The Passenger: Chapter seven

[askellington]

Sam

They'd been in the cabin for more than a week, and Dean still hadn't gotten any closer to finding out what was wrong with the maintenance spells, or why in some spots inside the cabin, the spell still seemed to be operative-like the odd cabinet in the kitchen, the refrigerator, and a freezer, not to mention their plentiful hot water.

Sam was glad they had light in their bedrooms now when they wanted, thanks to Dean. He'd gone down into the cellar, hoping for a dirt floor so he could bury Bobby's hex bags for safekeeping. He lucked out there, and found useful stuff besides; a couple of shovels, plus the lamps they were using now. Dean said they were from way olden times in the Before, so probably they were meant for trade. The Before, whatever that was, had no meaning for Sam like it seemed to have for Dean. 'Before Times' was just a lot of noise to Sam.

It was nice though, that Dean's mood took a definite upswing after that. To him, finding tools also meant going out to rescue Lucille. Collecting the fatfuel, and the rest of Dean's equipment still in the truck was a plus.

"After breakfast, let's take a run at digging my darlin' out, whataya say? Short hike through a little fluffy snow, and have her dug out by early afternoon." he said, watching Sam pull on a new pair of boots Dean had found in that same closet Sam found his green sweater in. Sam was surprised-and super-pleased-that they fit so well; he didn't have to pull up his toes or stuff rags in the tips or anything. He smiled as he laced them. "You have a good eye-these fit real good."

"Yeah, well, those are some boats you've got there, I just grabbed the biggest and hoped for the best. Figured if nothing fit, we'd make you some outta Lucille's tires."

"Fuck you," Sam drawled, because Dean giggling had become one of his favorite sounds.

The slog out to the truck had taken more time than they'd thought for the short distance it was. Despite Dean's claim that the walk would be a piece of cake, plowing through the deep snow drifts was slow going. Plus Sam had been distracted by the snow-the way it glittered with the shifting light as they pushed through it, the hints of gold and blue from sun and sky….

Sam leaned on his shovel and looked around at what had looked like a white desert from his window-it was so different close up. And there was so much sound. Sam had expected that the woods were going to be that deep, cottony, quiet that came with heavy snow, but there was a near constant creak and squeak of thawing snow shifting, the sound of small animals scurrying through it, and occasionally a crash, like a big animal running somewhere deeper in the woods.

Dean held his head up and listened too, before tossing a shovelful of snow to the side. He'd almost cleared Lucille's tires, and was slowing down a bit. Sam was impressed with how quickly Dean worked, Wet snow like this was heavy-frankly, he was doing the minimum, mostly pushing snow around and watching Dean sweat. Sam wondered if Dean sweated like that when he fucked...he smelled good sweating, more leather in his scent. Given a chance, Sam would make him sweat leather and honey for sure. Wonder what his come tasted like….

Dean derailed the direction Sam's thoughts were headed with a question. "So...have you given any thought to what your beast might be?"

Sam jerked-he hadn't thought about changing since those few awful hours at Rowena's cottage. He shrugged, feeling the empty, scarred spots at the top of his spine, the things that had kept him locked in this form for so long…he shuddered. Yeah, honestly, he'd thought about it some. He just had no idea what to do, how to rescue the beast. Whether after all these years, it'd be a good thing to do.

"Could be a stag, you know." Dean went on, a little out of breath from tossing snow. "A bear, maybe. You'd make a good bear. Tall, big paws. Or a fox, with those eyes. You're smart as hell, quick-"

"Don't want to talk about it. Please," he added in a bid not to rile Dean, but Dean only nodded and pointed at Sam's shovel.

"Taking a break. Try stepping up some, hunh?"

Dean put on a disgusting display when Lucille was finally dug out of her snowy bed. He got that 'soft-kitten' look on his face, and he made an embarrassing sight of himself by stroking her fender and cooing, for Jeezsake, apologizing and promising to treat her like the lady she was.

Sam watched from his perch inside her, feeling a little disgusted at a grown-man making such a huge, revolting fuss over a rusty pile of metal and rubber. He adjusted the neck of his sweater, just to be comfortable, not so that the curve of his collar bone showed...because that would mean he was jealous of a truck, and that was some stupid human stuff. 'Walkers had more sense.

Of course, the fatfuel had gone solid and they'd need to warm it up, slowly, before they could use it. He told Dean they'd need to bring in more wood, too-there was little left of the meager pile of dry they'd been using in the big fireplace. Another reason why replacing the maintenance spell would be real handy-those bedrooms were fucking cold at night. Dean's Men of Letters had obviously depended on the spell to warm the upper floor, the idiots. Well, Dean's room had a small fireplace in it, so his bed was nice and cozy-Sam's room was colder than a root cellar in middle WinterDay.

He followed Dean back to the cabin, slogging along keeping to the path they'd made walking out, a jerrican and one of Dean's bags thumping his back in rhythm with his steps. He watched Dean plowing through drifting snow ahead of him, and idly wondered if he could talk Dean into sharing the room with him; maybe if he promised to sleep on the floor. Sam snorted. Right. If he got his ass in Dean's room, the last thing he was doing was sleeping on the floor. Whether Dean liked it or not.

