Camdon Inn - Part 4
Part 3 | Master Post | Part 5
It had started to rain on their walk back: a slow, miserably cold drizzle that was too light to see that had them soaked in a matter of minutes anyway. It fogged the forest around them, dampening everything, and had Dean’s clothes starting to stick to his skin. His shirt pulled awkwardly across his chest, riding up and clinging in cold, wet lumps as his jeans twisted around his legs, making it difficult to walk through the tall underbrush. Dean started to shiver, cursing the weather and that had been before the skies really decided to open.
It was a downpour by the time they got back to where the cabin was, water gushing from the sky with a constant roar, the rain bouncing off the leaves as it filtered through the trees. When they reached the clearing, Sam and Dean made a break for it, darting across the uncovered area at a dead run. Arms above their heads, they plowed through the tall grass heading for the relative safety of the cabin. They hit the gravel-laden dirt and Dean skidded in the mud, gunk squelching around his boots as he dug trenches in the soft ground. He managed to keep himself upright, arms pinwheeling for balance, and threw himself onto the veranda. Sam followed right behind him.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean swore, grabbing his knees as he leaned over to pant. Sam nodded and jerked his head back as he sucked in a deep breath. Next to them, just a foot away, the rain continued to pour, rolling off the roof and pounding onto the ground. The forest, just a few yards away, was barely visible through the veil of water that blanketed the cabin. It was like being behind a waterfall. Dean shivered. “Fuck, that’s cold.” He stripped off his drenched shirt as he stalked inside the cabin. It felt like his actual bones were freezing.
The cabin was just how they’d left it-books scattered over every available surface and the plated remains of breakfast sitting precariously on top of them. Two empty beer bottles lay discarded on the floor. Dean supposed that they should consider themselves lucky that a raccoon hadn’t decided to come inside after the scene he’d thrown. He hadn’t expected Sam to follow him but, of course, Sam had. Go figure that Dean tried to do the noble thing and go out to try and get himself under control and Sam just fucking followed him over the metaphorical cliff.
It wasn’t Sam’s fault, though. No, it was Dean who had this funky mojo on him. Sam was just caught up in whatever the fuck had been done to Dean. This was so fucking messed up…
“Dean…” But Sam was fucking crazy if he thought that they were going to talk this over. You did not discuss brother fucking. In polite company or otherwise.
Besides, Dean was fucking hungry. Dean grabbed some dry clothes, stripping off and dropping the wet ones absent-mindedly on the floor as he swung to the left, heading straight for the kitchen. He felt like he could eat a whole cow. He pulled on the dry jeans as he started opening up the cupboards. He didn’t remember putting away groceries last night but they were. Maybe Sam had done it after-after whatever they hadn’t done. Dean pulled on his shirt and stared at the various selections, wondering if he had the patience to actually make anything before he realized that no, he didn’t, and so grabbed the loaf of bread, intent on making himself a sandwich.
“Dean, are you okay?” If Sam didn’t stop asking dumb shit questions like that, Dean couldn’t be held responsible for his actions. Fuck, he was hungry. Dean decided to even skip the peanut butter and just shoved a slice of plain bread into his mouth. He felt like he hadn’t eaten in a week. “Dean?” Sam’s voice was closer now. In fact it was…
Dean whirled, finding Sam directly at his elbow, nearly falling over before he managed to back up. “Christ, Sammy,” Dean complained through a mouthful of bread. “Warn a guy!”
“…You sure you’re okay?” Sam asked, standing there dripping on the floor because he hadn’t bothered to change yet and his hair soaked up water like a fucking sponge.
“Fucking peachy. Now don’t drip on me!” Sam…Sam smelled kind of good. Like milk chocolate.
That was fucking disturbing. Dean shoved another slice of bread in his mouth, the end hanging out as he used both hands to try and shove Sam away and fuck but that was a mistake. As soon as Dean touched Sam, as soon as he felt Sam’s wet shirt, he knew it was a mistake. He felt an electric shock travel up his fingertips and he stared at Sam’s face, seeing an answering reaction echoing in Sam. Dean shoved Sam backwards, darting out around him, and escaping the kitchen.
Okay, breathe first. He just needed some air. That was all. There was some crazy mindfuck mojo going on, but Dean could handle it if he just got some fucking air! Instead, he was surrounded by fucking chocolate and Sam just needed to back the fuck off! “Stop crowding me!” he shouted.
