AntiChristmas Fic for Loverstar!
Woo! Just under the wire. This is my Antichristmas Fic for loverstar!
Title: Dreams that Come with Fire
Author: fayolin
Recipient: loverstar
Pairing/Rating: Sam/Dean, / PG-13
Warnings/Spoilers: Angst, Heartache, absolutely no cake.
Summary: While studying at Stanford, Sam gets a call from an unknown number.
It was not an uncommon sight on the Stanford campus. A medium sized table, stuffed with people, books, and coffee. Furious whispers, with the occasional breakout of laughter where someone lost focus and tried to take others to distraction with them.
Sam pushed his chair back from the table a bit, and stared at the ceiling. He'd been sitting at this table for three hours, and he felt no more prepared for Prof. Daniel's notorious exam than he had when he'd started.
"I am so dead!" moaned Alison, letting her head fall into the open textbook on the table. Nicolas, who was sitting next to her, put a consolatory hand on her shoulder. With a huge, theatrical swoon, Alison wailed dramatically, and indulged herself in a bout of mock-weeping on Nicolas's shoulder, eliciting a much needed round of laughter from the other studiers.
Sam's laughter was interrupted by his phone vibrating for what seemed like the sixth time that evening. Pulling the phone out of his pocket, he noticed it was the same number that had called him before. He had answered it the first time, but whoever it was had obviously dialed his number by accident. He had said hello, and could hear the muffled sound of some kind of bar in the background. After that first time, he had just let it go to voicemail. He had accumulated three messages in the interim, and still had no idea who it could be.
"Since we seem to be at a break, does anyone know where the 225 area code is from?" asked Sam, shaking his head a bit.
"Yeah…it's down in Louisiana," said Alison, dropping her wailing-woman act in an instant, to the renewed laughter of the rest of the students. "My cousins are from there. Down around Baton Rouge."
"Isn't that where those alligators went crazy and killed all those families?" asked Charlie, looking up from his book with distracted eyes.
"What are you talking about?" asked Jenny, a look of disgust and humor playing over her face.
"Oh, I heard about that," said Alison, pointing wilding across the table. "Yeah, a whole housing development down by Devil's Swamp, all three families were that was killed by a group of rabid crocodiles. It was super sad."
"Has that ever happened before?" asked Sam, a chill that he hadn't felt since he had fled cross-country away from his crazy father running up his spine.
"Now that I think of it, no," said Alison, obviously poring through her memories. "I don't think I've ever heard of that many people getting killed by crocodiles at one time. Hell, I've never heard of a rabid crocodile. Which, you know, is for the best. They are nasty enough without rabies."
Sam felt the ghost of his phone rumble in his pocket. A pit opened in his stomach as he started to put mass murder and isolated swamps together with an unknown number calling him repeatedly.
"What's wrong, Sam?" asked Nicolas, a look of concern shadowing his face. "Do you have family down there? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"No, no…" said Sam. "Nothing like that. I just remembered something I have to do before tomorrow. I've got to go."
Gathering his things up over the concerned murmurings of his friends, trying to dissuade them from worrying too much but still get out quickly. He had to listen to those messages as soon as possible.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sam waited until he got back to his room before he pulled out his phone. He turned it over in his hand, an unfamiliar hesitation gripping him. Flipping the deadbolt on his door, he sat in his desk chair, and took a deep breath.
He weighed the choices in his head. On one hand, it could be Dean. On the other hand, it could be his dad. Years of barked orders, heated arguments, and not-so-quite resentments bubbled to the surface, nearly causing him to throw his phone across the room, messages unheard.
But as always when Sam felt his resentment for his father rise, the memory of Dean calmed him. Flipping open his phone, and letting his finger rest on the button that would connect him to the messages, he mused over the last night that he had seen his brother.
"You're really leaving then?" Dean had asked, looking down at his foot as a rock across the forest clearing. Sam felt his heart tighten as he looked at Dean trying to keep it together.
"I need to get out of here, Dean," he said, raking his hand through his hair, tearing his eyes away from his brother. "Dad is stifling me, and I have this opportunity at Stanford…"
"You think I don't know that?" said Dean, shoving his hands in his pockets, still stubbornly staring at the ground.
Sam almost jumped in, but was stopped short by Dean's next muttered words.
"But what about me, Sam?"
