Camdon Inn - Part 6 & Epilogue

[dragonspell]

Part 5 | Master Post | Art Post



Sam wondered if that gigantic ball of pain he felt pulling at his mind was really Ronnie like Dean kept insisting or if it was something that Dean was attempting to cover up. That would be just like Dean to pull something like that, claiming that the hunt was more important than any injury he might have. Sam glanced over at Dean who was staring straight ahead out the windshield as he focused on driving the Impala down the narrow two-track, the headlights just barely casting enough light to avoid the trees.

There was a growing kernel in Sam’s head, telling him that this was a big fucking mistake and that they should have stayed put but he had no idea if that was a warning from whatever creature they were dealing with or just his own fears talking. Dean sure felt like they should be doing this, though-risking the Impala’s life and all.

They emerged onto the main road, turning to the left. “He’s at the inn, isn’t he?” Sam asked, just to say something. They both already knew. But Dean nodded anyway, driving down to the Inn’s driveway, passing the beaten-in mailbox and turning, the Impala’s wheels crunching over the gravel. Dean parked the Impala a little ways back, killing the engine, and glanced over at Sam. Sam nodded that, yeah, they were really going to do this and together, they got out.

The inn’s door was hanging even more ajar than normal, one hinge completely snapped off and the others just barely hanging on. There was no doubt anymore that Ronnie had headed toward the Inn. Dean pulled out his nickel-plated Colt as he crept forward, boots noiseless on the ground. Sam followed, pulling out the Taurus as he kept a close eye on the surrounding area, watching for a possible ambush.

“Son of a bitch…” Dean whispered and Sam inched next to him to peer over his shoulder.

Blood splatters covered the wooden floor and the runner at the front desk before a pool gathered in the center of the room and a trail led over to the stairs on the right. There was a body lying on its back at the foot of the stairs, arms stretched out, and even from this distance, Sam could make out the bald head and what remained of a sweater vest. Brian, the innkeeper, stared up at the ceiling, his mouth open in a silent scream. His chest had been ripped open from collar bone to groin, his insides spilling out to stain the floor. Part of his intestines where traveling up the stairs and Sam swallowed down the urge to puke.

Dean crept closer to the body, every now and then stopping to scan the rest of the room and the upstairs balcony. He stopped within a few feet of the stairs, grimacing even as he leaned in closer. “The heart’s gone,” he said, jerking backwards. “Fuck.” Sam nodded and glanced up the stairs where more blood was smeared on the runner. At least they knew where the heart had gone. Sam jerked his head towards the trail and Dean nodded, still twisted in distaste.

“And just what are you boys doing here?” a weary voice asked and Sam jumped but Dean looked unsurprised, automatically straightening to look at the balcony.

“Pete,” Dean said, aiming his gun. “Knew you’d be here.”

Sheriff Jacobson walked the length of the balcony and stood at the top of the stairs, shoulders slumped as he stared down at them. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

“So you are in on it.” Dean stepped closer to the stairs, cocking the gun.

“There’s nothing here for you, Dean.” Jacobson was quietly watching Dean move closer, standing guard on the top step.

“Bullshit. There’s a whole lot of evil motherfuckers. Like you.” Dean stepped over Brian’s ruined body, starting to climb the stairs.

Jacobson nodded at the body. “He was one of us, too.” Dean paused, frowning as he glanced back down the stairs.

“But he’s dead,” Sam blurted, staring at Brian’s dead body like it was suddenly going to get up and walk again. If Brian was dead, did that mean that there was more of a severe fissure in the ranks than they’d suspected? And who’d killed him?

“Yes,” Jacobson replied.

“Christ,” Dean snarled, “Is the whole fucking town in on it?” That was a good fucking question, Sam thought. Obviously Deputy Thompkins wasn’t but who else of the townsfolk had known all along? Who else had Sam and Dean wasted their time talking to?

“I told you before, Dean: we take care of our own. Now, there’s nothing here for you.” Jacobson gripped the stairway railing, using it to anchor himself in place.

“Like fuck-” Dean started.

“You don’t want to kill us,” Sam interrupted, the epiphany smacking him upside the head. If Jacobson had wanted them dead, Sam had no doubt that they’d already be fighting for their lives.

Dean blinked. “What? Fuck, Sam, he’s one of them-”

“He doesn’t want to kill us,” Sam repeated before turning to pose the question to Jacobson. “Do you?”

Jacobson shifted his weight, taking awhile to answer. “…We don’t believe in it,” he said finally.

“Oh, bullshit! You’ve already killed-”

Jacobson lunged forward but caught himself on the railing, not leaving the top step. “Ronnie is not one of us,” he snarled. “She can’t sustain him like us. He’s a thing. She never should have-” Glass shattered, echoing through the inn and Jacobson whirled, staring back into the hallway. “No!” he shouted, running towards the sound, leaving Sam and Dean talking to empty air.

“Fuck!” Dean swore, bounding up the steps after him, gun raised and looking for a shot.