He grinned to himself. He'd get there eventually. He was really good at waiting for things he wanted.

=@=

They set the fatfuel near the fireplace to remelt. While stacking wood against the stone wall, they discovered some interesting stuff hidden in one of the bookcases, including bottles of liquor and some really questionable-looking spellbooks. Sam took one off the shelf, nearly dropped it. The cover felt like it was moving slightly under his fingers. He might have heard a small sigh when he cracked the cover-it made him eye the fireplace, but this wasn't his to destroy, creepy as it seemed.

Inside, it was all drawings of various sex acts with various beings and humans in diverse degrees of enjoyment. Dean shuddered hard, snatched the book out of Sam's hands and shoved it back on the self.

"Let's not look at that one," he muttered, and Sam was more than fine with that. Right before Dean had taken the book from him, Sam had thumbed to a page on which one being was committing an act on another being, a horrible, painful sexual attack that he'd had forced on him once-by a human. Sam blinked fast and hard, mentally backpedaling, trying to unsee what he'd seen.

"We'll go through this bookcase again. I'm betting these are the important books since they hid them. Aa-and, let's grab a few of these. After all our hard work, we deserve them." He shoved a couple of bottles into Sam's arms. "We'll crack one open after dinner to celebrate Lucille's rescue, right?"

After dinner, they stoked the fire in the big, stone fireplace, and tossed cheese and some crackers (and peanut butter for Sam) on a plate to eat as they attacked the assortment of bottles. They only had so much dry wood left to heat the cabin and that meant not being able to use the fireplace in Dean's room, a fact that Dean had been moaning about.

"So use magic; how big a deal is it to warm the air in the room?"

"I don't have magic like that," Dean moaned. "I just use other people's spells, and sometimes cast some little kitchen magic...sorry to disappoint."

Actually, it made Sam feel safer to know that Dean was shit at magic. But couldn't he dry wet wood? Even Shit-For-Brains could had been able to do that. And more. Sam frowned and scrubbed at the back of his neck before taking a deep drink from the bottle of what Dean called 'wine.' It was nice, sweet-ish, sparkly on his tongue. "You can spell the wood to dry, right?" Sam asked.

Dean's forehead crinkled, his lips poked out as he pondered, and Sam thought it was cute as fuck. He stared at Dean, imagining that his dick was in the center of that pink, little, pout, and shivered.

"I guess I could, I mean, not off the top of my head, y'know," Dean said. "But there's a book of quick 'n' dirty road spells in Lucille's locker, back of the truck. We never cared to depend on this stuff back in the day. We just never got comfortable with it-too close to the stuff we hunted, or so Dad and I thought back then. What about you? You know any spells?"

"No," Sam said. "I only know a few words here and there, nothing you can string together into a spell-a little Latin, a little Greek, a few words of 'Nochian. None of them fucks let me handle anything worthwhile. Of course."

"Hunh. Well, the guy that helped raise me, Bobby, he's damn good at spell work, almost witch level. Dad never liked that...not that Bobby was in Rowena's league, 'course. Now her, she's magic-nuke levels-she could probably scorch a field down to the bedrock if she chose to. But she swears she's comfortable where she is. The only time she screwed up was one time thinking she could fuck with a goddess. Real-life goddess, powered-down or not-no idea why. Bit off more'n she could chew, ha!"

Dean scooted next to him on the hideous fur rug they'd found rolled up in the same bookcase with the hooch in. It was an old bearskin, a bear who'd died hard and angry if its beady little glass eyes were anything to go by. Dean had drank himself past respecting personal space, leaning all over Sam, getting a bit touchy-feely, and since Sam was a little tipsy himself, he enjoyed every second of it.

Dean lifted the bottle and swallowed, carefully set it down, then leaned in to tell Sam with a wink, "I'd just done a small job that I'd contracted with her to help. Woman put a spell on me when I got set to leave, gosh-damn tracking spell, can ya believe it? Guess she wanted to know where I was when she needed it-me, I mean."

Dean's eyes glazed over in a look Sam didn't much care for, as Dean muttered, "Man...she did this thing with her tongue, and then she put a finger...anyway! Spell alarm in the glove box lit up when I got in Lucille. Came back to get her take it off."

He stopped, took another deep pull from the bottle. "Where was I? Oh, right...anyway, reverse tracked her, helped kill the godbitch, what a fuckin' mess-she owed me big. Which I got paid off in spades, thank you Ro. Taking care of m'boy here."

He drunkenly patted at Sam's shoulder, hand slipping off and landing in the vicinity of Sam's lap. Sam wiggled until Dean's hand was more or less cupping his dick. He arched into the contact: drunk, content, the most comfortable he could ever remember being. And then, just to make it better, Dean flexed his fingers, and Sam whined, closed his eyes and spread his legs wider. The warmth of the fire, the warmth of Dean's hand...he wondered briefly if Dean knew he was basically stroking Sam's dick. Jeezus, in a few more minutes he was gonna coax Dean up the stairs, and then into bed, and then into his ass….Sam giggled, full on drunk now, and thinking that was kinda funny, yeah. Drunk enough to think it was a good idea.