Sam and Dean had stood there, the forbidden tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. Sam wasn't sure if it was the fact that there was an old car fully packed with his belongings sitting no more than a stone's throw away, or if it was the full moon above the clearing that filled him with the imp of perverse, but he closed the distance between the two of them, and grabbed Dean by the shoulders. Dean looked up at Sam, confusion in his eyes, mixed with something else that Sam didn't think about too hard.
He also didn't think too hard before he drew Dean into a kiss.
Uncounted moments passed as the two of them stood in the moonlight, neither of them willing to break this moment. Sam let his hands fall from Dean's shoulders, only to find Dean's hands moving to Sam's chest. Sam felt himself being pushed back against a nearby tree, devoured by Dean's soft lips. Sam's hands reached out, peeling off any piece of clothing they touched. Dean followed suit, and soon the two of them were shirtless and sweltering in the mid-August night.
A wave of dizziness caused Sam to break the kiss. Suddenly, visions flashed before Sam's eyes. Dean, covered in chains, fire licking up around him. A shadowy throne and a burning crown in the middle of a lake of fire. An army of hooded figures, rank and file behind him, pouring from a great stone gate.
His sight cleared, and he looked down at Dean, his lips swollen from their fevered embrace. Dean's eyes were filled with questions warring with pride, fight or flight humming along his muscles. Sam knew if he stopped now, Dean would be gone before he said another word, and everything would change.
Hesitating only a moment longer, Sam sank into Dean's waiting arms, knowing that even though he was leaving tonight, nothing was ever going to be the same.
Shaking his head, Sam broke himself from his reverie. Without brooding any longer, he punched the button to listen to his the messages. A mechanically feminine voice whispered into his ear.
"You have…three…new messages and…no…saved messages. First message."
Sam held his breath as the first message started to play. There was silence at first, but as Sam strained to listen, he heard the sound of muffled scraping. Sam jumped as a gunshot fired, and then the sound of muttered cursing from someone who sounded an awful lot like Dean. Sam could make out Dean saying something, picking bits and pieces out of the silence.
"Da……ings are cleared ou…..urn it to the ground."
The overly mechanical voice asked him if he wanted to save his message. He pressed the button, and went on to the next message.
The message started similarly silent, but soon there was some kind of pained moan. Sam felt his heart race with worry, but quickly felt the worry melt away to confusion as a woman's moan followed the first. After a few moments Sam felt himself flush as he realized what he was listening to. As the message dragged on, Sam heard the two voices raise to climax, and then settle to panting. He almost skipped to the next message, when he heard the voices start up again.
"Thanks for saving me, Jimmy," said the girl, pleasure heavy in her voice.
"No problem, Scarlett," said Dean, growing louder. "It was my pleasure."
The answering machine voice was more welcome this time, but Sam still saved the message for later, in case the third message gave cause to listen to the x-rated session again.
The third message also began with silence, punctuated with a voice breathing in and out of the speaker.
"Hey Sam," came Dean's voice, oddly hesitant. "I was looking at my phone, and saw that I had dialed your number about a dozen times this evening. Just wanted to leave a message to say that everything is fine, and sorry for not interrupting your studying."
Sam breathed a sigh as Dean rambled on a bit about the huge gator that he and John had taken down, thankful to know that his brother was ok.
"Anyway, yeah. Hope things are fine at school, and maybe you'll hear from me soon. I've gotta dump this phone tonight, so don't try to call back on this number," said Dean, his phone banter trailing off, as if he was looking around to see if anyone was watching. Much quieter, he continued. "I really miss you Sammy."
Sam shut the phone on the machine voice, and slumped back into his chair. He felt like he'd been on a roller-coaster of emotions, leaving him drained and tired. Giving up on today, he stripped down to his boxers and got ready for bed.
As he hit the pillow, Sam turned over that last comment in his head, over and over again. Without any kind of way to reach out to his brother, he could not communicate that he missed Dean too, and wished that they could forget those things that tore him away and start over. But even in his mind, Sam knew that was a lie. He was too proud to go back, apologize to Dad, and toss away the work that he'd done towards his degree.
Not even for Dean.
Fitfully turning, Sam tried to put the whole emotional storm out of his mind. But even as he drifted away, he could still smell the night air from when he first said goodbye. And though he began to dream of the softness of Dean's lips, those kisses held promises of something less comforting than love. His dreams held promises of things to come, and those things would come with fire.
