Think of Me - Part Two
Master Post
When they stop in the parking lot of a dingy motel just off the highway, Sam is, he thinks, understandably confused. “Um… aren’t we trying to get a bit further away than this?”
Dean puts the car in park and kills the engine. “Not unless you want to make it too hard for ‘Dora the Explorer’ to find us again.” He gets out of the car, old door creaking, and Sam follows.
“Wait, we want her to find us?”
Dean taps a finger against his forehead. “Bingo. We set a trap and lay in wait - the whole shebang. Now, Mr. McGillicutty can cover the cost of our room, or we can pay cash and go dutch. I’m inclined to use cash in situations like this-how much you got on you?”
Sam’s not sure who McGillicutty is, but Dean seems to know what he’s doing, so he just pulls out his wallet and counts the bills inside. “Sixty bucks?”
“Alright, we’re golden.” He reaches around Sam’s arm and pulls the bills out. “I’m going to get us a room. You wait here.”
Sam does as told, leaning against the side of the Impala while Dean saunters into the motel office. He watches Dean go, thinks, That is the nicest ass I’ve seen in a while, and shakes his head. Fucking adrenaline is messing with him again. He hardly knows Dean, and even though he’s not one for meaningless hookups, all he wants to do is throw Dean down and fucking ravish him.
He tilts his head back, closes his eyes, and lets himself imagine it for a few moments. Dean’s ‘fuck me’ lips, his gorgeous eyes, his strong jaw… the way his legs bow out when he walks. Shit, Sam wants those legs wrapped around his hips as he thrusts -
“Dude, quit daydreaming.” Something smacks him in the chest and then falls to the pavement, rattling. Sam opens his eyes and glares at Dean, who’s waggling the other set of keys in his hand. “Those,” he points to the ground, “are your keys. We’re in room 14. Now try not to hang out in broad daylight with your eyes closed anymore - we’ve got a demon on our ass, remember?”
Sam rubs his chest and then bends down to retrieve the motel room key. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, not disagreeing, and Dean rolls his eyes and walks around him to the trunk of the Impala.
“You head in. I’ll get our supplies together.” He swings the trunk open and then fiddles with something. Sam can’t see what from this angle, but he has flashes of memory from past dreams-a secret compartment propped up with an old sawed off shotgun, an arsenal of weapons inside-and shudders. “Hold on,” Dean says, and leans around the gleaming black metal of the trunk. “Take this,” he throws a big canister of salt, and Sam catches it automatically, “and pour out an unbroken line across all the doorways and windowsills.”
The request doesn’t seem odd to Sam. Not after everything else. “Sure thing, boss,” he says, sketches a salute, and heads for room 14.
“No need to be a smartass!” Dean hollers after him, and Sam grins.
********
When Dean makes it to the room, he’s laden down with two duffel bags. Sam gets out of his way as he barrels in, then drops the bags against the wall behind the far bed. “You should call Jess,” he says. “Tell her to lay low and not to answer the door or let anyone in her place. In fact, she should just close all her curtains tight and pretend she’s not there, at least until we take care of this.”
Sam’s got his cell phone in his hand before Dean even finishes talking. “Damn it, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that! What if -” He’s shaking slightly as he tries to press and hold the “2” down on his phone. Dean crosses the room quickly and puts a hand against the back of his neck.
“Hey, now. No need to freak. She’s probably fine. Just take a deep breath…”
Sam does, a great, heaving gasp, and realizes that the hand on his neck feels natural, just like all the other small touches that Dean has given him since they met.
“Okay, I’m okay. Yeah, I’ll just…” he’s rambling, so just presses down on the “2” and calls Jess.
The phone rings… and rings. Sam thinks he might have a heart attack, an honest-to-God heart attack, and then she finally answers.
“What, Sam? I’ve got the headache from hell over here and I’m trying to sleep!”
“Oh, God,” he says. He can’t think of anything else, just, “thank God… thank God, Jess…”
“Sam?” she asks, “What’s wrong?” Her voice gets higher pitched, faster. “Are you okay?”
He lets out a long breath. “I thought… I thought something might have happened. When you didn’t answer. Jess, whatever you do today, don’t go out, and don’t let anyone know you’re home. Close your curtains, turn off the lights, and lock all your doors, okay?”
There’s a moment of silence, and then, “Okay, Sam. But you’re going to tell me what this is all about later, okay? Tomorrow. And I want to know who that Dean guy really is.”
He grins, “Yeah, okay. Could never get anything past you, could I?”
“Nope!” she answers cheerfully. Then, more serious, “Is there anything else I should… anything else I can do?”
Sam’s eyes catch on the salt he poured in front of the motel room window. “Yeah, pour salt across all the doorways and windows in your place. And make sure the line isn’t broken anywhere when you do it.”
She starts to giggle, a bit hysterically, but chokes it down after Sam doesn’t say anything else. “Okay, Sam. Can’t wait to hear what this is all about.”
“I’ll tell you everything when I can. But for now, just -”
“If I’ve wasted all that salt and made a god-awful mess for no reason -”
“Please, Jess, just… you have to be safe. You understand?”
“Yeah, I get it. You be careful, too, Sam.”
“I will.”
After she hangs up, Sam stares at the phone display for a second and then looks up at Dean, who’s still standing in his space. His hand has slid down from Sam’s neck to his back, and Sam leans into the touch just a bit.
“She’s okay. And she’ll stay put until we take care of the - the demon.”
Dean grins, quick and then it’s gone. “Alright, then. Now we’ve got some work to do.”
The trap is planned and set, the salt lines are intact, and Sam is… hungry. “Damn, is this all you have?” he asks, staring at the pile of beef jerky and peanut M&M bags spread out on his bed.
Dean, who’s sprawled out on his stomach on the other bed, looks up from the leather bound journal he’s been studying. “So sorry, your highness,” he simpers in a high-pitched voice. Sam throws a bag of M&Ms at his head, and he grins around the pen cap in his mouth. “Didn’t have time to hit the local eatery, what with all the running and trap laying and then lying in wait. You’ll just have to make do.” He looks back down at the page in front of him and jots a quick note in the margin, and Sam grabs a stick of beef jerky.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” He says, and rips open the packaging with his teeth. “So, what do you usually do when you’re waiting for demons to show up?”