Any minute now, he was going to...to... He snuggled into the tatty fur rug, teetering on the ledge between horny and sleepy, when the warmth, the booze and the unaccustomed feeling of being totally safe tipped him over into warm dreams.

He jumped, wide awake, when a couple of books hit the floor near him, hacking when an errant fleck of dust choked him.

"Okay, Sleeping Beauty, you had your nap." Dean's hair was spiky with water, and he'd changed his clothes. How long had Sam been asleep? Dean had sure been busy while Sam was out, going up and showering and dressing and then apparently poking through the cabin's small library.

Dean crouched next to him, going a little pink in the cheeks when Sam stretched his long self across the rug, arching a little with how good it felt, and then rolled upright. He rubbed his face, trying to clear the haze in his brain, and then groaned a jaw-cracking yawn-smacking his lips and gagging a little at the taste in his mouth.

What the fucking hell with dropping his guard like that? He was still a little drunk right now, his body still working on burning the alcohol out. Fuck, he hated getting drunk like drunk drunk, usually avoided it if he could. From his first time with alcohol, when that fucking one-legged bastard had made him drink a whole bottle of some vile rotgut by himself, then passed him around-

"-Sammy? Hey, d'ja hear me? I got us coffee brewing," Dean said, "We're gonna go through this shit until we find the spell that reactivates the house-or at least warm a room. It's cold as a yeti's dick upstairs."

Fuck Sam stared at the pile of books, his good mood from before was completely gone; the familiar feeling of being less than garbage flooded him, made even worse by the books, and Dean's expectations, and his failures, and, and-

Sam growled, making defeat and humiliation sound like anger, "What're you, stupid? Nobody teaches a fuckin' monster to read."

Dean stared at him, open-mouthed, before snapping. "'Course you can't. Totally expected. Fucking criminal bastards that kept you captive were probably too stupid to teach you. And we're gonna fix that, because a smart fucker like you? Won't take long. You're pretty and smart and fuckin' tough as nails. Total winner."

Well, guess he's still drunk too, Sam thought, and eyed the pile dubiously. Deep inside, though, a tiny flame stuttered to life. Read. He couldn't imagine having that kind of power. To go from monster bait, to a being a person? He looked at Dean, who was grinning at him over the pile, and hoped.

=@=

"S-a-l-v-i-a...saliva?" Sam asked, nose wrinkling in confusion. He knew that was wrong...saliva was spit..."Salvia?"

"Yes!" Dean crowed. "Oh, you are good." He beamed at Sam and tapped his bottle against the top edge of the skinny book death-clutched in Sam's sweaty fingers. The bottle was a thick glass green thing that read C-O-K-E, which Dean said was the name of a drink, but Sam knew the bottle was full of the beer Mayor May had sent along with Dean, meant for the head MoLs in Sioux, not Dean's little family house. Sam wiped a few errant drops off the book's spine.

Sam liked it. It was simple book, all about useful herbs. It was short, clear, and full of bright pictures. Sam kind of hated that Dean's big-ass grin made him feel like he'd been an especially good boy whenever he recognized a word in it.

It was kind of magical, though, this reading thing. Sam came to find he loved it. He loved it from the first time the unknown shapes of C-A-T became CAT. He'd felt like a million wings had opened up inside of him and filled him from head to toe; like his whole world was suddenly, incredibly, bigger.

He had times though, that he felt like he wasn't moving fast enough, like tonight. He sat with his booklet, and stared at the pile of books Dean was working through at the end of the table. Those were the real thing, real spells, making real magic. He knew Dean hated magic. Could see it in the way his mouth pursed, his eyebrows drew together, the dashes of red making his cheeks glow. He made a pretty picture when he was irritated though, or when he was frustrated, or...anytime, really.

Sam loved the way Dean's lashes curled, outlined his moss-colored eyes...loved the splash of copper-colored dots all over his nose and cheeks Dean said were called 'freckles', and claimed to hate. Sam bent, and tucked his nose against the sleeve of his shirt, which he'd fished out of Dean's bag just that morning. He gazed at Dean, feeling a lazy little curl of warm contentment grow inside, lulling him gently to a soft half-doze-he jerked awake when Dean huffed to himself and slapped his book shut.

Dean fixed Sam with an intense stare, like he was about to impart some incredible bit of wisdom, but Sam only gave him minimal attention since he knew the man had a tendency to look like that even if he was only preparing to argue that it really was Sam's turn to do the dishes despite Sam being damn sure he'd already had kitchen duty that week, like, three times already. Ass.

"Gah, fuck-this one was just fulla monster stuff. Dead-boring. Unless it's telling me how to ice one, there's not much I need to know on that subject; what'da I care what drives 'em?" he said.