“Dean?” Dean turned to glare at Sam and shove him away again, but stopped cold when he realized that while he had traversed more than half the cabin, Sam hadn’t moved an inch, still standing in the kitchen more than twenty feet away and staring at Dean.
Fuck. Dean snarled and punched the wall. Dean? “Stop fucking talking, Sam, I need to think!”
“…I didn’t say anything-”
“I said, stop fucking talking!” Dean couldn’t fucking THINK while Sam was talking. It was like Sam’s voice just overloaded his damn brain or something and then all he could think about was Sam, Sam, Sam. Sam in all kinds of disturbing, sick ways-ways that a guy shouldn’t think about his little brother in. Dean didn’t care what kind of twisted hold the creature had over him, he should be able to resist thinking about Sam like that. Flashes of last night and then again in the woods spun through his mind, reminding him exactly how Sam could look, how he made Dean feel-
He could control this. He knew he could. All he had to do was concentrate. Really want it. Dean just had to FOCUS and-Dean, stop-SAM HAD TO STOP TALKING!
He had to stop talking, he had to stop smelling so damn good, he had to stop breathing, even. Dean could hear each and every breath Sam was taking, could fucking feel them and it wasn’t helping. He could almost feel Sam’s hot skin underneath his hands, feel how Sam’s chest was heaving and how it was wet from the rain but that he could still notice that there was a trickle of sweat starting to bead. Could feel how Sam’s muscles bunched under his touch and feel the heat radiating off of him and Christ, did the whole room smell like chocolate now?
Dean’s back slammed into the wall and he opened his eyes, confused, just in time to field Sam’s kiss. Fuck, Sam even tasted good. Sam tasted like sin. He tasted like water in the goddamned desert. He tasted like summer and sunny days and home. Dean moaned-couldn’t fucking help himself-and even though he’d tried to push Sam away, his hands ended up gripping Sam’s forearms, holding him in place while Dean attempted to just fucking melt.
This was just like out in the woods-just like out in the woods. Sam used every bit of height he had on Dean, to try and force him into submission, looming and pushing him back against the wall, but he didn’t even have to try-Dean was already giving it up. He needed more. Fuck, did he need more. He was starving.
He sank his hands into Sam’s hair, dragging Sam down closer so that Dean could stick more of his tongue in Sam’s mouth and God, but Sam was fucking everywhere. Everything smelled like Sam and Sam’s body leaned up against every available inch of Dean’s while his hands roamed over Dean’s body, rucking up his shirt and dragging down his jeans.
Dean moaned again and squirmed, trying to help Sam get his wet clothes off. Clothes were so fucking useless anyway. He needed to feel more of Sam, needed him closer. They were too fucking far apart. He was damn near wrapped around Sam like a fucking octopus with his tongue down his throat and they were too fucking far apart. “Sammy,” Dean gasped. “Fuck, Sammy…” He pulled uselessly at Sam’s wet T-shirt. “Take this off,” he pleaded. For the life of him, he couldn’t seem to figure out how to do it himself.
“God, yes,” Sam whispered, pulling away just long enough to rip the shirt off over his head before coming back and attacking Dean’s neck. Dean gasped, surging upwards as Sam licked a stripe up his throat and then bit down, worrying the skin between his teeth as he made his mark.
“Sam, Sammy, Sam,” Dean babbled. Christ, his tongue was running away with him. He couldn’t stop it anymore than he could stop the involuntary shudder that racked his body when Sam shoved his thigh between Dean’s legs. Dean ground himself down on Sam, moaning at the sensations running up his spine. Gorgeous.
Dean’s eyes fluttered and he pressed the side of his face to Sam’s, licking at Sam’s ear. It was the only thing he could reach. His hands slid down Sam’s back, feeling the muscles underneath the skin as he made his way to the waistband of Sam’s jeans. Beautiful. Mine.
When Dean shoved his hands down the back of Sam’s baggy jeans, Sam growled and Dean found himself suddenly in the air and moving backwards. Sam’s hands covered Dean’s ass, lifting him as Sam half-dragged him back to the bedroom. “Fuck, yes…”
Sam dumped him on the bed, staying away just long enough to yank Dean’s jeans off his hips and down to his ankles before he straddled Dean, bearing him down to the bed. Dean toed at his shoes, kicking them off and letting the jeans puddle to the floor while he ran his hands up Sam’s body, over his naked thighs and to the still covered bulge in Sam’s underwear. Sam had managed to take off his own jeans, but not his boxers. Dean groaned in frustration, fingers tracing the hardness under the cloth.