“Dean!” Sam leapt over Brian’s body and climbed the stairs, too. Dean ducked down the hallway Jacobson disappeared into, turning the corner and Sam jumped the last few steps, trying to catch up to him. He knew that if he didn’t stop Dean, he was probably going to do something stupid and Jacobson didn’t want to kill them.

A howl had Dean jerking to the right, turning and kicking open the door next to him. Sam ran into him, overshooting his mark like a baseball player heading past first and shoved him into the wall. Dean slammed against the drywall, already turning to try and fight Sam off, get him out of the way. Dean shoved Sam to the side, raising his gun and Sam glanced over just into to see a large gray wolf jumping out of the second story window.

“Fuck!” Dean pushed Sam away from him and ran to the window, staring down into the night. A snarl, then a yelp, echoed through the air and Dean turned back towards the door. Sam caught his arm. “What the fuck is your problem?” Dean demanded. “They’re getting away!”

“Jacobson doesn’t want to kill us!” Sam shouted, grabbing a hold of him with both hands and shaking him. Dean was going to fucking get himself killed and it was going to be for nothing!

“Sam, I don’t know if you noticed or not, but Jacobson’s that goddamned wolf down there!” Dean jerked out of Sam’s grasp, pointing out the window.

“Who’s apparently trying to kill the other one!”

“Monsters, Sam! They’re goddamned monsters!” Dean ran for the door, careening out of the room.

“Dean!” Sam called after him as he followed. “Damn it-” A rush of electricity zipped up Sam’s spine, stopping him dead in his tracks and seizing in his brain, sending him reeling towards the floor. Sam collapsed, his body twitching with the voltage searing his nerves. He arched and gasped as he stared up at the ceiling, unable to do much more. A familiar woman leaned over him, her small pixie-like face curious as watched him writhe. Sam’s eyes rolled-the best he could manage as he struggled to grab her.

“He’s impetuous,” she said. Sam hadn’t known that she’d been able to speak. She pushed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear and pursed her lips. “That must be troublesome for you. You should have given him to me. You still should.” She cocked her head to the side. “I would take good care of him.”

Sam tried to talk, to say anything, but his voice just wasn’t there and he flopped against the floor, still riding out the power in his body. The woman stepped over him, the white gauze of her dress skimming over Sam’s body as she headed towards the stairs. “I won’t let him get far. Peter would kill him if he had to but you are one of us now. We shouldn’t let that happen-our kind is too rare to waste.”

Sam gasped, kicking out his legs. He had to get up, he had to move! Except when he tried to convince his body to turn over, to get up, all he got was his arm twitching and his head lolling to the side. Like his body didn’t understand the commands, like there was a short-circuit in his nerves.

He fought down the panic-he had to help Dean-and tried to focus, his body shuddering with the effort. He jerked with one last shock of electricity before managing to flop onto his stomach. “Yes…” Sam breathed, bringing his still twitching limbs underneath him to push himself up.

He made it to his knees but didn’t dare stand up, instead crawling out in to the hallway, heading for the stairs, heading for Dean-Dean who was lying dead still against the wall at the top of the stairs.

Dean! Sam tried to shout, grimacing when he realized that he couldn’t draw in enough breath to actually voice it. Swallowing, he tried again. “…dean…”

Dean twitched, raising a hand to grab his head as he groaned. “What the fuck was that?” He shook his head and focused on Sam. “Sammy?”

Sam crawled next to him, pulling himself along to collapse on the floor beside Dean. “I don’t know,” Sam said truthfully.

“My legs aren’t working.”

Sam huffed a laugh. “Yeah, mine aren’t, either.”

“Christ.” Dean thumped his head against the wall. In the lowlight of the hotel hallway, Sam could still make out the freckles that dotted his face. “I think I got hit by a bus.”

“She’s a little too small to be a bus,” Sam answered, sitting up.

“She?”

“Yeah…” Sam gave into an impulse and leaned against Dean, feeling how well they fit together. “The girl from the woods. She’s here.” Dean was warm and comforting beside Sam. Sam gave up all pretense of keeping himself separated and let himself drop against Dean. A pleasant thrum filled his body, easing out the residual pain that the woman had left in him. “She’s-” Sam’s voice cut out again and he swallowed, trying to get more spit in his mouth. “I think she’s the leader.”

Dean frowned and turned to look at Sam, nearly hitting Sam with his nose as they were so close. Sam could feel Dean’s breath hitch as he tried to suck in a breath. “Ronnie mentioned a ‘she.’” Sam nodded. Dean was beautiful. Dean had always been beautiful. “We should probably go find them.”

“What?” Sam asked, uncertain if he’d heard that right.

Dean pushed him off and slowly stood up on wobbling legs. “The bitch that hit us and Jacobson and Ronnie. We should probably go find them.”

“And do what, Dean?” Sam leaned back against the wall. “She took us out as easily as swatting a fly.” Not to mention her performance in the woods. Sam had the sneaking suspicion that if they went head to toe with whatever she was, it wouldn’t end pretty. “What do you think we could do if we found them? Die?”