"Well, how do you know about weres, and 'walkers and other monsters without reading about them?"

"Seriously Sam, 'walkers and weres and stuff-they're citizens-supers, not monsters. Monsters are...they are…" Dean flapped his hands like he was grasping for the words, his frown-lines digging in deeper. "They're the brainless ones, or the ones who only see everything outside of their own selves as dinner. Well, except for Vamps. They finally glimmed they can't eat everyone without eventually starving. Sort of. Those bastards are really on the line."

For some reason he'd never shared with Sam, vamps were not Dean's favorite kind of monster.

Dean exhaled hard, and scrubbed his hair until it stood out spiky as a hedgehog. "Let's take a break. I'm not finding anything useful anyway. No proper spells-most of this stack is just a lot of history and shit."

History? Intrigued, Sam leaned forward, asked, "Yeah? Like history of what?"

"Like...well, like when the world went to shit, I guess. I...you want to know? Not like it'll make a difference or anything. What happened happened-done and over."

Sam shrugged. "Sure, what the hell not? Shit-For-Brains used to go on and on about the good old days. Seemed to mostly involve drinking and fucking, though."

"Of course it did-'the good old days' was probably the last time his dick got hard." Sam had to giggle at that, and Dean grinned one of those little tongue-tease grins of his before going on.

"Well, you know at one time, all this was different. There weren't any citizen supers. There were just monsters and humans and hunters, who killed the monsters who killed the humans."

Sam nodded. He knew that. Shit, and fuckers like Shit, explained that, like, constantly when he'd been growing up, usually at the end of a boot like it was his fucking fault the world went to shit. Must have been a pretty fucking fantastic world, the way those old bastards went at him for it.

"Anyway, at that time, the American Men of Letters appeared, coming out of hiding, according to chapter house history. They created a plague meant to kill all monsters, kinda like a hostess gift or something...never mind, that only makes sense to Bobby and Miz, and they think it's funny." Dean shrugged, with an expression that said, old people, whataya gonna do?

"Their plague was a new kind of spell-a little magic, mixed in with a little science. It worked all right-but only on monsters built closest like humans. And then of course it jumped to regular humans. 'Cause humans have shit luck. The witches and sorcerers and necromancers and other fucked up, borderline humans thought the MoL were targeting them and retaliated, and the Men fought fire with fire. Humans thought that diseases were being used as weapons by other humans, and they fought back with bombs, which meant for a few hot minutes the air was full of them, and some made it past the MoLs protections and found targets. It was a real shit time."

Dean stopped, and any twinkle in his eyes dissolved with the rain of memories. "Well, fortunately, or unfortunately, however you wanna look at it, everything collapsed before the humans could make a real mess of the world, and the Menaletters stepped in and took control of everything -some mind control here, some psychic nudges there-aaa-and a few demonstrations of what magic nukes could do to the world."

They were quiet for a bit, Dean probably thinking about what he'd lost, and Sam wondering what Dean could have lost to make him look so sad.

Dean sucked back half the bottle, slammed it on the table and grinned, a sharp slash without much humor in it. "Then the fuckers were generous enough to rebuild the world again. And all they wanted was a little...just a little bit of repayment, nothing anybody couldn't afford to give. Heck, the folks left couldn't afford not to give. And people were so thin on the ground then. We'd go months sometimes without seeing live people when I was little."

Sam nodded. "So, they made the monsters-supers," he corrected, to head Dean off from explaining how he wasn't a monster one more JeezDamned time-"citizens because they needed us."

"Yep. Bodies added to the count. Threats and treats and the memory of their insides bubbling out of them made the prospect of becoming citizens attractive to the remaining supers. At least, that's how Uncle Bobby told it to me, and what these-" he shoved a pile of thin books towards Sam-"more'n'likely will say too. Though probably leaning towards making the moles heroes."

Sam picked one up and looked at the black cover, words printed on it in blue, and a symbol he knew meant watching eye. He opened it, and thumbed through it.

Just a wall of letters to him now, but he'd read it cover to cover one day, swear on bones he would

=@=

"C'mere, boy. Stop jumping around-shit!

Sam rolled to his side, kicking out with his feet, screaming as he did. Everything still hurt. It felt like a hot teapot was sitting on his back and neck. No matter how much he squirmed and wiggled, he couldn't get away from the stabbing, burning hurt in his butt, or the feeling like he'd swallowed gravel. He flopped to his back and scooted backwards as fast as he could, using feet and elbows, trying to avoid the touch of this guy his master had shoved into the shed with him. He was scared, terrified to the point of blacking out, but he knew if he did that, it would be even worse-better to be awake, he'd learned that.

*

Even though the wires hurt his feet, he was glad to be locked in the dog cage. Had been locked in for a few sleeps. At least in the cage, he got better all the way, all the hurts healed at last. He still had a mark all the way down his side and leg, maybe forever, from the time that sorcerer put a knife with some black powder on it into his skin.