Title: Dreams that Come with Fire
Author: fayolin
Recipient: loverstar
Pairing/Rating: Sam/Dean, / PG-13
Warnings/Spoilers: Angst, Heartache, absolutely no cake.
Summary: While studying at Stanford, Sam gets a call from an unknown number.
It was not an uncommon sight on the Stanford campus. A medium sized table, stuffed with people, books, and coffee. Furious whispers, with the occasional breakout of laughter where someone lost focus and tried to take others to distraction with them.
Sam pushed his chair back from the table a bit, and stared at the ceiling. He'd been sitting at this table for three hours, and he felt no more prepared for Prof. Daniel's notorious exam than he had when he'd started.
"I am so dead!" moaned Alison, letting her head fall into the open textbook on the table. Nicolas, who was sitting next to her, put a consolatory hand on her shoulder. With a huge, theatrical swoon, Alison wailed dramatically, and indulged herself in a bout of mock-weeping on Nicolas's shoulder, eliciting a much needed round of laughter from the other studiers.
Sam's laughter was interrupted by his phone vibrating for what seemed like the sixth time that evening. Pulling the phone out of his pocket, he noticed it was the same number that had called him before. He had answered it the first time, but whoever it was had obviously dialed his number by accident. He had said hello, and could hear the muffled sound of some kind of bar in the background. After that first time, he had just let it go to voicemail. He had accumulated three messages in the interim, and still had no idea who it could be.
"Since we seem to be at a break, does anyone know where the 225 area code is from?" asked Sam, shaking his head a bit.
"Yeah…it's down in Louisiana," said Alison, dropping her wailing-woman act in an instant, to the renewed laughter of the rest of the students. "My cousins are from there. Down around Baton Rouge."
"Isn't that where those alligators went crazy and killed all those families?" asked Charlie, looking up from his book with distracted eyes.
"What are you talking about?" asked Jenny, a look of disgust and humor playing over her face.
"Oh, I heard about that," said Alison, pointing wilding across the table. "Yeah, a whole housing development down by Devil's Swamp, all three families were that was killed by a group of rabid crocodiles. It was super sad."
"Has that ever happened before?" asked Sam, a chill that he hadn't felt since he had fled cross-country away from his crazy father running up his spine.
"Now that I think of it, no," said Alison, obviously poring through her memories. "I don't think I've ever heard of that many people getting killed by crocodiles at one time. Hell, I've never heard of a rabid crocodile. Which, you know, is for the best. They are nasty enough without rabies."
Sam felt the ghost of his phone rumble in his pocket. A pit opened in his stomach as he started to put mass murder and isolated swamps together with an unknown number calling him repeatedly.
"What's wrong, Sam?" asked Nicolas, a look of concern shadowing his face. "Do you have family down there? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"No, no…" said Sam. "Nothing like that. I just remembered something I have to do before tomorrow. I've got to go."
Gathering his things up over the concerned murmurings of his friends, trying to dissuade them from worrying too much but still get out quickly. He had to listen to those messages as soon as possible.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sam waited until he got back to his room before he pulled out his phone. He turned it over in his hand, an unfamiliar hesitation gripping him. Flipping the deadbolt on his door, he sat in his desk chair, and took a deep breath.
He weighed the choices in his head. On one hand, it could be Dean. On the other hand, it could be his dad. Years of barked orders, heated arguments, and not-so-quite resentments bubbled to the surface, nearly causing him to throw his phone across the room, messages unheard.
But as always when Sam felt his resentment for his father rise, the memory of Dean calmed him. Flipping open his phone, and letting his finger rest on the button that would connect him to the messages, he mused over the last night that he had seen his brother.
"You're really leaving then?" Dean had asked, looking down at his foot as a rock across the forest clearing. Sam felt his heart tighten as he looked at Dean trying to keep it together.
"I need to get out of here, Dean," he said, raking his hand through his hair, tearing his eyes away from his brother. "Dad is stifling me, and I have this opportunity at Stanford…"
"You think I don't know that?" said Dean, shoving his hands in his pockets, still stubbornly staring at the ground.
Sam almost jumped in, but was stopped short by Dean's next muttered words.
"But what about me, Sam?"