Dean sighs and flips the journal closed. “Usually I’d clean my weapons and read up on my exorcisms, but I conditioned all my guns last week and I’ve had this exorcism memorized for about a year now, so I think we’re good.”
Sam takes a bite out of the beef jerky and chews it noisily. “Hm… got a deck of cards?”
“Sure do. You wanna try a few magic tricks on me? Guess my card?”
Sam rolls his eyes. “I already told you, I’m not a psychic! I just…”
“Have dreams about things that are actually happening hundreds of miles away?” Dean interrupts. “Yeah, you’re like no psychic I’ve ever heard of.” He picks up the bag of M&Ms that Sam threw at him and tears off the end, then tips it to his mouth. “So… you know all about me…” he mumbles around a mouthful of hard candy. Sam grimaces, and Dean makes a point of chewing and swallowing his mouthful before continuing. “Tell me the story of Sam Remington and his foxy lady, Jess… ica?”
Sam watches the way Dean licks the candy from his lips, then looks down and shakes his bangs in front of his eyes. “Not much to tell,” he says softly. He fiddles with the beef jerky in his hand, then takes another bite to give himself a minute to think. Dean just looks at him, green eyes bright, and Sam swallows. “I studied pre-law, but never took my LSATs. It just… didn’t feel like what I wanted any more. And Jessica and I, well, we were together until about a year ago, when I realized…” he clears his throat, turns his mouth into his shoulder, “… that I was gay.”
Dean chokes on the M&M that he’d just popped into his mouth, and Sam feels his face flush red. “Sorry!” Dean gasps, smacking his chest. “Not that I’m against - it’s just -” he coughs, “a surprise!”
Sam ducks his head. “Yeah, well… surprised me, too. But once I realized, it’s not like there was anyone to pretend for, so…”
“No one?” Dean asks.
Sam tosses the rest of his beef jerky in the trash. “No.” He flops onto his back on his bed and looks up at the ceiling. “My mom died in a fire when I was a baby, and my dad died almost 4 years ago-just before I went to Stanford. Don’t have any other family that I know of. I mean, really, it was just about telling Jess. If any of my other friends had a problem with it, no big deal, you know? It’s just Jess… I’m glad she didn’t hold the whole ‘gay boyfriend’ thing against me.”
“Wait - your mom died in a fire?” Dean says, sitting up.
Sam props himself up on an elbow and looks over at Dean, frowning. “Yeah, the fire started in my nursery. My dad got me out, but my mom… she died.”
Dean is staring back at him, eyes wide. “My mom died in a fire, too. In my brother’s nursery. They both died.”
Sam’s mouth opens, but no words come out. It’s just too…
“This is too weird to be a coincidence,” Dean says. He gives Sam a shrewd look. “I don’t want to freak you out or anything, but the fire that killed my mom and brother? It wasn’t an accident. It was caused by the demon that dad and I just killed. So maybe the fire that killed your mom… I mean, maybe the reason you dreamed about me and dad and the demon…”
“No,” Sam shakes his head. “There’s no way. I mean, why would a demon come after my mom? It’s just not - You can’t just say things like that. You can’t know….”
Dean leans forward off his bed, hands extended. “Hey, no need to freak out. You’re right - I don’t know anything. Hell, I don’t even know why the demon came after my family in the first place.”
“Okay, then,” Sam says and, suddenly drained, he flops back on his bed. “Let’s just forget it, then.”
Dean’s eyes run over the sprawl of his body, and Sam thinks he’s going to say something else, but he just gets up and heads for the bathroom. “I’m going to take a quick shower. Holler if the demon shows up, will you?”
Sam represses a sigh. “Yeah, sure thing, Dean.”
********
Sam’s sitting up against the headboard, pillows behind his back, and trying to figure out what’s going on in today’s episode of Days of Our Lives when he hears the water cut off. While Dean’s been in the shower, he’s gone through two sticks of beef jerky and a bag of M&Ms, and is feeling a lot calmer.
“Did you leave any hot water for the rest of us?” he hollers.
The bathroom door opens. “Yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbles, emerging on a cloud of steam, and Sam’s eyes are arrested by the sight of him. With just a towel wrapped around his waist, Dean is breathtaking. Water drips from his hair and down his neck, then runs down his back and chest, and Sam can’t help but follow the glistening droplets with his heated gaze. His eyes catch on the significant scarring above Dean’s left nipple, and he remembers the terrible dream he had months ago, when Dean had been tortured by a cruel, bloodthirsty demon. He wants to lick the sensitive-looking skin, and he runs his tongue over his lips without thinking.
It’s a few breathless moments, and too late Sam notices that Dean sees him looking. A red flush spreads from Dean’s freckled cheeks down to the top of his chest, but he walks past Sam to his duffle bag unselfconsciously. “Take a picture, it’s last longer,” he mumbles, digging around for a fresh change of clothes.
Sam looks away quickly and clears his throat. “S-sorry,” he says.
Dean hums dismissively, and Sam almost chokes when out of the corner of his eye he sees Dean drop the towel from around his hips. He acts like he has nothing to be embarrassed about, and fuck Dean has nothing to be embarrassed about. His ass is firm and rounded as he bends down to pull on underwear, his back muscles flex as he tugs on a T-shirt, and Sam is trying so hard to look without looking that he’s completely surprised when the journal Dean had been studying earlier comes sailing across the room and lands on his lap.
“Oomph!” he grunts, and Dean laughs. Sam risks a glance at him and sees that he’s clad in a T-shirt and boxer briefs that are so tight they leave nothing to the imagination.
“Take a look at the exorcisms in the back of that journal will you? I’m going to take a nap. Driving non-stop to get out here and find you was exhausting.”