Dean glared. “You’re the one saying that Jacobson doesn’t want to kill us.”

“But he would if he had to.” Sam was willing to bet that Jacobson wouldn’t even blink.

“Well, then, what do you want to do, Sam?” Dean steadied himself against the wall as the force of his words knocked him off balance. “Just throw in the towel, call this hunt good enough and go the fuck home? Is that what you want to do? Just let people keep dying?”

Sam sighed and pushed himself to his feet. Okay, so maybe Dean had a point. But, damn it, Sam had a point, too, and if Dean would just admit that-

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw a flash of white and he turned as fast as he dared. The woman from earlier stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking sadly down at Brian’s body, and in her left hand, she clutched a fist full of blond hair attached to…

Sam’s eyes widened. “Is that…?”

“Ronnie’s head,” Dean confirmed darkly.

The woman turned to look at them. “He never meant it,” she said, bringing Ronnie’s head up to show them. “When he said that he loved me, he never meant it. Brian…Brian always meant it.” She tossed Ronnie’s head away, letting it roll across the floor. A sharp hiss came from the doorway and Sam looked up to see Jacobson standing beside the broken jambs, looking torn up and grim as he stared at the severed head, his face brittle and hard. He’d lost his hat and his coat was in tatters around him, hanging on by just a few threads. The woman ignored him, instead kneeling down beside the dead innkeeper and stroking the back of her hand over his forehead. “He had such beautiful fur.”

Sam stared at the scene happening below, mesmerized, but beside him, he felt Dean fumble for his gun.

“You already know that will do you no good,” she said and Dean froze.

“Sarah.” The woman raised her hand, finally acknowledging Jacobson. He’d finally looked up from his contemplation of Ronnie’s remains and was focusing on the woman. “Time to get out of here.”

She nodded and brushed a kiss against Brian’s forehead before standing up and turning to face Sam and Dean again. “I am sorry for what Ronnie did,” she told them, “I can make it better for you.” She held out her hands, trying to coax them down the stairs. Dean swayed, his eyes glazing over, but Sam grabbed him, keeping him put. Dean shook himself sluggishly, like he was coming out of a daze and the woman quirked a smile. “You have a better hold over him than I thought,” she said, tilting her head again. “You should give him to me.”

Dean moved again, though he stepped backward this time, shaking his head in a definite no. ‘Sarah’ held her hands out wider and glared at Sam. “Give him to me.”

Sam glowered back, keeping a firm hold on Dean. “No.”

“The longer you are exposed to him, the more he will change you,” she told them and Sam wasn’t sure what she was talking about besides the fact that he was definitely not going to let her take Dean away from him. They stared at each other, at an impasse until she finally dropped her hands. “Fine. Keep your guardian,” she sniffed. She sulked for a few moments and then her personality turned a complete 180. She swirled her hands outward again, coaxing. “But let me help you.”

Sam swallowed, making sure he kept a firm grip on Dean. “You can fix this?” he asked quietly. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear the answer-he didn’t want this to be fixed. God help him, but he didn’t.

The woman quirked her head. “Fix?”

Dean shook himself again, fully this time, like a dog, waking up from whatever she had done to him. “Make us normal again,” he snapped. Sam winced-they were never going to be ‘normal’ again. He had his doubts if they’d ever been ‘normal,’ regardless of what Dean thought.

She tilted her head the other way. “Why?” she asked as if the idea was completely foreign to her. It probably was.

“Why? What the fuck do you mean by ‘why’-”

In a blink, she was beside them, her finger over Dean’s lips, silencing him. “There is no going back,” she said. “It is a gift.”

“A gift?” Dean barked, shaking her off. “You call being turned into some kind of damn creature a gift?” He tried to backpedal, to put some distance in between her and him but he ran into Sam’s chest. Sam gripped Dean’s arm, letting him know that he was there.

She smiled sadly. “You were not asked but it was a gift, nonetheless. You are one of us now-but only half. He did not have the power to change you all the way. He should not have had the power to change you at all, but, he was flawed-always draining me of more than he needed. Like a sieve because he could not hold it.” She stepped back and held up her hands again. This close, Sam could see that they were glowing with a faint white light. “Let me help you.”

Dean snarled but Sam held him still. “You mean change him all the way, don’t you?”

The woman smiled. “Yes. And you too. Guardians do not do well unless they have their provider and he seems to have chosen.” Sam frowned, the word ‘provider’ bouncing around in his head. Before he could ask the question, however, she answered it for him. “The one that sustains him.”

Sam swallowed. “You’re talking about-”

“His hunger. Yes. He is newborn and Ronnie meant him to die, but he was fortunate-he had you.” She rolled her hands again. “You were able to sustain him when you both should have perished-him of starvation and you of emptiness.”

Dean was standing to the side, watching them both, his head swiveling from Sam to the woman. Sam asked the question that they were both thinking. “Why?”