Sam and Dean had stood there, the forbidden tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. Sam wasn't sure if it was the fact that there was an old car fully packed with his belongings sitting no more than a stone's throw away, or if it was the full moon above the clearing that filled him with the imp of perverse, but he closed the distance between the two of them, and grabbed Dean by the shoulders. Dean looked up at Sam, confusion in his eyes, mixed with something else that Sam didn't think about too hard.
He also didn't think too hard before he drew Dean into a kiss.
Uncounted moments passed as the two of them stood in the moonlight, neither of them willing to break this moment. Sam let his hands fall from Dean's shoulders, only to find Dean's hands moving to Sam's chest. Sam felt himself being pushed back against a nearby tree, devoured by Dean's soft lips. Sam's hands reached out, peeling off any piece of clothing they touched. Dean followed suit, and soon the two of them were shirtless and sweltering in the mid-August night.
A wave of dizziness caused Sam to break the kiss. Suddenly, visions flashed before Sam's eyes. Dean, covered in chains, fire licking up around him. A shadowy throne and a burning crown in the middle of a lake of fire. An army of hooded figures, rank and file behind him, pouring from a great stone gate.
His sight cleared, and he looked down at Dean, his lips swollen from their fevered embrace. Dean's eyes were filled with questions warring with pride, fight or flight humming along his muscles. Sam knew if he stopped now, Dean would be gone before he said another word, and everything would change.
Hesitating only a moment longer, Sam sank into Dean's waiting arms, knowing that even though he was leaving tonight, nothing was ever going to be the same.
Shaking his head, Sam broke himself from his reverie. Without brooding any longer, he punched the button to listen to his the messages. A mechanically feminine voice whispered into his ear.
"You have…three…new messages and…no…saved messages. First message."
Sam held his breath as the first message started to play. There was silence at first, but as Sam strained to listen, he heard the sound of muffled scraping. Sam jumped as a gunshot fired, and then the sound of muttered cursing from someone who sounded an awful lot like Dean. Sam could make out Dean saying something, picking bits and pieces out of the silence.
"Da……ings are cleared ou…..urn it to the ground."
The overly mechanical voice asked him if he wanted to save his message. He pressed the button, and went on to the next message.
The message started similarly silent, but soon there was some kind of pained moan. Sam felt his heart race with worry, but quickly felt the worry melt away to confusion as a woman's moan followed the first. After a few moments Sam felt himself flush as he realized what he was listening to. As the message dragged on, Sam heard the two voices raise to climax, and then settle to panting. He almost skipped to the next message, when he heard the voices start up again.
"Thanks for saving me, Jimmy," said the girl, pleasure heavy in her voice.
"No problem, Scarlett," said Dean, growing louder. "It was my pleasure."
The answering machine voice was more welcome this time, but Sam still saved the message for later, in case the third message gave cause to listen to the x-rated session again.
The third message also began with silence, punctuated with a voice breathing in and out of the speaker.
"Hey Sam," came Dean's voice, oddly hesitant. "I was looking at my phone, and saw that I had dialed your number about a dozen times this evening. Just wanted to leave a message to say that everything is fine, and sorry for not interrupting your studying."
Sam breathed a sigh as Dean rambled on a bit about the huge gator that he and John had taken down, thankful to know that his brother was ok.
"Anyway, yeah. Hope things are fine at school, and maybe you'll hear from me soon. I've gotta dump this phone tonight, so don't try to call back on this number," said Dean, his phone banter trailing off, as if he was looking around to see if anyone was watching. Much quieter, he continued. "I really miss you Sammy."
Sam shut the phone on the machine voice, and slumped back into his chair. He felt like he'd been on a roller-coaster of emotions, leaving him drained and tired. Giving up on today, he stripped down to his boxers and got ready for bed.
As he hit the pillow, Sam turned over that last comment in his head, over and over again. Without any kind of way to reach out to his brother, he could not communicate that he missed Dean too, and wished that they could forget those things that tore him away and start over. But even in his mind, Sam knew that was a lie. He was too proud to go back, apologize to Dad, and toss away the work that he'd done towards his degree.
Not even for Dean.
Fitfully turning, Sam tried to put the whole emotional storm out of his mind. But even as he drifted away, he could still smell the night air from when he first said goodbye. And though he began to dream of the softness of Dean's lips, those kisses held promises of something less comforting than love. His dreams held promises of things to come, and those things would come with fire.