Sam licks his dry lips and swallows. “Sure, no problem.” His voice is high and reedy, but he can’t help it. Dean is beautiful, and Sam could swear that he’s flirting, and the whole situation is disrupting things like higher brain function and talking and breathing…
Dean flops down stomach-first on his bed and burrows just his legs under the sheets. “Wake me up if anything exciting happens.”
“Uh… yeah,” Sam answers, and stares at the curve of Dean’s back and ass for a few moments before he can look away and focus on the journal in his lap.
Dean is still asleep, and Sam is reading through one of the exorcisms towards the end of the journal when the door is banged in. The lights flicker, and for a wild moment, Sam thinks impossibly that it’s Jess standing in the doorway, the setting sun blazing behind her.
“Wakey wakey, Dean,” she taunts, and then Sam can see her for who she is.
“Dora,” he says. Unnecessarily, it turns out. Dean is already on his feet, shotgun in hand.
“Fuck you, bitch,” Dean says, and Sam knows what he’s doing. He’s trying to keep her attention off Sam.
It works. She ignores Sam entirely, just eyes Dean disdainfully for a moment before flicking her wrist and sending him crashing into the far wall. He hits and then falls, first to his knees, and then on his face. His shotgun is a few feet away now, but it doesn’t look like he’ll be able to retrieve it any time soon.
Sam doesn’t let himself look-he doesn’t have time to check on Dean now-just grabs the closest bottle of holy water and splashes her with it.
She screeches in pain, and Sam can see her eyes turn black for just a moment. This isn’t some innocent woman anymore, she’s a demon, and Sam tries to remember that as he keeps splashing her. Dean is lying on the ground, still as a corpse, and Sam tries to remember that this is part of the plan. He can’t really be hurt that badly…
Sam runs out of holy water, and when the demon realizes, when she sees that it’s broken the line of salt in front of the door, she grins maniacally. “Oh, this is too good,” she croons, and then Sam’s the one who goes flying. He hits the nearby table first, then the wall. His shoulder takes most of the hit, but he suffers a glancing blow to his ribs that has him panting in pain as he lies on the ground.
“Dean, Dean, Dean,” she says, stepping over the wrecked salt line and into the motel room. “You should really train your pets not to piddle all over the carpet.” The door slams shut behind her and she raises her hand again, looking down on Dean’s still form with unholy glee. “This is what you get for killing my father, you little -”
She stops. Looks at him harder for a minute. Then looks at her hand.
“What the -?” Her eyes scan the ground frantically, then flick up to the devil’s trap painted on the ceiling.
“Got ya,” Dean says, opening his eyes and grinning up at her. He stands up, easy as you please, from where he’s been crumpled on the ground. “Meg? That you?”
“God damn it!” She shrieks and hurls herself against the invisible barrier of the devil’s trap a few times before stopping, her breathing heavy. “I should have killed you when I had the chance!”
“So it is you,” Dean says. His free hand, the one not holding his sawed-off shotgun, rubs his chest. “What the hell do you want, Meg? You didn’t get enough out of me last time?”
“You helped kill Azazel. This is just payback, Dean,” she spits.
“Azazel?”
“You don’t think his friends called him ‘Yellow Eyes,’ do you?” Meg says, tilting her head back cockily, but Sam can tell that she’s scared. She watches him as he stands up gingerly from where he’d been sprawled, then her gaze flickers back over to Dean, who’s watching him with concern. Her eyes narrow, calculating, and she crosses her arms, stands straight. “You let me go, and I’ll let the jolly green giant over there live. Your life would be forfeit, of course…”
“Don’t listen to her,” Sam says, and hands Dean his journal before he has a chance to respond. “Just read the exorcism and send her back to hell.”
She glares at him and turns back to Dean, waiting to see what he’ll do. When he sets down his shotgun and flips the journal open, she starts to curse and spit. “Fuck you, Dean! Fuck you and your suicidal father!”
Dean ignores her and starts to read from one of the exorcisms, and for the first several words nothing happens. Sam steps closer to Dean, worried, but then Meg’s head jerks spastically to the one side and she gasps. Even though all the doors and windows are closed, wind starts to pick up in the room, and Dean reads on.
“After everything he’s done?” Meg starts, growling over the low cadence of Dean’s words, “there’s no way John isn’t down there on the rack, waiting for me.” Dean just keeps reading, and Sam sees that her eyes are black pits in her face. “I’ll tear him apart over and over until he’s screaming for mercy!” The wind is whipping around them now as Dean keeps reading, his Latin barely faltering despite her cruel words. “Do you hear me, Dean? I’ll make him pay, and then I’ll claw my way back out of the pit. Hell can’t keep me!” Dean’s voice reaches a crescendo, and Meg’s borrowed body flies backwards and then forwards, hitting against the barrier of the devil’s trap. She howls in agony and Dean pauses, giving a worried glance to the windows that face the parking lot.
Meg smiles maniacally at the reprieve, black smoke starting to curl from between her lips. “When I do? When I make it back up here? I’ll take it out of his hide first,” she says, and tilts her head towards Sam. “Your giant pet? I’ll make you watch while I tear his flesh from his bones!”
Sam gulps, but refuses to let her get to him. “Just, just keep reading, Dean,” he says, but Dean doesn’t. Sam watches incredulously has he drops the journal on the nearby bed.
“No,” he says, voice soft. “I can’t let that happen.” While Sam watches, he turns and pulls a Colt revolver out from under the pillow on his bed. It’s The Colt-Sam recognizes it from his dreams. “I’m sick of this game, Meg,” Dean starts, his mouth an angry snarl. “After this, you won’t be able to hurt anyone else, ever again.” He raises his arm, Colt in hand, and thumbs the safety off.
“No!” Sam shouts, and grabs Dean’s arm. “That’s still Dora, Dean. You can’t kill her!”
Meg, who’d started to look truly panicked, smiles cruelly with Dora’s mouth. “Yeah, Dean,” she mocks. “Don’t want to kill this poor, innocent girl, do you?”
“Fuck!” he shouts. His eyes are wild as he looks away from her and to Sam. “Sam, I can’t… I can’t let her live if she’s just going to keep -”
Sam shakes his head. “Then I’ll do it, Dean. And it will be my responsibility if she comes back.”