She shrugged. “You were suited for it. Rare. Lucky.” Her hand suddenly struck out, a fingernail scraping down Sam’s neck.

“Ow!” Sam jumped backward as he felt a pinch of pain, clapping his hand over his vulnerable throat and discovering a small bead of blood, much to his horror. Dean scrambled for his gun again but she merely smiled, touching her sharp, bloodied nail to her lips.

“You have special blood,” she said. “Tainted.”

“This is such bullshit,” Dean cut-in. “You’re saying that Sam has to feed me with sex. We don’t want to be part of your perverted, freaky-deaky sex cult, okay? Just turn us back to normal, already!”

The woman stared at him. “No.” She held up her glowing hands again, making Dean hiss and push Sam back to avoid having her touch him. “Complete you. Sustain you with connection and energy.”

“And what happens if you don’t… ‘complete’ us?” Sam asked. The woman glanced up at Sam as if wondering why he would ever want such a thing. “Will we still be…human?” His eyes flickered over to catch Dean’s. “Are we going to die?”

She shook her head. “No. You will live.” She lowered her hands, flattening them to her dress. “You chose to stay as you are?”

“Are we human?” Sam asked again and the woman laughed. She reached for him, her hands no longer glowing and Sam forced himself to hold still while she ran a finger down his face, hoping that if he did so, she wouldn’t cut him again.

“You were never human,” she replied, stroking Sam’s cheek. Her fingernail caught on his skin and he winced but held his ground as she dug in. “You are better now than you were. The taint inside you had nowhere to run when your guardian came to you.”

Sam stared, trying to decide if she was really saying what he thought she was saying. Dean shoved Sam backward, stepping between Sam and the woman. “Are you-”

“Better the gift,” she replied, “than the taint.” She smiled again. “Better than human. More. But yet not one of us…” Then, from one moment to the next, she wasn’t there anymore. Sam blinked and Dean jumped beside him.

“Fuck, that shit is creepy,” Dean said. He stared at the spot that the woman had just been in before suddenly whirling around and grabbing a hold of Sam’s face, checking out the spots that she had scraped with her fingernail. Dean narrowed his eyes, checking for signs of damage but Sam couldn’t feel any pain, just the slight trail of blood-he’d done worse to himself shaving.

“You boys ought to leave now,” Jacobson said, stepping away from the door and pulling off the remains of his coat. “Sarah’s told you everything you shouldn’t have had to know. If you would have just left when I told you…”

Dean growled. “Dream on, Sheriff Wolfman. We’re not going anywhere.”

Jacobson rolled his eyes and ignored the threat. “Well I say you’d better because this here’s a murder investigation,” Jacobson warned, “do you got that?”

“Fuck you-”

“What are you?” Sam interrupted and Dean stopped cold, apparently wanting to hear the answer to that as well. He nodded to the spot where the woman had just been standing. “What is she?”

Jacobson smirked sardonically. “Nothing that’s got a name,” he said. “Too old and not high profile enough. Now, you heard her. We can’t fix you-Ronnie shouldn’t have done what he did, but he did.”

“And we’re just supposed to live with that?” Dean snarled.

Jacobson shrugged. “Live with it, don’t live with it. Gonna be awfully hard to kill you now, though, so I’d suggest the living with it.”

Sam stepped forward. “What’s that mean?”

Jacobson was crossing the lobby of the inn to stand beside Brian’s body. “Like Sarah said,” he answered, “it’s a gift and you’ll live. You might not be turned completely but you’ll live.” He stared down at Brian and swallowed. “Brian was 212 years old. Hell of a way to die. Killed by the one that you fought so hard to protect. That’s why he wanted you out of here so bad, thought you’d hurt Ronnie-isn’t that just ironic? But he couldn’t scare you properly-too gentle. He was the one you curled up with on a winter night not the one you chose for war.”

“How…” Sam stopped himself, debating if he should continue on before forcing out the question. “How many of you are there?”

Jacobson smiled at Sam, shaking his head. “A few.”

“The whole town?” Dean snarled.

“Not quite that much.” Jacobson squatted beside Brian’s body, reaching out to close the dead man’s sightless eyes.

Dean pushed past Sam, descending the stairs. “So, what, we’re just supposed to walk out of here and you keep killing people? I don’t fucking think so.”

Jacobson was apparently unconcerned that Dean was heading for him. “Ronnie was never right,” he said quietly, smoothing the remains of Brian’s sweater. “He was never meant to be one of us-couldn’t live off of her like the rest of us but he…” He stood up again, his eyes glancing over to Ronnie’s head once more. “He was my son. One mistake and I had a son. What kind of man would I have been to just let him die…?” He jerked his head away. “Should have let him die.”

“Ronnie was dying when he was human, wasn’t he?” Sam asked quietly and Jacobson nodded.

“Cancer, most likely. We didn’t know what that was back then-just that Sarah thought he was ‘wrong.’ We all knew it was a mistake but we did it anyway. Didn’t know that he’d need, you know, extra… Or that he’d turn on his family.” Jacobson wiped a smudge off his face and headed back for the door. “I’m about to call this in, so I suggest you boys skip town.”