Sam whined, high but quiet, and seized Dean’s wrists, dragging them above his head and pinning them to the mattress. Dean writhed, desperate with the need to touch Sam but feeling just about ready to come from the thought of being bound by Sam. “Fuck…” He arched up, rubbing his own erection against Sam’s and shuddered.
“Do you want this?” Sam asked, low and rough and Dean nodded. Fuck yeah. “Do you want this?” Sam repeated as if it fucking mattered.
Dean bucked up against him again. “Yes, yes, I want it. I need it. Sam, I need it. Need you-” He bit his lip, muffling the words into unpronounceable sounds. Sam just needed to get with the fucking program, already! Dean hauled at his arms but Sam had him good and pinned.
“God, Dean…” Sam panted and then he collapsed on top of Dean, biting at Dean’s lips and sliding his hands down to Dean’s hips. “God…” He ground his cock against Dean, driving Dean insane with the need to thrust back, to try and encourage any and all contact. Dean moaned and tried to tug himself free again and Sam transferred both of Dean’s wrists to one huge hand, using the other to strip off his boxers, freeing his cock to drool on Dean’s stomach. Dean squirmed, rubbing up against the head of Sam’s dick to watch him shudder.
Sam leaned away for a few tortuous moments before coming back with a soft “Dean…” and then he was pushing fingers up inside of Dean. Dean gasped and arched, trying to spread his legs as wide as possible and get Sam more inside of him at the same time. He had to have more. More of Sam’s hot touch. Sam brushed a spot inside him that had Dean arching again as sparks zipped up and down his spine.
Dean knew that his mouth was making sounds, but he didn’t know what he was saying, just that he wanted Sam to hurry up and please. A resounding yes was echoing through Dean’s mind but to what he wasn’t sure. Wasn’t sure of anything until he felt the hot press of Sam pushing inside of him and then yes.
Sam was purring in his ear about ‘hot’ and ‘gorgeous’ and ‘perfect’ and ‘fucking mine’ but Dean thought he could say anything he wanted as long as he kept up that low, growly voice that made him throb with each freaking syllable and as long as he kept up those long, deep, hard thrusts that had Dean seeing stars. Dean wrapped his legs around Sam, trying to get him as close as possible, trying to make him become a part of Dean.
God but Sam was fucking huge; when had he gotten so damn big? It felt like he was stretching Dean to the limit and Christ, should that feel as good as it did?
It started with a shudder, Dean’s orgasm, and it moved into an uncontrollable wave of pleasure crashing over him. There was somebody screaming and somewhere Dean realized it was himself but it felt just so far away, buffered as he was in trying to stay afloat. Orgasm zinged along his nerves, buzzing through his body and then Dean felt Sam start to come. He felt Sam’s body start to seize as he flooded Dean’s insides and it was like a riding a tidal wave crashing into the beach. Dean felt himself slammed against the shore by another wave of pleasure as his world flashed to white.
---
The only sound in the room was a harsh panting that Dean instinctively knew was his own. He raised a hand to his face to wipe away sweat, only being mildly alarmed at how slow the limb was to respond. Christ. It felt like someone had beaten him and left him for dead in an alley. He slid his sluggish hand down to his neck, feeling his racing pulse.
The bed was a fucking mess. The covers were everywhere-the heavy quilt wadded up at the end of the bed and the thin white sheets twisting around Dean’s legs and under his body. He was also pretty sure that he was sitting in a definite wet-spot. He groaned as he tried half-heartedly to kick himself free.
It was only then that he finally became aware of the fact that yes, there was someone else in the room-someone that wasn’t breathing as hard as him maybe, but someone that was laying right beside him, radiating heat and sweat. Dean lolled his head to the left and lazily blinked at Sam who stared back, looking shocked and scared and stubborn all at the exact same time. Sam swallowed, probably preparing himself to talk so Dean beat him to it. “I can’t control it,” he said simply. “I thought I could, but I can’t.”
Sam nodded, his eyes narrowing in thought, no doubt genius mind already whirling with theories. Dean sighed and looked away. He simply couldn’t meet Sam’s earnest puppy dog eyes right now. Couldn’t fucking take them. “Are you hearing my thoughts?” Sam asked quietly and Dean frowned.