“It’ll be my responsibility, Dean,” Meg mocks in a high-pitched voice, and Dean lunges forward to pistol-whip her with the Colt, savage but careful to stay out of her reach.
“Fuck!” she shouts, then spits out a stream of blood at Dean’s feet. “I’ll -”
She pauses as her head jerks to the side again, and Sam grits his teeth and continues reading. He’d picked the journal back up and started in on the exorcism again, but hadn’t been sure exactly where Dean was in the recitation. He’s relieved when black smoke starts to leak from her mouth again, and he keeps reading in earnest. He’s almost at the end -
“I’ll come back for you, Dean. You and your little boyfriend!” she screams one last time, and then her head tilts back and smoke as black as pitch pours out of Dora’s mouth. Wind whips around them as the smoke funnels up like a tornado in reverse and hits the devil’s trap on the ceiling, where it pools.
“No you won’t, you bitch,” Dean growls. He raises the Colt and shoots into the center of the smoke, the report loud in the small room, and the black mass crackles madly for a few seconds before giving off a yellow flash of light and dissipating in the next moment.
Dean and Sam stare up at the ceiling, mouths agape. “Did that work?” Dean asks. He looks down and meets Sam’s wide-eyed stare. “Shit, did that really -”
They hear a thump as Dora’s body crumples where she stands, just hits the floor in a dead faint, and Sam snaps out of it first. He rushes forward to check her pulse, and it’s weak, but it’s there.
“She’s still alive,” he whispers, overcome with relief.
Dean comes up behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Good, now let’s -”
Sam doesn’t let him finish. He grabs his hand and then quickly stands and turns into him. In a matter of moments, he has Dean right where he wants him against the motel room wall.
Dean looks up at him, bewildered. “Sam?”
“Dean,” he sighs in answer, and kisses him.
It’s strange how easy it is to kiss Dean. He’s known that he was real for less than 24 hours, but pulling him close and cradling his jaw in one hand is nothing. Coaxing his lips open with his tongue is as natural as breathing. The noxious smell of sulfur permeates everything, but Sam doesn’t think he’s ever tasted anything sweeter.
When Dean finally starts to kiss him back, it’s infinitely better. He luxuriates in the feel of Dean’s mouth moving against his for a long minute or two, until Dora groans in pain and he can’t ignore reality any longer.
“Shit,” he says, pulling back from the kiss.
Dean looks up at him and grins his reckless grin. “Shit is right. Let’s call an ambulance for her and then get the hell out of here.”
“Sounds good,” Sam says, grinning back at him. “You should maybe put some pants on first, though.”
They’re at another motel, this one a much safer distance from the diner and the motel room that are now more than likely crime scenes. Sam’s just gotten out of the shower and is digging through Dean’s duffel, looking for something that he might be able to wear. Dean stares at the towel wrapped around his waist, licks his lips.
“So,” Dean starts, pauses. “What are your plans from here?”
Sam stands, a ragged Led Zeppelin tour T-shirt in one hand, and turns to look at Dean. “Well, I thought we’d lay low for a while, then I can go back for some of my stuff. I’ll let her Jess have the rest-to keep or sell if she wants-and we can get out of here. I’ll ask Jess to take Bones, at least at first.” He runs the other hand through his damp hair to get it out of his eyes, and Dean follows the movement helplessly, his eyes snagging on the defined muscles in Sam’s arms, his chest.
“You’re… leaving Palo Alto?” he swallows. “With me?”
Sam gives him a calculating look, then drops the shirt back in the duffel. “Dean,” he starts, and then he’s moving towards him, and Dean can’t do anything but stare like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. “This might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, but…” He pulls Dean up off the bed and tugs him close, into his space. “But I can’t just ignore all this now that I know about it. I can’t walk away from it. From what might have happened to my mother.” He raises one hand up so that he can cup Dean’s face in the palm of his hand, pull him closer. The next thing he says, he says against Dean’s lips. “I can’t just let you walk away from me, either. Now that I know you’re real…”
Sam falls silent and just looks at him, stares deep into Dean’s eyes, and he’s so close-so close and so big. He’s just this kid, someone Dean met less than a day ago, but… Dean senses that he’s more than that. He closes his eyes, breathes out shakily against Sam’s lips. It’s… it’s almost like…
And then Sam’s lips are on his again, and he’s kissing him like he’ll die if he doesn’t. Dean doesn’t know where to put his hands. Doesn’t know what else to do but kiss him back. Something swells inside him, an emotion that he doesn’t have any experience with, and he realizes: Sam fills in all the empty spaces. The gaping holes Dean didn’t know he carried around inside himself.
He’s too stunned to move away, to retreat like he normally would when things get too intense, and Sam keeps kissing him with purpose, his big hand cupping Dean’s cheek. Dean opens his mouth to Sam’s exploring tongue, tips his head, and lets his eyes flutter closed. A torrent of emotions is swelling inside him, and he’s dizzy. He’s so dizzy. He puts his hands up, braces them against Sam’s bare chest, and when Sam tugs him closer, into his body, he goes with it gratefully because he knows he can’t stand on his own-not anymore.
“Dean,” Sam whispers against his lips, and Dean shudders. “Can I… Please, tell me that I haven’t read this wrong. That you…”
Dean doesn’t know what he’s asking, but it doesn’t matter. At this moment, he’d give Sam anything he wanted without question. “I do,” he says, voice rough with arousal, and Sam grabs his hipbones tightly and exhales noisily.
“Shit, Dean. What you do to me. It defies all logic.”
Dean feels his skin flush, but Sam doesn’t give him time to be embarrassed. He ducks down and rubs his face against Dean’s neck, smelling his skin and then kissing and licking the stubble on his throat with wild abandon.
“God, your neck,” he says, a low rasp, then sucks a hickey into the skin just below his ear. The pain is sharp, and Dean squeezes his eyes shut so tight he sees white sparks behind his eyelids.