He was all fixed up again, though, and was getting out of the cage tonight. He heard the human say they were going hunting tonight, hunting a-a rawp. A rawhead.

He wondered what that meant….

Sam woke up with his throat on fire and a grip on his blanket that was making his fingers ache. He managed to uncurl them at the same moment his door opened, and a disgruntled looking Dean stuck his head on. "Get up," he barked. "I've had enough of this."

Sam felt everything inside him freeze-it felt like dying. How could he, after the reading together, and the cooking and the sharing of the peanut butter-how could this heartless bastard throw him out like trash-

"Ohmajeez, stop looking at me like that. I just meant come with me. Nobody's getting any sleep unless you relax, and sleeping with me oughta help."

Sam went from devastated to fucking embarrassed and so furious his chest hurt, but again Dean cut into his thoughts.

"Oh for fuck's sake, you been practically emptying my laundry basket lately. I'm forever coming in here and stealing back my clothes; I don't care about that. But Sam, if something about my stink makes you feel okay, than sleepin' in it should help, right?" He finished with a scary huge yawn. "C'mon, 'm tired," he mumbled and started padding away, his bare feet making a swishing noise on the wooden floor.

Sam stood, uncertainty making him grab his strawberry blanket and clutch it to his chest. But the idea of sleeping covered in the smell and feel of Dean had him hurrying out of the room after him. He stumbled across the tiny hallway into Dean's room, strung-tight muscles immediately going loose as Dean's scent flooded his nose. It smelled of Dean's soap, his shave powder, as usual. Leather, but less of tobacco now. Underneath it all, was his true scent, the scent Sam had on his own skin now, almost all the time: a hint of burned sugar, blood, dried grass, and. Oh. Well. That was definitely a fresh scent-there'd been a hint of it threaded through Dean's scent constantly lately and now Sam could definitely peg it for what it was...semen.

Sam flushed, and felt ridiculous for doing so, and not getting it before now, considering how much come he'd had to deal with in his life. It was just, the thought of it being Dean's, and imaging him, and what he looked like, and what he sounded like when he did come….

Dean stopped abruptly in front of him, his shoulders going high and so tense it was easy to see, everything about him suddenly amping up-heartbeat, breath, scent-

Sam bit down on a corner of his blanket to keep from snickering. Seemed Dean was just now realizing bringing a monster who could practically smell what you had for breakfast yesterday into a closed-up room you'd jerked off in...Sam sniffed...a lot, judging by the smell, was potentially embarrassing.

"Um, well…"

"Don't worry," Sam said. "I'll just sleep on the floor."

"Worry-what? Nah. Get in the bed already, I'm not worried." He made a stab at joking. "You get fresh, I can fight you off."

"I'm a lot stronger than most humans-" Sam started to say.

"Not fucking helping, Sam."

But it worked out really well. Sam slept like a pup, the best he had even since hooking up with Dean. Swimming in his scent made a difference, all right. And sleeping in the same bed changed the shape of their relationship. It got harder and harder for Sam to ignore the fact that his body really wanted Dean, his scent, his touch, everything. It felt more and more natural to have Dean in his space, so much so that Sam felt split in half if Dean wasn't there. The evenings, when they sat close, head to head, and worked on Sam's lessons together, filled him with a sense of peace. Sam wanted him, but more than that, Sam wanted to understand him.

Sam wondered what it was like for skinwalkers when they...when they felt connected to someone. What would it feel like, to fuck someone and not feel contempt for them? The only person he'd ever had sex with that didn't turn his stomach was Luther. It had been good, even-great. But he'd not felt any kind of connection to the man, not like the connection he was beginning to want from Dean.

=@=

Sam's fingers were aching, he held the pencil so hard, drawing it over the paper with all the concentration he'd used as a pup laying a grain trail, luring a corn wolf close for the hunters to kill. The letters were shaky, but they filled him with pride. This was something that belonged to him. Like his blanket, his sweater, this was his. His name. Sam.

He held the paper out and looked at it, a little smile on his lips.

"Sam." Dean said, his voice reflecting the pride Sam felt. "Good job." He took up the pencil Sam had been using; grabbing a sheet of paper, he wrote his name out as well. "Dean Henry Winchester. This is my whole name. And I think you should have something more than Sam. Something that says something about you. Lessee….Samuel...umh...I don't know. What do you think?"

Sam folded the paper with his name on it, folded it into increasingly smaller squares before getting up to throw it into the fireplace. He kept walking, past the fireplace and on to the outside.

He took off, without a coat or hat, no gloves...he loped along, leaving the cabin and Dean behind.

Dean didn't get it.

Sam couldn't just...pick a name. He couldn't have a name. He knew, and Seli-ma knew, that Sam wasn't really a name. Dean made it easy to forget that it was just a sound that made it easy to call him. He couldn't have a name then because he was a freak, and he couldn't have a name now because he was a twisted, broken freak. Even Ugly, who'd had nothing, had a name, and refused Sam one. Wouldn't even use the name that wasn't really a name.