…He dismissed them at the time but… “Yeah. I think I am. Sometimes.”
Sam pushed himself up, bracing on an elbow and leaning towards Dean. “That probably changes things,” he said.
“And how would it do that?” Dean rolled his eyes. Trust Sam to skip over the truly difficult part to focus on a damn detail. They were fucking for Christ’s sake. Had been, probably would again because they couldn’t fucking control themselves just like goddamned rabbits and Sam thought Dean being able to sense out some random thoughts and feelings of Sam’s was going to change anything?
But Sam was in a mood to be fucking cryptic today. Somebody needed to tell him not to do that to guys who’d just had sex. It was completely unfair. “Because you’re going to find out,” he stated, like it just cleared everything right up.
“Find what out?” Dean demanded irritably, finally summoning enough ambition to roll onto his side to meet Sam’s stare head on.
Sam’s expression puppy dog eyes turned wretched but resigned. “How I feel.”
“Sam,” Dean said with a glower. “I don’t have the patience right now to play twenty questions.”
“You’re going to find out how I feel, Dean,” Sam explained. “How I’ve always felt. If you’re starting to pick up as much as I have, you’re going to figure it out.”
“How you feel about what, Sam?” Dean snapped. Christ, he’d just been flying high two minutes ago… Sam really was a buzzkill.
Sam’s eyes turned hard and he shoved himself up to a sitting position. All the better to drop a bomb, Dean figured, when Sam snarled, “That I’m fucking in love with you, asshole.”
Dean blinked. “What?” he asked disbelievingly but Sam was already up out of bed and heading for the main part of the cabin. Dean kicked at the covers twined around his legs, pulling them off of himself before he dared to stand. He didn’t need to be falling flat on his face right now. “Sam, get back here!” You didn’t say something like that and fucking walk away. You just didn’t do that!
He stumbled off the bed onto the cold wood floor and jogged out into the main room. Sam was standing in the middle, evidently waiting. “What the fuck did you mean by that?” Dean demanded. Christ, as if their lives weren’t fucked up enough…
Sam crossed his arms. “I wasn’t exactly enigmatic about it, Dean. I came out and said it, what more do you want?”
“A fucking explanation!” Dean exploded, throwing his hands out to the side.
“What, do you need a map?” Sam sneered.
“We fucked, Sam-”
“Yeah, I know, and you didn’t exactly force me.” Dean closed his mouth with an audible click. Sam…Sam had wanted him. Then the…
“It wasn’t working on you?” Dean croaked.
Sam sighed, looking off to the right. “It was. But it didn’t exactly need to work hard.”
“…So you…” Dean couldn’t finish that statement and Sam just looked at him flatly, refusing to do it for him. “…How long?”
Sam shrugged. “Since forever? Dude, I think we both know that we’re pretty screwed up, thanks to Dad-”
“Dude, Dad did not make you want my ass!” Fucking Sam and his freaking hard-on for dragging Dad’s name through the mud. The man was dead and Sam couldn’t stop.
“No, but he didn’t exactly help me not to, either.”
“And what the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“We were raised in each other’s back pockets, Dean. No concept of personal space, remember? Sorry if hearing a guy jerk off next to me three times a day finally got to me. You were my first wet dream!”
“You told me it was Jenny Carthers!” Jenny Carthers of the enormous breasts and bubblegum pink lipstick. Dean remembered the day that he’d dragged that confession out of Sammy. The kid’d been blushing at the kitchen table when Dean’d been talking about making-out with a girl and Dean had just put two and two together.
“No, YOU said it had to be Jenny Carthers! I thought she was a bit of a bitch, or don’t you remember her constantly throwing my math textbook in the garbage?”
…Honestly, no, Dean didn’t remember that. He just remembered seeing Sam and Jenny standing really close one time, talking fast. …In retrospect, he supposed that they could have been arguing. “Dude, you’re gay?”
“Apparently,” Sam said flatly.
Now Dean knew he had Sam caught. “What about Jess, then?”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t bring Jess into this.”
“I’m not. But you’ve dated a girl before.”
“Of course I have,” Sam replied snottily. “Doesn’t mean I can’t like guys, too.” Like that made all the sense in the world. Dean gaped, unsure what to say to that that wouldn’t be repeating himself. Sam huffed a sigh. “What does it freaking matter, Dean? I’m here telling you I’m in love with you and you want to argue labels!”