“And your jaw, fuck, your jaw… and your chin,” Sam continues, and Dean shivers as Sam makes his way, tongue first, from Dean’s neck all the way to the cleft in his chin. He swirls the tip of his tongue around the indentation and then laps up, catches the bottom of his lower lip.
“And don’t even get me started on your lips,” he whispers, hot air fanning over the sensitive, pink flesh. Dean keeps still as Sam hovers, lips just a fraction of an inch from his own, and breathes against his mouth. Time seems to stretch interminably and Dean, against his will, sways forward until their lips touch faintly. The space breached, Sam surges forward again and uses his tongue to lick at the soft fullness of Dean’s lips. He laps at them, then bites lightly and sucks them into his own mouth, then laps at them again, until the entirety of Dean’s lips tingle with something between pleasure and pain.
“Sam,” he groans, and opens his mouth wide, eager to feel Sam’s tongue in his mouth again. To his disappointment, Sam retreats, goes back to sucking on his lower lip, so Dean gets bolder. He’s no shrinking flower. He grabs Sam’s shoulders and thrusts into his mouth with his tongue. He knows he’s a good kisser-he’s had plenty of practice, anyways-but something about Sam makes him forget everything he’s ever learned, and he just runs his tongue over Sam’s teeth, learns his mouth. Maybe it’s not good, because Sam freezes for a second, and Dean’s just about to retreat when Sam suddenly hollows his cheeks and sucks Dean’s tongue further into his mouth.
The feel of Sam sucking on his tongue sends a bolt of arousal through him, and his cock throbs in his pants. He groans, long and low, into Sam’s mouth and presses closer, lets his cock, hard in the confines of his jeans, rub against Sam’s hip. It feels so damn good, and Sam releases his tongue, gives a groan of his own.
“Shit, Dean, you’re so hot,” he says, panting, and uses his grip on Dean’s hips to encourage his thrusts against him. The towel wrapped around Sam’s waist is working loose, and Dean feels a surge of apprehension. He’s never…
Dean’s hands move from his shoulders so that he can wrap his arms around Sam’s neck, and Sam looks down at him, eyes blazing. “Want to see you. Can I?”
Dean’s head tips back as he groans, and Sam takes that as assent. His hands fumble for the belt at Dean’s waist, and in seconds he has it undone and his jeans peeled open. Dean shudders and is expecting a hand to work it’s way down his pants, but Sam surprises him-he lets the towel fall from own hips and then he’s dropping to his knees in front of him. Dean stares down at him, stunned. Sam is a work of art when he’s naked, all perfect sculpted muscle and flushed skin. His cock is huge-hard, it stands out straight from his body, and Dean finds himself wishing that he could feel its smooth length in his hand or with his mouth.
“Oh, God,” he groans. It’s too much to handle, the way Sam looks up at him and then smiles slyly as he pulls Dean’s cock out of his boxers. Except for where he’s exposed, he’s still fully dressed, and Sam, naked, rubs his hard cock against the leg of Dean’s jeans as he learns the weight and feel of Dean’s cock with his hands. “You are so sexy like that,” Dean says, and Sam gives his cock a tug that ends on a twist, makes his knees wobble.
“Whoa, there,” Sam says, then directs him the few steps to the bed. The back of Dean’s knees hit the mattress and he drops, boneless. Sam scoots forward, still kneeling in front of him.
“Shit, Sam, you’re so -” he breaks off when Sam exhales.
“Can I…” he starts, and then he’s licking up Dean’s cock. Dean doesn’t think he’s seen anything hotter than Sam’s tongue swirling around the head of his dick, and he gasps Sam’s name while he hums happily around his cock, continuing to lap at the precome welling from his slit. “I’ve never…” he gasps, and Sam makes an inquisitive sound around him. “I mean…” Dean feels light-headed-he can’t get a breath-but he has to get this out. “I mean, I’ve never… with another man…”
“Shhhh,” Sam soothes, and then sucks the entire length of him into his wide mouth.
“Oh, oh God… Sam!” he groans, and forgets his apprehensions - just gives into the sensations coursing through him. Sam sucks him fast and sloppy, and it’s embarrassing how quickly Dean comes undone under his mouth. He can feel Sam rubbing up against his leg, can see him when he takes himself in hand, and he’s close to the edge after just minutes. When he tugs at Sam’s hair in warning, though, the other man doesn’t pull off, and Dean erupts down his throat with a shout.
“Shit,” he sighs, and he’s still reeling when he feels Sam tense and sees him come, spattering himself and Dean’s pant leg.
“Dean…” Sam whispers, his voice a wreck, and Dean comes to a quick decision. He leans down and grabs Sam up in his arms, and Sam doesn’t protest as he pulls him back onto the bed with him.
“So,” he starts, then pauses. It’s hard for Dean to admit when he wants something, so he takes his time, shoving off his pants and then settling back on the bed with Sam. Despite the other man’s larger size, it feels natural manhandling Sam into place so that he can curl around him. Once he has him where he wants him, he pushes his nose into the hair at the nape of Sam’s neck. “So, if you’re sure about wanting to come along…”
August 2002
John says the words that will allow Sam to escape hunting and have a normal life. Without him and without Dean. And Dean will be better off, too-you can’t miss a brother you don’t remember having. He lights a match and drops it in the ritual bowl. The fire flares up quick and is gone in an instant, and John stares down at the curling smoke as it rises off the mess of herbs and hair and blood.
Once the demon’s dead, John will undo it. He’ll put it back the way it was…
But even if he doesn’t, if something happens to him before he can reverse it, the spell won’t last forever. Four years, and then Sam will remember. Be remembered. And if Sam is angry at him for what he’s done… well, John just hopes he can forgive him.
The End.
When they stop in the parking lot of a dingy motel just off the highway, Sam is, he thinks, understandably confused. “Um… aren’t we trying to get a bit further away than this?”
Dean puts the car in park and kills the engine. “Not unless you want to make it too hard for ‘Dora the Explorer’ to find us again.” He gets out of the car, old door creaking, and Sam follows.
“Wait, we want her to find us?”
