give him that, even though he's irrationally annoyed with both him and Ellen right now - and they come up with a plan, and even a backup plan of sorts. They just don't have time to think everything through, play out all the possible outcomes, but Dean's confident, excited. Sam can practically feel him quivering in the seat beside him as they cross into Utah, like a dog about to be let off the leash.
Turns out, invisible demons can see Dean plain as day, but the advantage doesn't go the other way. They're caught off guard, plan A failing instantly, plan B a wash as that counted on Dean's invisibility, and no plan C to fall back on. All they can do is try to fight their way out of it, but they're separated, and Sam can't fucking see Dean, or the demons, not even shadows, and he's terrified he might injure Dean instead of them, and he doesn't know what to do.
"Where are you?" he calls out, and there's an answer in one direction and then another, and he can't tell which is Dean.
"Sammy, it's me," he hears behind him, but the tone is wrong. He hesitates though, and then there's pain ripping through his arm, and blood dripping down it, and then another slash, and another, and he can feel himself getting weaker and weaker with each slash and he still doesn't know where to aim. He feels claws dig bone deep before there's a flash of bright light and a hideous howling from all directions. And then an arm around him, unmistakable, Dean.
Sam can barely stand - he can feel the warm trail of blood down his arm, dripping off the end of his hand, and his chest feels wrong too, but it doesn't hurt any more, because he can't feel anything else. Not even his legs, and he needs to feel his legs to walk, because he has to get out of here. He can hear Dean, faintly, nagging him on and on to keep walking, there's not much time Sammy, they'll be back, but he just wants to sit down for a bit, rest. Not for long, he won't let Dean down, he just needs a few seconds, catch his breath. A minute, maybe.
Just a rest.
For a moment.
*
He wakes up alone, somewhere clean-smelling and painful-bright through his closed eyelids, sheets folded tight and geometric around him. He recognizes it's a hospital long before he makes the effort to open his eyes.
He swallows, throat rusty-dry and sore. Then feels an ice chip on his lips, and opens up for it.
"Dean," he whispers, looking around and seeing no one.
"Of course, man," Dean stage-whispers back. "Know anyone else who can make ice chips appear out of thin air?"
Sam laughs, except it turns into a cough, and it hurts to breath that hard, and he sinks gratefully back into sleep.
*
He thinks he might have woken again after that, but when he calls for Dean there's no answer, so he tries to change the dream, or fall back into a dreamless sleep where it doesn't matter that he can't see or hear his brother.
Next time he wakes it's dark, the hospital sounds a quiet steady monotone the other side of closed doors. He's sure he's awake this time - the throbbing in his arm and chest assure him of that.
"Hey," Dean says, and Sam feels a hand take hold of his.
"What happened," Sam asks, after he's managed half a glass of water through a straw.
"You got torn up pretty bad. Had to phone for an ambulance and follow along behind," Dean says shortly. "You lost a lot of blood. Couldn't even offer to give mine," he adds, and Sam winces at the frustration in his voice.
"Sorry," he says.
"Yeah, well, you're doing okay now, I think. Not that I can actually ask the doctors for a plain English version of how you are-"
Sam would laugh, but he can hear the fear underneath Dean's easy words, and he knows how it feels.
"You been here all the time?"
There's a pause before Dean answers. "Of course."
Sam tilts his head to one side, and wishes desperately he could see Dean. The normal tells don't work, that sideways glance and fidget with his ring that Dean does when he's lying. But the pause was enough of a clue.
"Where've you been?" Sam asks.
"Here."
"And?"
"You're a persistant bastard, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Okay, I went to church. Satisfied?"
"You went to church? What, there was something needed exorcising there or something?"
"Yeah, Sammy, because I'm going to leave my baby brother dying in hospital to go do a job." Dean's pissed.
"Sorry."
"I went to pray. I just-I thought it worked for you sometimes, and you're not totally dumb, so if you believe in it there must be some point, and I thought it might work better if I was, I dunno, closer to God or something. In a church. So I went there and I prayed. And you're awake."
Sam is amazed that Dean can make it sound so simple.
*
After Sam gets out, they backtrack south, tracing their route back towards the desert. It's not a decision they make, as such. Sam just gets behind the wheel and heads that way, and Dean doesn't argue. They're not ready for big jobs yet, Sam still kitten-weak and Dean invisible, and Dean says he's phoned around and someone else is dealing with the Utah demons. He doesn't give any details, so Sam doesn't ask, just accepts it. He has to sometimes. So they go towards the empty heat and the quiet, and Sam silently hopes the supernatural world will let them have a brief respite. And when they pass a church, square white stone by the side of the road, Dean doesn't argue when Sam pulls up just beyond it.
Sam has his hand on the door handle when Dean asks.
"D'you think prayers always work? I mean, it's not like He can listen to all of them, right? And what if they're contradictory? What if I'm praying for one thing, and someone else is praying for something different, and both things can't happen?" The questions rush out, one after another.
"Dude, you've been thinking this through far too much."
"Don't you think about it?"
"No." Sam shakes his head. "No, I just-have faith. It's easier that way, trusting. I don't think we're meant to understand the big picture. It's too big for us, you know?"
Sam hears the sigh. "Whatever." But Dean sounds more thoughtful than frustrated - Sam's gotten good at reading him just from the little sounds and sighs and the way he speaks, doesn't even need to see his face any more. Though he misses it, misses Dean's cocky grin, and the look he gets in his eyes when he thinks Sam's asleep and doesn't notice him watching him.