“Sheriff!” Dean called after him and Jacobson turned back around. Dean stared at Brian’s dead body even as he posed the question to Jacobson. “So you and the freaky bitch are saying that we’re stuck being one of you?”

“Sarah didn’t turn you,” Jacobson said by way of answer. “Ronnie did and he couldn’t do it all the way-shouldn’t have even been able to do that but he wasn’t right. You’re still human just…different. ‘More.’” He licked his lips and nodded, apparently reaching a decision. “Like Sarah said, it was supposed to kill you. Kill both of you.”

“Of starvation,” Sam replied.

Jacobson nodded again. “Your brother would have drained you dry then turned around and died. Ronnie couldn’t have known that you would live through it-it’s rare to find people who are.” Over half a century, Ronnie had said. “Those girls that died-they were hunters, too.”

“So they weren’t just travelers,” Sam said.

“No, they weren’t. And Ronnie took their hearts after they died-one of starvation, the other of being drained dry.”

Sam tilted his head, understanding. “He needed the hearts of those who’d been turned.”

Jacobson nodded. “That’s why he killed Brian. Needed the heart to recharge.” Jacobson wiped his hands on his pants and glanced at the wall. “Just like he did 25 years ago. We tried to stop him but he ran off. Don’t know where he was hiding out but those girls found him. Chased him back here.” He glanced up at Sam and Dean again. “We take care of our own.”

“What about George Littleton?” Dean demanded. “Was he one of you, too?”

“No,” Jacobson said, shaking his head. “Poor George was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Saw Ronnie when he shouldn’t have.” With that, Jacobson was apparently done giving answers because he turned and headed out the door. “You’ve got a ten minute head start.”

Sam walked down the stairs to stand beside Dean, lightly touching his arm, feeling his fingertips heat with just the barely there brush. “Dean-”

“Let’s get the hell out of here, Sammy,” Dean snarled, throwing him off. He stepped over Brian’s dead body and stalked out the door. Sam jogged after him, running down the steps of the Camdon and following Dean towards where they’d parked the Impala. Sam grabbed a hold of the Impala’s door handle on the passenger side, looking at Dean over the roof but Dean wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Time’s a wasting, Sam,” Dean said, swinging into the driver’s side seat.

Sam nodded. He doubted that Jacobson would wait forever-or even the ten minutes he had promised them and he supposed they could always talk when they were far away from the Camdon Inn.

Dean gunned the engine and the Impala kicked up gravel behind it, the wheels squealing when they turned onto the blacktop. The light flowing out from the broken door of the building behind them quickly faded into the night.

---

The Impala was way too small. It pained Dean to admit that, but that was exactly how he was feeling. Or maybe it wasn’t that the Impala was too small. Maybe it was just that Sam was too big. Either way, the Impala was entirely way too full of Sam and his stupid, sexy smell that had Dean throbbing in his jeans.

He’d known that they hadn’t wanted to go to Michigan. He’d fucking known it. And now here they were in Wisconsin and all Dean could think about was how damn good Sam smelled and how close he was sitting and how fucking desperate Dean was getting, like a junkie needing his next fix. He supposed he was a junkie now-a Sam junkie.

Christ this was fucked up.

The only good news was, after four hours in the car, Dean thought he was finally getting the hang of ‘blocking Sam’-keeping the nosy fucker out of his head. Of course, Sam was apparently already a master, so Dean wasn’t getting anything out of his own snooping. Not that he wanted to see what was inside Sam’s head. He already had a pretty good idea and Dean wasn’t quite sure he appreciated how few clothes tended to be involved. He’d never thought he’d say that but there it was.

And Sam was still smelling tastier than a well-prepared steak, damn it. Dean shifted in his seat, regretting the fact that he didn’t wear looser jeans.

“You know, we always could just…” Dean glanced over to see Sam staring at him-or rather at his crotch.

Dean swallowed. He’d been fighting this off for hours and, while he thought he was starting to be able to go without for longer, it wasn’t fucking easy. Going back to the cabin and packing instead of fucking had definitely cost Dean more than he’d ever care to admit. But still. “No,” he said.

“Dean…”

“No, Sam.” If he gave in to this then that meant that the monsters won. Or something. It wasn’t even that he was mad about the no longer being completely human thing because-hell. Sam hadn’t been exactly human since he was 6 months old, so who was Dean to complain? But if he gave in, he’d still be fucking his brother and it didn’t matter how damn good it would feel or how fucking irresistible Sam smelled-“Ah, fuck it.” Dean slammed on the brakes and hauled the Impala off the road.

“Dean!” Sam squealed, grabbed the dashboard and trying to brace himself.

Dean threw the Impala into park, pulling out the keys. “You,” he said, pointing at Sam, “in the backseat. Now.”

Sam stared at him for half a second before scrambling for the door handle and falling out of the car.