He slowed as he looked about, saw he was in a patch of woods new to him. Panting, he cast about for a spot to rest. There was a fallen tree close by, a natural bench he could sit on and keep his ass out of the snow. His knees buckled as he sat. He really hadn't noticed how far and how hard he'd run until now.

He sat still, trying to empty his mind, taking deep breaths and letting them out slowly, which did shit for calming him and only reminded him of all the times in his life he'd sat in some corner and breathed deep to keep from killing something. He tried for rage instead-a good friend that got him through most shitty times-but nothing came. He just felt worn out and cold, sitting there and staring at snow until he saw nothing and felt nothing and just kept drifting deeper and deeper and deeper-

He jerked, the small movement seeming violent with how long he'd been motionless. What had knocked him out of his head like that? His nose twitched. It was smell...he smelled peanut butter, faint tickle of a scent that slowly got stronger; he heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow getting closer, until finally, there was Dean.

He looked shamefaced. He slowly held a slightly squashed peanut butter sandwich out to Sam. "I'm sorry. I did something stupid again, didn't I?"

Sam's face twisted, he felt the damn tears building up, and fuck that. He hadn't cried-really cried-since he was a pup. Dean still held out the sandwich, waiting patiently until Sam took it before sitting down next to him. He quietly, watched Sam eat every bite before scooting a little closer, close enough that their shoulders touched.

"I'm human," Dean said finally. "I don't recall stuff as well as you supers can. But what I do remember, I treasure."

Sam nodded, licking a bit of peanut butter from his fingers, confused as to what that had to do with him.

"You know why I like making PBJs for you?"

It had never occurred to Sam that it was something Dean liked doing. He shook his head, wondering where this was all headed.

"Because my mom made them for me. She took care of people, she took care of me. I like taking care of people-of you."

Sam licked the last bit of peanut butter from his fingers, and fixed all his attention on Dean. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, I do. You're important to me, Sam, and I'm gonna do my best to take care of you. I hope...I hope you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind. I'm, y'know...it's nice of you. I never had anyone tale care of me. Seli-ma, she took care of me, because I was her pup, and her duty. She liked me, I think. She let me play with toys, and taught me what her name meant, did what she could to make sure no one hurt me. Even when humans offered her a lot of goods, more than enough to take care of her for long, long time, she always said no." Sam stopped, staring into the past, as he thought about what to say. "She told me once, that my sire was nice. She didn't have to tell me that."

"I think she more than liked you, Sam. I'm sure she loved you."

Sam wasn't convinced of that, but..."Maybe, but I feel safer with you than anyone."

" You do? I...wow. That's…"

Sam cringed inside, waiting for Dean to laugh in his face. Fucking funny, coming from a monster.

"Well, makes me feel like I'm somebody special, because fuck knows, you sure are. You're a warrior through and through, beautiful and smart and just who I'd be like if I could choose."

"Then you're stupid. I'm a whore, a slave, I'm bait, and not much else." Sam expected Dean to turn to him with his big green eyes gone soft with sincerity, the way they did, and argue with him, insist that Sam was more than that, at least, he kind of hoped so….

Dean laughed instead, head thrown back, and teeth showing all the way to his fucking molars. Before the humiliation could burn through him like a wildfire, Dean grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him face to face.

"If that was all you were, you would not be standing today. You would not be a rock, you would not be this JeezDamn fierce. You'd fold every time, you'd treat me like your damn master when all along, you've treated me like I'm your equal. The last thing you are-ever been-is a slave. And I'm humble that you care for me."

Sam was stunned. He had no idea what to say back. He'd rather yank out his tongue than say, 'I might possibly jump in a fire for you if you asked', so "You're fucking crazy," is what he said instead.

"Yeah, it's been said on numerous occasions," Dean laughed. "Now, please come on back to the cabin, Sam."

They turned back the way they'd come, so close that they bumped shoulders frequently, and somehow, their finger managed to graze one another a lot. After a long, silent stretch of walking, Dean said, "Listen, I can't come up with a name as pretty as your mom's, or something in your language, but I'd like to lend you mine, if you'd want it. Until you find one you do like?"

Sam felt a roaring in his head, and chest, this time the flame swept him was nothing but good. 'Claimed,' a part of him crowed, dancing wildly inside. 'He's human, he's just being nice', another part, the sane part, reminded him.

'So, why give gift us his name then?' The insane part whispered back. 'Sometimes, beings don't know they want it, but they want it.'

Sam walked quietly besides Dean, hiding the turmoil inside, tumbling his name around in his head, imagining having a real name, one that belonged to him. No, one that said he belonged to somebody.

He smiled.

=@=

By the middle of WinterDay season, Sam was on the verge of losing it. Days were coming at him like cranky harpies. He spent so much time trying not to give in to the urge to shove Dean down on the nearest flat surface and go at him like a starved thing. Sleeping with him without fucking him, and him being so fucking nice to Sam all the fucking time threw fuel on the flames-except when he was fucking annoying as hell and even then Sam wanted to suck his brains out through his dick.