"Coming?" he asks, and heads back towards the church, running his fingers through his hair to tame it into some semblance of order and respect.
The door's open, but there's no one around. Sam sits at the back anyway, more comfortable there, but he hears Dean's footsteps go all the way to the front.
Dean doesn't stay long, grabbing Sam's sleeve on the way back as though he doesn't realize the noise he makes with his boots on the wooden floor.
"I said thanks," he says, later, when they're driving along, windows open and Pink Floyd cranked right up.
Sam doesn't get it for a second. "For what?" he asks, and then it's obvious even before Dean answers.
"For you. Being alive. For having someone greater than us to turn to, I guess. For not feeling quite so helpless after I'd begged Him not to let you die." The words are tumbling out of Dean's mouth, like it's a relief to let them go. "We've dealt with some weird shit, and this-" - Sam pictures Dean gesturing - "this is some of the weirdest, and maybe I'll never work out how to make myself visible again, but-"
There's silence so long Sam doesn't think Dean's going to continue. Then there's a hand on his thigh, quick touch. "But it doesn't matter, not really. You're alive and I'm alive, and we can get by like this, and someone out there answered my prayer. That's what's important."
"Yeah, it really is," Sam agrees.
"And now, for fucks sake, let's never talk of this again." The radio volume goes up a notch, from too loud to nearly unbearable, and Dean starts singing along with it.
Sam feels oddly content, despite the cacophony.
*
He feels stronger in the morning, nothing more than a bad twinge in his arm if he moves suddenly, but he lazes on the bed anyway. Dean's in the shower, and there's no rush to get up. He almost closes his eyes and stays like that, not fully awake, but not sleeping either.
The shower turns off, and the door squeaks open and closed, unusually carefully. And Sam sees Dean tip-toeing towards him. He sees him, clear and visible as he ever was, naked and dripping. There's a smirk on Dean's face, and a bottle in his hand, top off, and Sam just knows the plan is for the contents to end up on Sam.
Sam waits. He doesn't move, doesn't twitch. He waits until Dean is in reach, just before the bottle starts to tip, and then he pounces. The bottle ends up all over Dean, which doesn't do much seeing as he's already soaking, and Sam settles on top of Dean, pushing him down on the wet carpet.
Dean narrows his eyes and looks at Sam. "You can see me."
Sam tilts his head. "So it seems."
"I thought I had to be at one with the universe or some such crap first."
"Looks like you and the universe are all one now." Sam laughs.
"So, what, I just had to pray? You're telling me it was that simple, and you couldn't have found that out before?" Dean sounds peeved. "Because, dude, I'm not proud, I'd have been in the first church we found."
"I think it was a bit more than that."
"Like what?"
Sam sits up, serious now, and thinks a moment. "Like, finding your place in the universe, recognizing that you're not alone, that it's okay to ask for help. Coming to terms with that, maybe?"
Dean fidgets underneath Sam, his discomfort visible. "They teach you this crap at Stanford?"
"Yes, in Higher Consciousness through Meditation Blah Blah Blah 101. My favorite class. You'd have loved it."
"Smart ass."
*
Later, Dean's on the bed, air dried but still naked, and Sam's leaning on his good arm, idly tracing freckles with his finger.
"Missed this," Sam mutters, wanting to say it almost as much as he doesn't want to.
"Yeah," Dean says, and just looks at him a moment. "I would've too, if, you know, it'd been the other way around."
"I know," Sam says.
"Doesn't mean you're not ugly as sin, because you are," Dean adds. "Uglier, even."
"You love me." Sam smiles, smug.
Dean doesn't bother answering. Just pulls Sam down into a kiss, slow making out like they never seem to find time for.
Sam keeps his eyes open, takes in the familiar and the changes. There's a scabbed over slash on Dean's cheek - must have been a nasty cut - and Sam traces the edge of it with his tongue.
"Was this the Utah demons?" Sam asks.
There's a fraction of a pause before Dean mumbles an answer. "Yes," he says.
"Oh fuck, no," Sam exclaims. "It was me."
"Don't be such a pussy. It's not like it was intentional, and I'm still way handsomer than you."
"What else?" Sam asks.
Dean shrugs. "That's it."
Sam holds Dean still, head cradled in his hands, fingers gently searching. Dean's squirming underneath him, but Sam has to do this, and Dean must get it, because he doesn't actually throw Sam off, just grumbles and looks uncomfortable.
"You sure?" Sam asks.
"God, you're such a girl. I might have been invisible, but I wasn't made of glass. I'm still whole, nothing missing. All parts fully operational. See?" Dean spreads his arms out and thrusts his hips up a fraction, and Sam takes it as an invitation. It's the same, but different, tracing Dean's skin now he can see him again, and if he's slower and gentler and lingers over every scar and bruise, Dean at least for once holds back on the wisecracks.
He pulls Sam back up eventually though, kisses him, slow and wet and messy, and Sam could do this forever. He's no more than half-hard, and neither is Dean. There's no urgency. It's warm in the room, and Sam's comfortable wrapped around Dean and he thinks he might fall asleep again before they get any further, but it's all good.
Dean's at one with the universe, and Sam's feeling remarkably the same right now.
end
I dragged my feet across a seat
Jumped out the passenger side
The only thing worth looking for
Is what you find inside
But that had not yet appeared
Lost invisible here.
R.E.M. - Disappear
Notes: The huge road runner made of scrap metal does exist. So do the Hermitic Order of the Golden Dawn (the quote from their website is genuine), though I'm sure they don't go around making people invisible! "Un par tan lindo" is Spanish for such a cute couple.