“Well somebody should! You seem a little confused here, Sammy.” Like hell Dean believed that Sam was gay. He was just confused-the curse had messed him all up. “It’s got to be whatever mindfuck mojo’s been put on me. Once we get it off, you’ll think this is really funny.”
“Yeah, one problem with that-I’ve felt this way for years.” A tick was developing in Sam’s jaw. “What if this can’t be fixed, Dean?”
Dean glared. They weren’t discussing this. “It can be, Sam.” There was no way that Dean was going to believe otherwise.
“What if it can’t be?”
“Sam-” Dean started.
“Dean, it’s a good question. What if this can’t be fixed? What are you going to do?”
Of course Sam just wasn’t going to drop this. Sam had never ‘just dropped’ anything in his life, so Dean didn’t know why he expected Sam to start now. He sighed and turned to face the wall, crossing his arms. He wasn’t going to consider this. They had to fix it because otherwise Dean wasn’t going to be able to stop himself and the alternative? Was even fucking worse. Dean had already had Sam walk out on him once. Like fuck he was going to do it again. Christ, but maybe Sam had a point-a small one-about how their father had raised them: Dean had been just about ready to slit his wrists five years ago because he hadn’t known what to do without Sam.
Could he actually…? It was stupid to even think about. Stupid. There was nothing remotely right with this situation even by their standards which was saying something. What did Sam think was going to happen? That Dean would just willingly submit to this? And why the fuck did Sam want that?
…Or, more to the point, when had Sam started wanting that? When had Sam stopped looking at Dean as just an older brother and started looking at him more like…
It…. It wasn’t all bad. Really. Apparently Sam was a pretty good lay-and Dean was not going there. He wasn’t.
He certainly wasn’t going to think about how deep inside of him, some part of him was just begging to say yes to Sam. That was the fucking curse talking. It had to be. And it would be gone just as soon as they killed this son of a bitch. “That’s not an option, Sam.”
Sam crossed his arms. “Maybe it should be.”
“Are you saying you don’t want this to be fixed? Is that what you’re telling me, Sam? You want us to, what, go on fucking uncontrollably for the rest of eternity? What kind of fucked up-”
“No!” Sam interrupted. “I’m just saying that sometimes there are things that can’t be fixed, Dean and maybe you should just accept that-”
“We both know that’s not an option!”
“Bullshit, Dean. You want to pretend, then go ahead, but just remember: I can hear what you’re thinking.”
…Sam could… Dean’s jaw dropped, his blood running cold Just how much did Sam know, anyway?! Could Sam hear what Dean was thinking right now? Did he know that Dean-God help him-had actually contemplated it? Fucking Christ on a pogo stick… “Stay the fuck out of my head!” he shouted. “You know what, Sam, how about this? How about for once in your goddamned life, you don’t embrace the obviously evil powers? How about that?”
It was a low blow. Dean knew it was a low blow. Sam had never asked for any of this, really. But Dean wasn’t going to take it back. The look on Sam’s face was killing him but he wasn’t going to take it back. And then, for the first time since they’d started this fucked-up hunt, he was alone in the cabin, the front door slamming behind Sam. Fuck.
---
So. Sam…Sam wanted “this.” It was a thought that Dean had been trying to wrap his head around for the past two hours and he still wasn’t any closer to being able to put the words “Sam,” “wants,” “fuck,” and “me” in the same sentence. He flopped back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling, counting the stains again. There were seven and a half all together-at least in this main room. The one only counted as a half because, well, it was really just a spot and Dean couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a bug or something without getting up and checking.
This was blowing his goddamned mind was what it was doing. How could Sam want that? Why?
Granted, it hadn’t been all bad-and again, Dean was not going there. He wasn’t even going to think it. He was going to focus on rainbows or puppies or something-anything to get him to stop thinking about having sex with his brother.
He just didn’t understand. Sam had dated women before. Hell, Sam had even fucked women before-Dean knew that. But yet somehow, for some reason, Sam had randomly decided-probably with more than a little bit of help-that he wanted to…
Except that Sam had said that he’d wanted this for awhile. Jesus. Had Sam thought about it before? Before all of this? Had Sam sat beside Dean in the Impala and thought about, well, that?
…And did it really matter? Yeah, sure, the whole damn thing was completely FUBAR, but was it really that horrible in the grand scheme of things? It made Dean wince to admit it, but a little bit of (dubiously) consensual incest was hardly the worst of their sins. It wasn’t exactly a merit badge or anything but hey. At least no one had died.