Dean taps a finger against his forehead. “Bingo. We set a trap and lay in wait - the whole shebang. Now, Mr. McGillicutty can cover the cost of our room, or we can pay cash and go dutch. I’m inclined to use cash in situations like this-how much you got on you?”
Sam’s not sure who McGillicutty is, but Dean seems to know what he’s doing, so he just pulls out his wallet and counts the bills inside. “Sixty bucks?”
“Alright, we’re golden.” He reaches around Sam’s arm and pulls the bills out. “I’m going to get us a room. You wait here.”
Sam does as told, leaning against the side of the Impala while Dean saunters into the motel office. He watches Dean go, thinks, That is the nicest ass I’ve seen in a while, and shakes his head. Fucking adrenaline is messing with him again. He hardly knows Dean, and even though he’s not one for meaningless hookups, all he wants to do is throw Dean down and fucking ravish him.
He tilts his head back, closes his eyes, and lets himself imagine it for a few moments. Dean’s ‘fuck me’ lips, his gorgeous eyes, his strong jaw… the way his legs bow out when he walks. Shit, Sam wants those legs wrapped around his hips as he thrusts -
“Dude, quit daydreaming.” Something smacks him in the chest and then falls to the pavement, rattling. Sam opens his eyes and glares at Dean, who’s waggling the other set of keys in his hand. “Those,” he points to the ground, “are your keys. We’re in room 14. Now try not to hang out in broad daylight with your eyes closed anymore - we’ve got a demon on our ass, remember?”
Sam rubs his chest and then bends down to retrieve the motel room key. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, not disagreeing, and Dean rolls his eyes and walks around him to the trunk of the Impala.
“You head in. I’ll get our supplies together.” He swings the trunk open and then fiddles with something. Sam can’t see what from this angle, but he has flashes of memory from past dreams-a secret compartment propped up with an old sawed off shotgun, an arsenal of weapons inside-and shudders. “Hold on,” Dean says, and leans around the gleaming black metal of the trunk. “Take this,” he throws a big canister of salt, and Sam catches it automatically, “and pour out an unbroken line across all the doorways and windowsills.”
The request doesn’t seem odd to Sam. Not after everything else. “Sure thing, boss,” he says, sketches a salute, and heads for room 14.
“No need to be a smartass!” Dean hollers after him, and Sam grins.
********
When Dean makes it to the room, he’s laden down with two duffel bags. Sam gets out of his way as he barrels in, then drops the bags against the wall behind the far bed. “You should call Jess,” he says. “Tell her to lay low and not to answer the door or let anyone in her place. In fact, she should just close all her curtains tight and pretend she’s not there, at least until we take care of this.”
Sam’s got his cell phone in his hand before Dean even finishes talking. “Damn it, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that! What if -” He’s shaking slightly as he tries to press and hold the “2” down on his phone. Dean crosses the room quickly and puts a hand against the back of his neck.
“Hey, now. No need to freak. She’s probably fine. Just take a deep breath…”
Sam does, a great, heaving gasp, and realizes that the hand on his neck feels natural, just like all the other small touches that Dean has given him since they met.
“Okay, I’m okay. Yeah, I’ll just…” he’s rambling, so just presses down on the “2” and calls Jess.
The phone rings… and rings. Sam thinks he might have a heart attack, an honest-to-God heart attack, and then she finally answers.
“What, Sam? I’ve got the headache from hell over here and I’m trying to sleep!”
“Oh, God,” he says. He can’t think of anything else, just, “thank God… thank God, Jess…”
“Sam?” she asks, “What’s wrong?” Her voice gets higher pitched, faster. “Are you okay?”
He lets out a long breath. “I thought… I thought something might have happened. When you didn’t answer. Jess, whatever you do today, don’t go out, and don’t let anyone know you’re home. Close your curtains, turn off the lights, and lock all your doors, okay?”
There’s a moment of silence, and then, “Okay, Sam. But you’re going to tell me what this is all about later, okay? Tomorrow. And I want to know who that Dean guy really is.”
He grins, “Yeah, okay. Could never get anything past you, could I?”
“Nope!” she answers cheerfully. Then, more serious, “Is there anything else I should… anything else I can do?”
Sam’s eyes catch on the salt he poured in front of the motel room window. “Yeah, pour salt across all the doorways and windows in your place. And make sure the line isn’t broken anywhere when you do it.”
She starts to giggle, a bit hysterically, but chokes it down after Sam doesn’t say anything else. “Okay, Sam. Can’t wait to hear what this is all about.”
“I’ll tell you everything when I can. But for now, just -”
“If I’ve wasted all that salt and made a god-awful mess for no reason -”
“Please, Jess, just… you have to be safe. You understand?”
“Yeah, I get it. You be careful, too, Sam.”
“I will.”
After she hangs up, Sam stares at the phone display for a second and then looks up at Dean, who’s still standing in his space. His hand has slid down from Sam’s neck to his back, and Sam leans into the touch just a bit.
“She’s okay. And she’ll stay put until we take care of the - the demon.”
Dean grins, quick and then it’s gone. “Alright, then. Now we’ve got some work to do.”
The trap is planned and set, the salt lines are intact, and Sam is… hungry. “Damn, is this all you have?” he asks, staring at the pile of beef jerky and peanut M&M bags spread out on his bed.
Dean, who’s sprawled out on his stomach on the other bed, looks up from the leather bound journal he’s been studying. “So sorry, your highness,” he simpers in a high-pitched voice. Sam throws a bag of M&Ms at his head, and he grins around the pen cap in his mouth. “Didn’t have time to hit the local eatery, what with all the running and trap laying and then lying in wait. You’ll just have to make do.” He looks back down at the page in front of him and jots a quick note in the margin, and Sam grabs a stick of beef jerky.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” He says, and rips open the packaging with his teeth. “So, what do you usually do when you’re waiting for demons to show up?”
Dean sighs and flips the journal closed. “Usually I’d clean my weapons and read up on my exorcisms, but I conditioned all my guns last week and I’ve had this exorcism memorized for about a year now, so I think we’re good.”
Sam takes a bite out of the beef jerky and chews it noisily. “Hm… got a deck of cards?”