“Can’t believe I’m doing this,” Dean muttered, but for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t like they hadn’t already erased the damn line. They were here; this was them. The more Dean thought about it, the more he wondered if that little line had even existed for him or if it had just been delusional thinking on his part. He striped off his jacket, throwing it back into the car as he got out and moved for the backseat as well. Sam was already there, looking strangely nervous and tense. Dean glared. “What?”

Sam swallowed. “Are you sure you-”

“Goddamn it, Sam, yes! Yes, I’m sure! Yes, I want you to fuck me! Now take off your goddamned pants.” He lunged for Sam, grabbing a hold of Sam’s belt buckle and pulling it open. Fucking Sam and his need to just talk everything to death.

A guy could want to get fucked without having to talk about it first, couldn’t he? In Dean’s head he heard Yeah, but not well-adjusted guys. “I’ve never been well-adjusted, Sammy,” he replied, “don’t need to start now,” and yanked Sam’s jeans down, taking the underwear along with them.

Sam was still tense and only half-hard but he went willingly when Dean shoved him onto his back. Dean had an idea: If Sam needed to relax, Dean knew how to help him. He scooted downward, settling himself between Sam’s thighs and Sam’s strangled, “Dean, you don’t have to!” was straight up bullshit because his tone was saying that he was gonna die if Dean didn’t. Dean glared at him and reached out to lick the head, tongue swiping over the salty pearl of precome Sam was starting to leak. If he remembered correctly, that always seemed to feel good. Worked this time too, if the way Sam shuddered and finally shut up was anything to go by. Sure it didn’t taste the best, but Sam’s reactions were worth it.

The good news was that there really wasn’t a way to give a bad blow job, per se. No matter what you did, as long as you were trying, it would probably feel pretty damn nice. So Dean figured he didn’t have much to lose. He sucked Sam into his mouth, swirling his tongue like he remembered chicks doing to him before. Sam moaned, his hips shifting beneath Dean’s hands and Dean was glad that he was currently pinning Sam down. He really didn’t know how well he’d be able to handle Sam thrusting.

And Jesus, there was a lot of drool involved. Dean wiped at the spit collecting on his chin before fisting Sam’s cock around the base and attempting to swallow more. He choked and backed off-Christ, he had a new found respect for that chick back in Tallahassee-before settling into an easy rhythm of pumping Sam’s dick with his fist and sucking on the head. Sam seemed to like it anyway, judging by the way he was moaning.

Then there were big hands pulling at his hair, urging him up. Dean pulled off with a wet pop, glaring up at Sam. “What?” he snapped.

“Gotta stop,” Sam gasped. “I’m gonna come.” Oh.

Dean didn’t even try to stop his smirk. Of course he was good at this-hell, guys had been saying for years that that was what is mouth was made for. And yeah, okay, so maybe it could be considered a little bit degrading to know that you’re a good cocksucker but fuck it: a skill was a skill. “God,” Sam breathed. “Get up here.” His hands framed Dean’s face and urged him up to meet Sam’s eager mouth, coaxing Dean into allowing Sam’s tongue to lick inside.

Dean shivered, relaxing his jaw and opening wider as Sam apparently attempted to crawl inside before backing up for some air. “Are you ready?” Sam asked, “God, Dean, are you ready?” and hell yeah Dean was ready. He blindly popped the button on his own jeans, shoving them down and trying his best to kick them off. He was more than ready-he was dying over here.

Apparently that was just perfect for Sam, too, because he hauled Dean up onto his lap, manhandling him into place. Dean would have complained if he wasn’t too busy riding out the shivers skating up and down his spine. As it was, he was way too busy trying to get his jeans off to be bothered. “Yeah,” Sam whispered. “Yeah, just like that…” and the next thing Dean knew Sam’s fingers were pushing up inside of him.

Dean gasped, his eyes rolling back inside his head-Christ, was this getting better each time? Sam wasn’t wasting any time, either, just giving Dean a quick cursory stretching, slick with the travel size container of KY that Sam had blushingly bought at the gas station two hours back, before he was pushing himself inside of Dean. Dean bit down on his lip as he and Sam found a rhythm, one that had him seeing stars. “Fuck!” he swore, banging his fist against the Impala’s roof.

“Yeah,” Sam said, his hands roaming everywhere and his eyes taking in everything. Dean certainly hoped he was enjoying the damn view because Dean was doing all the damn work. The familiar electric tingle and the heat were back, crackling though his body and expanding inside him.

Dean snarled when Sam started to seize because, fuck, it was too damn soon! But then Sam grabbed a hold of Dean’s dick, stroking it, and then Dean was coming too. Dean rode it out before collapsing on top of Sam who pressed a series of grateful kisses along Dean’s jaw. Dean patiently allowed him and absolutely did not purr-that would have been just way too sissified. Getting fucked in the ass did not automatically making him a girl. Or at least it shouldn’t.

“It doesn’t,” Sam assured him and Dean rolled his eyes before burying his face in Sam’s shoulder.

“So…” Sam started but Dean stopped him, holding up a finger.