Didn't that fool get that all the showering Sam was doing had nothing to do with wanting to be clean? How the fuck much cleanliness did he think Sam needed?

The idiot probably thought it was something to do with the way 'walkers were. Jeezus.

=@=

Blinking blearily in the weak morning sunlight, Sam dressed, mainly by feel, and eased his way out of the cabin quietly as he could. He needed to put some space between himself and Dean. He'd come out of sleep in the morning with his nose buried in the close-cut hair edging the back of Dean's neck, swimming in his scent, his lips grazing the rabbit-soft skin there. His dick had been, while not really hard, definitely interested, and on its way to convincing Sam it'd be fine to rock just a little bit, just shift a bit until his dick pressed against the firm, hot skin of Dean's thigh. He'd given in to one long, not-quite-enough grind against Dean, before his brain had fully engaged.

The "Oh fuck," of horror had been followed up a low moan he hadn't been able to swallow. Even between two layers of clothing, Dean had felt that fucking good against his dick. Luck had been on his side, though, and Dean had kept on snoring. Sam hated to think what would have happened if Dean had woken up to Sam pawing him in his sleep.

So, he got himself outside and was wandering around the clearing the cabin was set in, making little sorties into the woods surrounding it. The snow had drifted in spots, so that some areas were clear enough to walk through easier than before. Mostly, he cared that it was ass-freezing cold out, and that helped to kill his insistent hard-on. He marched up a small rise, cussing out his dick for trying to get him in trouble.

After a trot up one hill and through the underbrush, he was ready to head back towards the cabin, and the breakfast Dean had to be making about now. He'd not taken more than a few steps when a strange noise stopped him in his tracks.

Besides their own noise, there'd been no other sounds but the passage of animals, the constant, soft sound of snow dropping, or branches cracking under the weight of it, for days on end. Now, suddenly he was picking up the crunch-crunch of multiple feet in the snow, a strange creaking sound he thought was familiar. He looked behind himself and saw a group of people moving up past the little copse of trees that Lucille was resting under.

Some were pulling middle-sized sleds...he shivered, putting memory to the sound now, remembering pulling a sled himself when snow was thick and a master thought it was funny to have a skinwalker pull his sled. Sometimes the owner had just been a down-on-his-luck asshole, who owned nothing but his slave and a sled, and those were the worst fuckers ever….

Shaking himself out of daymares, Sam could see them now, still a ways off but visible against the snow. A few of the group stopped and sniffed the air, walked on; a different few would stop and cast about, scenting.

"Holy shit…" Sam was instantly on alert, certain that this group was made up of weres of some kind. He wondered if they were picking up his scent alongside Dean's, fuck-he had no way to hide it either, not in all this fucking snow.

From his spot slightly above them, he could see the group's center was made up of a circle of women, surrounding pups of all ages. Huge wolves weaved in and out of the group, and the way they were greeted made it plain to Sam that what was headed towards them were werewolves-normal, healthy, werewolves, not the half-crazed monsters he mostly ran across as a bait. "Fuck me," he mumbled, fear making him want to bolt towards the cabin, to Dean. But unprotected and weaponless as he was, it'd be a guaranteed suicidal move.

The weres slowly wandered to a haphazard stop. A few stared at the house, shuffling, tossing their heads as they scented the air and talked together. The pups kept wanting to play and the mothers growled, snapped them back into order-even a few of the adolescents had their ears plucked by testy females. Seeing it, Sam couldn't help but smile. He remembered pissing Seli off and getting that sharp, hot, snap on the ear. Nothing got the attention quicker. He watched a were, a tall brown boy with wild black hair, run away from one of the women, rubbing his ear and laughing.

It must be nice to have such a big family, Sam thought.

Finally, the pack as a whole seemed to consider the house, and then one of them pointed to the curl of smoke coming from the chimney-the smoke drifted upwards, until it reached a certain point in the sky and disappeared-sheared off by the concealing spell.

Sam moved down the hill and out of the shadow of the trees; he angled towards the front of the cabin. A few heads turned towards the movement, expressions blandly uninterested, but gazes zeroed in on him like arrows. When he cleared the trees completely, they all angled toward him. It seemed like an idle move, but it put their bodies between him and the pups. He was sure now that they'd been picking up on his scent for a while, and wondered if that would be a problem. Ugly, the old 'walker that he'd been caged with, told tales of various monsters not getting along at all, and had always said that werewolves saw themselves at the top of a heap that had shifters firmly on the bottom and 'walkers somewhere in a very thin middle.

Hopefully, this group would just move on. They had to know the cabin belonged to the Men of Letters, and he doubted they'd want to mess with one of their hunters.

He could see them better now. Most of them in human form were dressed like a regular group of loggers or hunters. Heavy shirts and boots, down jackets on some of them-to the eye they looked ordinary. Some of them carried packs, probably full of the meat Sam could smell, which explained what they were doing out in the woods-hunting, hopefully just moving through.