“Sure do. You wanna try a few magic tricks on me? Guess my card?”
Sam rolls his eyes. “I already told you, I’m not a psychic! I just…”
“Have dreams about things that are actually happening hundreds of miles away?” Dean interrupts. “Yeah, you’re like no psychic I’ve ever heard of.” He picks up the bag of M&Ms that Sam threw at him and tears off the end, then tips it to his mouth. “So… you know all about me…” he mumbles around a mouthful of hard candy. Sam grimaces, and Dean makes a point of chewing and swallowing his mouthful before continuing. “Tell me the story of Sam Remington and his foxy lady, Jess… ica?”
Sam watches the way Dean licks the candy from his lips, then looks down and shakes his bangs in front of his eyes. “Not much to tell,” he says softly. He fiddles with the beef jerky in his hand, then takes another bite to give himself a minute to think. Dean just looks at him, green eyes bright, and Sam swallows. “I studied pre-law, but never took my LSATs. It just… didn’t feel like what I wanted any more. And Jessica and I, well, we were together until about a year ago, when I realized…” he clears his throat, turns his mouth into his shoulder, “… that I was gay.”
Dean chokes on the M&M that he’d just popped into his mouth, and Sam feels his face flush red. “Sorry!” Dean gasps, smacking his chest. “Not that I’m against - it’s just -” he coughs, “a surprise!”
Sam ducks his head. “Yeah, well… surprised me, too. But once I realized, it’s not like there was anyone to pretend for, so…”
“No one?” Dean asks.
Sam tosses the rest of his beef jerky in the trash. “No.” He flops onto his back on his bed and looks up at the ceiling. “My mom died in a fire when I was a baby, and my dad died almost 4 years ago-just before I went to Stanford. Don’t have any other family that I know of. I mean, really, it was just about telling Jess. If any of my other friends had a problem with it, no big deal, you know? It’s just Jess… I’m glad she didn’t hold the whole ‘gay boyfriend’ thing against me.”
“Wait - your mom died in a fire?” Dean says, sitting up.
Sam props himself up on an elbow and looks over at Dean, frowning. “Yeah, the fire started in my nursery. My dad got me out, but my mom… she died.”
Dean is staring back at him, eyes wide. “My mom died in a fire, too. In my brother’s nursery. They both died.”
Sam’s mouth opens, but no words come out. It’s just too…
“This is too weird to be a coincidence,” Dean says. He gives Sam a shrewd look. “I don’t want to freak you out or anything, but the fire that killed my mom and brother? It wasn’t an accident. It was caused by the demon that dad and I just killed. So maybe the fire that killed your mom… I mean, maybe the reason you dreamed about me and dad and the demon…”
“No,” Sam shakes his head. “There’s no way. I mean, why would a demon come after my mom? It’s just not - You can’t just say things like that. You can’t know….”
Dean leans forward off his bed, hands extended. “Hey, no need to freak out. You’re right - I don’t know anything. Hell, I don’t even know why the demon came after my family in the first place.”
“Okay, then,” Sam says and, suddenly drained, he flops back on his bed. “Let’s just forget it, then.”
Dean’s eyes run over the sprawl of his body, and Sam thinks he’s going to say something else, but he just gets up and heads for the bathroom. “I’m going to take a quick shower. Holler if the demon shows up, will you?”
Sam represses a sigh. “Yeah, sure thing, Dean.”
********
Sam’s sitting up against the headboard, pillows behind his back, and trying to figure out what’s going on in today’s episode of Days of Our Lives when he hears the water cut off. While Dean’s been in the shower, he’s gone through two sticks of beef jerky and a bag of M&Ms, and is feeling a lot calmer.
“Did you leave any hot water for the rest of us?” he hollers.
The bathroom door opens. “Yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbles, emerging on a cloud of steam, and Sam’s eyes are arrested by the sight of him. With just a towel wrapped around his waist, Dean is breathtaking. Water drips from his hair and down his neck, then runs down his back and chest, and Sam can’t help but follow the glistening droplets with his heated gaze. His eyes catch on the significant scarring above Dean’s left nipple, and he remembers the terrible dream he had months ago, when Dean had been tortured by a cruel, bloodthirsty demon. He wants to lick the sensitive-looking skin, and he runs his tongue over his lips without thinking.
It’s a few breathless moments, and too late Sam notices that Dean sees him looking. A red flush spreads from Dean’s freckled cheeks down to the top of his chest, but he walks past Sam to his duffle bag unselfconsciously. “Take a picture, it’s last longer,” he mumbles, digging around for a fresh change of clothes.
Sam looks away quickly and clears his throat. “S-sorry,” he says.
Dean hums dismissively, and Sam almost chokes when out of the corner of his eye he sees Dean drop the towel from around his hips. He acts like he has nothing to be embarrassed about, and fuck Dean has nothing to be embarrassed about. His ass is firm and rounded as he bends down to pull on underwear, his back muscles flex as he tugs on a T-shirt, and Sam is trying so hard to look without looking that he’s completely surprised when the journal Dean had been studying earlier comes sailing across the room and lands on his lap.
“Oomph!” he grunts, and Dean laughs. Sam risks a glance at him and sees that he’s clad in a T-shirt and boxer briefs that are so tight they leave nothing to the imagination.
“Take a look at the exorcisms in the back of that journal will you? I’m going to take a nap. Driving non-stop to get out here and find you was exhausting.”
Sam licks his dry lips and swallows. “Sure, no problem.” His voice is high and reedy, but he can’t help it. Dean is beautiful, and Sam could swear that he’s flirting, and the whole situation is disrupting things like higher brain function and talking and breathing…
Dean flops down stomach-first on his bed and burrows just his legs under the sheets. “Wake me up if anything exciting happens.”
“Uh… yeah,” Sam answers, and stares at the curve of Dean’s back and ass for a few moments before he can look away and focus on the journal in his lap.
Dean is still asleep, and Sam is reading through one of the exorcisms towards the end of the journal when the door is banged in. The lights flicker, and for a wild moment, Sam thinks impossibly that it’s Jess standing in the doorway, the setting sun blazing behind her.