“Still not talking about this, Sam.” Sam sighed underneath Dean and actually fell quiet. When Dean glanced up, Sam was staring moodily at the roof. Dean echoed Sam’s sigh. “This is just between us,” Dean said, waiting until Sam looked at him before continuing. “We don’t have to talk about it.” Fuck this shit-Dean was done running from it.

They couldn’t fix it, they had to go through with it, they weren’t even hurting anybody, and it made Sam happy. Who the fuck was Dean to deny it? And even he had to admit that it felt kind of good. He just didn’t feel like they had to talk about it-it was just another level of them. Another level of Sam and Dean and the general fucked-upness of their lives.

Sam-damn perceptive, smart Sam-was apparently reading this all loud and clear, too, because he smiled like a fucking sunny day. “You’re okay with this?”

“I said we’re not talking about this,” Dean grumbled but he didn’t bother to move, staying fully on top of Sam, dropping his head back down to Sam’s shoulder. Hey. It was kind of comfy. Maybe he could even take a nap.

“Dean.”

“Yes, Sam!” Dean snapped, muffled as it was against Sam’s bare skin. “For fuck’s sake, I’m okay with it! Now can we please stop talking about it? Please.” Pardon him if he didn’t want to necessarily talk about how he liked getting fucked up the ass by Sam. It really wasn’t something you needed to mention, right?

“I love you,” Sam said and Dean groaned.

“Dude, don’t make me say it.” He placed his hands against Sam’s chest and pushed himself up since apparently Sam wasn’t going to let him sleep-which would have been the only decent thing to do after fucking Dean’s brains out, but whatever. “We should get going if we want to hit Indiana by nightfall.”

“Sure,” Sam said with a smile and then dragged Dean down for a kiss. Dean kissed him back. Just another fucked-up level of ‘Winchester normal.’



Two years later.

The gigantic rat was heading towards the south. It had an official name but fucked if Dean could be bothered to remember the word that Sam had rattled off. He doubted Sam could be bothered either, as much as he pretended otherwise. All that he knew was that it was some kind of Scottish creature so what it was doing in the mountains of West Virginia was anybody’s guess.

Frankly, Dean was having more fun quoting The Princess Bride at Sam, rambling on about ‘rodents of unusual size’ and making Sam roll his eyes. Unfortunately, Sam was down in the gully, keeping parallel with Dean as they tried to corner the rat but out of sight. That was too bad. Dean would have liked to see Sam’s face screw up into his annoyed pout right about now. Just the thought of it made Dean want to giggle and he could have used the full-on laugh as they slowly climbed up hill.

Along the link that Dean had gotten used to between them, he was feeling irritation from Sam which was hardly unusual. What was interesting, however, was that it wasn’t irritation at Dean. Curious, Dean poked at Sam’s consciousness receiving only annoyed rebuffs until he realized that Dean wasn’t going to give up on this and so he let Dean in with an exasperated mental shrug, like a huge sigh. Smiling happily as he kept moving along on the creature’s trail, Dean explored along Sam’s body, quickly locating the source of Sam’s irritation. Apparently, Sammy didn’t like his wet shoes.

Dean huffed a laugh and wondered if this would make Sam start to wear boots like he should. Probably not. He hopped over a moss-covered log, moving into a darker part of the forest. Happy now? Sam sent, loud and clear and better than Dean could manage because no matter how hard Dean tried, Sam was always better at the psychic crap. It was a challenge, pure and simple, and, though they were supposed to be tracking the ROUS, Dean couldn’t help himself. This would only take a few seconds.

He stopped in the middle of the trail he’d been following, and ran his fingers teasingly over his own cock, thinking of the way Sam looked naked and stretched over a bed, feeling and enjoying a budding sense of pleasure. Satisfied, he bundled it up and chucked it at Sam.

The first reaction Dean was able to pick up was a quick flare of arousal before it was stamped out, replaced by a surge of annoyance and then Dean was firmly shoved out of Sam’s head with a resounding Focus. Dean grinned and started moving again, hoping that they’d at least catch the thing before it started in on the actual mountain part of the trail.

They hadn’t been back to Michigan since their disastrous attempt to kill Sheriff Wolfman and his creepy Arwen wannabe. Dean didn’t mind. He’d be happy if he never had to travel there again, actually. It wasn’t that he was holding a grudge or anything against Jacobson and his merry little wolf pack-after two years, Dean had gotten used to the changes in his body. He was even starting to consider it ‘normal’-pretty damn bizarre but that was a hunter’s life. Everyone had their cross to bear and Dean supposed that there were worse things in life to deal with than a little bit of consensual brother-fucking and he couldn’t deny that he and Sam were even more effective than ever, being able to communicate over a distance now with their own built-in two-way radios. So the big, bad pervy wolves could just suck it because they had nothing to do with any reason why or why not Dean didn’t want to go back to the abysmally dull upper peninsula of northern Michigan. It was more that Sam and his little visit had reaffirmed that there was nothing up there besides trees and the crazies who loved them.