Only it turned out he had no such luck about them moving on though. One of them came out of the pack, trailed by a couple of weres. The strolled up to Sam, and he saw the one in the lead was the long-haired boy who'd run from the females, laughing.

"Hey, you with the human staying here? He a mole?" The wolf was tall as Sam, with dark brown skin and leaf-green eyes that locked on him with bright interest.

"Nah. Hunter, working for them. We're stuck up here until Thaw." Sam shrugged and the young wolf beamed.

"Oh, gothcha, ya, sucks being stuck, don't it? Well, we got some stuff to trade if you guys want." He turned towards the other wolves, two grizzled, older wolves who dipped their heads at Sam. They looked curious, and straight-eyed him like Sam was a pup, but not like he was garbage. It made a difference.

"Trade...I don't know. You gotta ask my hu-my partner."

The boy's eyebrows shot up his forehead and he looked Sam up and down. He grinned, a slow lazy thing that made Sam want to blush, and cuff him. "Sure, sure. Your partner. Can we talk to him?"

Sam huffed, and nodded. "Yeah, he's inside. You can follow me if you want."

The boy stepped back and let the older two walk in front, and Sam tipped his head as they passed him. By the small grins he got back, it was the right thing to do. He looked at the boy and the boy's grin went a little less lecherous to warmer, like Sam had passed a test he didn't know he was taking.

The kid walked by his side, swinging his arms, humming to himself and then said, out of nowhere, "Fastmile, that's my name, but everyone calls me Fast."

"Oh. Unh-hunh." Sam glanced over and the kid was looking at him with great expectation, "Uh, Sam, that's me."

"Saa-am," Fast repeated, rolling the name on his tongue like he was tasting something exotic. Sam rolled his eyes-Jeezus, it was just a dumb sound, worth nothing. He growled when Fast smiled at him again, but Fast wasn't taking a hint.

Dean came out on the porch just as the two old wolves hit the yard. He was fully dressed, coat and all, though the coat was hanging open and his boots were unlaced-he got dressed in a damn hurry. Sam noted he'd made time to get his coffee, though.

He stood nonchalantly on the porch, totally defenseless, no weapon in sight, and blowing steam off his cup like it was a regular damn day, and Fuck! Sam felt an instant spike of rage-if he'd been standing next to the fool, he'd have taken a chunk out of him, damn it. What the hell was he thinking, going out to confront a pack of monsters with no backup?

What happened next made Sam's head spin-one of the old wolves let out a whoop, and swung his arms in the air. "Hey, Hunter," he called out, followed by a few others calling out as well, including the kid who'd been talking to Sam.

He pushed past Sam, waving wildly, shouting out, "Hey, Mister Dean!"

So there stood Sam, frozen at the edge of the yard and watching a bunch of wolves act like they'd gathered for a carnival or something, and at some point in time, had elected Dean 'King of WinterDay'. Not that Sam cared a whole lot, it just seemed Dean had made it around a bit. A few females passed him, giggling and whispering to each other and throwing Dean looks like he was a pack of ribs wrapped up in a pork roast...seems Dean got the fuck around a lot.

"Hey, Winchester," an old wolf called out, "We got some meat to trade, if you have flour or cornmeal, that's what we're looking for right now. We never quite made it down to town last SpringDay, so we're really down on supplies."

"I might have some, come on up and take a look-your pack should go make themselves comfortable, good to see you all."

The old ones loped up to the house, hugging Dean before moving inside.

Fast looked at Sam and Sam asked, "What other kinds of things will you trade for? " when what he really wanted to ask was 'how the hell do you know Dean?'

"Tea for my alphas would be great-we have black tea but they like that weird flavored stuff-candy for the babies? Um...could use some cups, n' some wax…" He stopped and sniffed. "Can you do a cleansing spell? We picked up some tents recently, but bad things happened in them."

"Yo weren't the originator of the bad things, were you?" Sam asked, and grinned to himself when the kid's eyes went round in horror.

"Not us, we follow The Law. We're citizens like you."

"Yeah, yeah, okay. You coming in?"

The boy smiled at him, a flirty curve of plush lips that pulled a blush out of Sam. "It's real kind of you to offer. But the only ones going in are my alphas, and maybe their council. The rest of us will just make a place over by that truck of Dean's. "

Sam watched as most of the crew undressed, folding clothes and putting boots on one of the sleds, chatting together like it was a market day. The weres that kept their human form walked past him dragging sleds towards Lucille. He ignored being sniffed by strangers-he wasn't sure what werewolf traditions were. He noticed that they whispered to each other, glancing at him, as he passed.

Fast walked up behind him, a lumpy bundle of fabric. "Hey, 'walker, wanna help us set up the tents?"

Sam watched them all, how they worked together, moving in and out of each others spaces like an intricate dance. Again, that little stab of melancholy hit him, envy that they were all family, and all seemed to care for each other. He shook himself, turned to Fast. "Yeah...if you're sure they won't mind."

"We're all brothers out here, man." Fast clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder. "No one cares what you are, only who. And I can smell you're a good one."



phoenix1966

Chapter eight