Yet.
And, yeah, Dean knew that he had been out of line with the whole embracing the evil powers crack but Sam had been out of line for thinking that Dean would just be okay with taking it up the ass.
Jesus, it made his head spin. It also had him analyzing every single damn thing he could remember Sam doing from age 13 to now, wondering just where it might have started and how Dean might have fucked up royally. Normal people did not do things like this.
Through all of this, he kept getting little spurts of alternating anger and hurt that somehow he knew was coming from Sam. Goddamned fucking curse. The sporadic guilt-trips, however, Dean kind of thought were preferable to the equally random images of himself that he kept getting as well-licking his lips after taking a drink or sprawled out on the Impala, breathless and naked in the backseat which he was pretty sure was not a memory of an actual event but rather Sam’s wish fulfillment and it would be damned nice if Sam would stop that shit.
‘Cause Dean was feeling an answering surge of something every time he caught a glimpse and yeah, still not going there!
So just in case Sam was in Dean’s head as well and not just broadcasting to the lower 48, Dean tried to keep his thoughts focused and narrowed and whenever Sam threw him a risqué image, Dean would concentrate on either a particularly hot chick or a memory of Sam in diapers, depending on just how personal said image was.
Underneath all of it, Dean was starting to feel the now familiar stirrings of hunger, damn it. Bad enough that he couldn’t control it: The damn curse made him want it.
It was around ten o’clock by the time the rain finally stopped, suddenly cutting out like someone had shut off a valve, and it was around eleven before Sam finally poked his head back inside the cabin. His hair was dry, so apparently, he’d stayed underneath the veranda which was good, Dean supposed. Didn’t need Sam coming down sick on top of everything else.
“We should check out the site tonight,” Sam said stepping inside, the first words Dean had heard spoken out loud in hours. He grunted an affirmative because if there was any chance that the freaky little cultists responsible for this mess were in the woods, dancing around their little bonfire and sacrificing a new victim, Dean was there. ‘Cause they couldn’t wrap this shitpile of a hunt up fast enough.
He was already halfway there in his head when he realized that someone was knocking at the door. It was an insistent rapping and Dean glanced over at Sam who nodded. Sam slunk over beside the door, positioning himself within striking distance while Dean stood in front of it. “Hello?”
“Agents?” a voice asked and Dean swore, recognizing it. “I just came by to-”
Dean swung the door open. “Brian,” he said flatly. The innkeeper’s balding head gleamed in the low light, his sweater vest a dark blue, charcoal grey and maroon combination. “How can we help you?”
Brian’s brown eyes widened, his hands fluttering wildly like a frightened bird attempting to fly. “I was just checking to see if maybe you were…checking out?”
“Checking out?” Dean repeated, his eyes narrowing. He swung around to glance at the clock on the wall. Dean had never been the best at being able to tell time but he was fairly certain that the clock was telling him it was 11:05. “Now?”
“Or-or-or maybe tomorrow…” Brian trailed off, still staring at Dean with his eyes starting to show white around the edges. Then he switched tracks, leaving Dean spinning in a rut of confusion. “Is there anything you need? Anything at all?” Brian wrung his hands, still staring like Dean was about to bolt. Sam frowned at Dean, and kept just out of Brian’s line of sight as he shrugged his shoulders. Dean, meanwhile, was trying to convince himself that it wasn’t longing he was seeing on Brian’s face and, Christ, was the man smelling him? Brian’s nostrils were flaring and Dean felt his skin starting to crawl.
“Uh…no. No, I think we’re good. Brian. Thanks.” Dean pushed the door closed, shoving the nervous-looking Brian out of the cabin and putting a nice solid piece of wood between him and them. He firmly pushed it against the jamb, hearing it latch but resisted the urge to lock the stupid thing. He glanced over at Sam. “Hooo-kay…”
Sam frowned harder. “That was creepy.”
“That was really creepy,” Dean agreed.
“Think he wants us out of here?”
“Either that or he really wants your ass, Sam,” Dean growled and stomped towards the duffels, starting to pack. He wasn't quite sure what to bring, so he just started throwing everything he could think of into the bags on the off-chance that they'd be able to find out what the fuck was going on and put a stop to it. “We’re ending this tonight.” If he said it out loud, maybe it would actually happen. There was always hope. And a little bit of denial.
Part 3 | Master Post | Part 5