Dean snorted. Not that he didn’t think he wouldn’t try to shoot Jacobson if he ever met him again. Just on principle.

Dean! Sam shouted in Dean’s head and Dean felt like his ears should be ringing. He shook himself and glanced down into the gully where Sam was still hiding but the tree cover. Found it.

Smiling, Dean skidded down the cliff, trying to reach the bottom as soon as possible even as he told Sam to stay put. They didn’t know what the damn thing was capable of-just that it had already killed two people and that they really didn’t want to add to the body count. A flash of pain shot across Dean’s consciousness and his eyes widened. “Sammy?” he yelled, moving faster. Damn it. Sam had apparently engaged the damn thing regardless of what Dean had told him to do. “Damn it, Sam!”

There was another stab of pain followed by a surge of satisfaction and Dean growled. He finally hit the bottom of the gully, having just given up and out and out slid down the last part of the cliff. As soon as he found his feet, he was off and running, heading towards where he could feel Sam.

Along the link, Dean could feel only a lingering bit of soreness, Sam’s smug satisfaction, and the ever-present annoyance about wet shoes. Dean pushed through the vegetation and emerged to were Sam was waiting, standing ankle deep in water beside the body of the Scottish rodent, a chunk of iron sticking out its side. “Sam!” Dean snapped and Sam turned to look at him.

Sam shrugged. “I think it was waiting for us,” he said. “It jumped out at me.” Dean turned his glare from Sam down to the ROUS as it slowly bled out into the stream. Fucking A. He moved closer to Sam, running his hands over Sam’s body, checking for wounds and Sam allowed him. “Landed on top of me,” Sam explained and Dean grunted as he only found the slight bruising from the creature’s paws and nothing else. “Wouldn’t have had a chance to sneak up on me if you’d been focusing on the job at hand.”

Dean set his teeth. He did not need a guilt trip right now. “You telling me you can’t multitask, Sam?” Sam was right and Dean couldn’t argue that but, damn it, Dean was able to do multiple things at once so why couldn’t Sam?

“When it’s you? No.”

Dean snorted, surprised that Sam was owning up to that. “Then you should have just let me fuck you this morning. Then neither of us would have been distracted.” Dean had woken up early back at the motel and had tried his damnedest to convince Sam to just roll over and let Dean have at it.

“Dean,” Sam sighed, “Suzanne was knocking on the door.”

“She could have waited.” Dean hadn’t liked the nosy reporter since the first time that he’d met her, anyway. Even if she had given them the lead that had eventually led them to this section of the mountains. She could just keep her big nose out of it.

“She doesn’t have a big nose,” Sam retorted and Dean raised an eyebrow. “She doesn’t!”

“How about this, Sammy?” Dean asked. “If you’re going to spend your time trying to read my thoughts on what I think about nosy bystanders, why don’t you read this one?” He focused hard on the image of Sam stretched out beneath him, legs spread with his cock moving down Dean’s throat. That sounded like a fantastic idea right about now. All this running around in the mountains was making Dean just a little bit…hungry.

“Damn it, Dean…” Sam hissed. He couldn’t hide the answering throb of arousal and Dean grinned. Yeah. Sam and him were going to go back to the motel and they were going to finish what Dean had been trying to start this morning and it was going to be awesome. “We still have to burn this thing,” Sam snarled, pointing down at the monster’s carcass.

Sam was such a killjoy. Dean sighed, glaring down at the thing in the water. “Ain’t gonna burn easy,” he said. The damn thing was wet now.

“No, it’s not,” Sam agreed snottily. “So help me move it.” Sam bent down to distastefully eye the iron rebar stuck in the creature’s side and he had to be kidding if he thought that Dean was just going to let him get away with that. Dean reached out and fisted a handful of Sam’s hair, using the leverage to drag Sam close to him because Sam was at the perfect height now.

“Think you owe me, Sammy,” Dean growled, pulling Sam towards his crotch.

“Grow up,” Sam shot back but he wasn’t bothering to fight Dean.

“You wouldn’t let me fuck you this morning, throwing a bitch fit now…think you’re trying to starve me.”

Sam snorted. “A day’s not going to kill you.” That was true. They pushed the limits, once, just trying to find out where the boundaries were and now they both knew that that they could go about a week without jumping each other. Not that it would be a particularly pleasant week, especially not near the end. Sam rolled his eyes, though, and grabbed a hold of Dean’s hips. “How about I promise to let you just as soon as we get back to the motel?” he asked.

Dean licked his lips, considering it, but then Sam mouthed along Dean’s crotch, sucking him through his jeans and he pitched forward, nearly falling over. The promise was a little to real to ignore. “Okay,” Dean said, regretfully pushing Sam away. “Let’s burn this motherfucker.”

Sam smirked but Dean ignored him, shoving the overgrown rat onto dry land because as soon as they torched the damn thing, Sam’s ass was Dean’s.

He was hungry, damn it.

Part 5 | Master Post | Art Post