“Wakey wakey, Dean,” she taunts, and then Sam can see her for who she is.
“Dora,” he says. Unnecessarily, it turns out. Dean is already on his feet, shotgun in hand.
“Fuck you, bitch,” Dean says, and Sam knows what he’s doing. He’s trying to keep her attention off Sam.
It works. She ignores Sam entirely, just eyes Dean disdainfully for a moment before flicking her wrist and sending him crashing into the far wall. He hits and then falls, first to his knees, and then on his face. His shotgun is a few feet away now, but it doesn’t look like he’ll be able to retrieve it any time soon.
Sam doesn’t let himself look-he doesn’t have time to check on Dean now-just grabs the closest bottle of holy water and splashes her with it.
She screeches in pain, and Sam can see her eyes turn black for just a moment. This isn’t some innocent woman anymore, she’s a demon, and Sam tries to remember that as he keeps splashing her. Dean is lying on the ground, still as a corpse, and Sam tries to remember that this is part of the plan. He can’t really be hurt that badly…
Sam runs out of holy water, and when the demon realizes, when she sees that it’s broken the line of salt in front of the door, she grins maniacally. “Oh, this is too good,” she croons, and then Sam’s the one who goes flying. He hits the nearby table first, then the wall. His shoulder takes most of the hit, but he suffers a glancing blow to his ribs that has him panting in pain as he lies on the ground.
“Dean, Dean, Dean,” she says, stepping over the wrecked salt line and into the motel room. “You should really train your pets not to piddle all over the carpet.” The door slams shut behind her and she raises her hand again, looking down on Dean’s still form with unholy glee. “This is what you get for killing my father, you little -”
She stops. Looks at him harder for a minute. Then looks at her hand.
“What the -?” Her eyes scan the ground frantically, then flick up to the devil’s trap painted on the ceiling.
“Got ya,” Dean says, opening his eyes and grinning up at her. He stands up, easy as you please, from where he’s been crumpled on the ground. “Meg? That you?”
“God damn it!” She shrieks and hurls herself against the invisible barrier of the devil’s trap a few times before stopping, her breathing heavy. “I should have killed you when I had the chance!”
“So it is you,” Dean says. His free hand, the one not holding his sawed-off shotgun, rubs his chest. “What the hell do you want, Meg? You didn’t get enough out of me last time?”
“You helped kill Azazel. This is just payback, Dean,” she spits.
“Azazel?”
“You don’t think his friends called him ‘Yellow Eyes,’ do you?” Meg says, tilting her head back cockily, but Sam can tell that she’s scared. She watches him as he stands up gingerly from where he’d been sprawled, then her gaze flickers back over to Dean, who’s watching him with concern. Her eyes narrow, calculating, and she crosses her arms, stands straight. “You let me go, and I’ll let the jolly green giant over there live. Your life would be forfeit, of course…”
“Don’t listen to her,” Sam says, and hands Dean his journal before he has a chance to respond. “Just read the exorcism and send her back to hell.”
She glares at him and turns back to Dean, waiting to see what he’ll do. When he sets down his shotgun and flips the journal open, she starts to curse and spit. “Fuck you, Dean! Fuck you and your suicidal father!”
Dean ignores her and starts to read from one of the exorcisms, and for the first several words nothing happens. Sam steps closer to Dean, worried, but then Meg’s head jerks spastically to the one side and she gasps. Even though all the doors and windows are closed, wind starts to pick up in the room, and Dean reads on.
“After everything he’s done?” Meg starts, growling over the low cadence of Dean’s words, “there’s no way John isn’t down there on the rack, waiting for me.” Dean just keeps reading, and Sam sees that her eyes are black pits in her face. “I’ll tear him apart over and over until he’s screaming for mercy!” The wind is whipping around them now as Dean keeps reading, his Latin barely faltering despite her cruel words. “Do you hear me, Dean? I’ll make him pay, and then I’ll claw my way back out of the pit. Hell can’t keep me!” Dean’s voice reaches a crescendo, and Meg’s borrowed body flies backwards and then forwards, hitting against the barrier of the devil’s trap. She howls in agony and Dean pauses, giving a worried glance to the windows that face the parking lot.
Meg smiles maniacally at the reprieve, black smoke starting to curl from between her lips. “When I do? When I make it back up here? I’ll take it out of his hide first,” she says, and tilts her head towards Sam. “Your giant pet? I’ll make you watch while I tear his flesh from his bones!”
Sam gulps, but refuses to let her get to him. “Just, just keep reading, Dean,” he says, but Dean doesn’t. Sam watches incredulously has he drops the journal on the nearby bed.
“No,” he says, voice soft. “I can’t let that happen.” While Sam watches, he turns and pulls a Colt revolver out from under the pillow on his bed. It’s The Colt-Sam recognizes it from his dreams. “I’m sick of this game, Meg,” Dean starts, his mouth an angry snarl. “After this, you won’t be able to hurt anyone else, ever again.” He raises his arm, Colt in hand, and thumbs the safety off.
“No!” Sam shouts, and grabs Dean’s arm. “That’s still Dora, Dean. You can’t kill her!”
Meg, who’d started to look truly panicked, smiles cruelly with Dora’s mouth. “Yeah, Dean,” she mocks. “Don’t want to kill this poor, innocent girl, do you?”
“Fuck!” he shouts. His eyes are wild as he looks away from her and to Sam. “Sam, I can’t… I can’t let her live if she’s just going to keep -”
Sam shakes his head. “Then I’ll do it, Dean. And it will be my responsibility if she comes back.”
“It’ll be my responsibility, Dean,” Meg mocks in a high-pitched voice, and Dean lunges forward to pistol-whip her with the Colt, savage but careful to stay out of her reach.
“Fuck!” she shouts, then spits out a stream of blood at Dean’s feet. “I’ll -”
She pauses as her head jerks to the side again, and Sam grits his teeth and continues reading. He’d picked the journal back up and started in on the exorcism again, but hadn’t been sure exactly where Dean was in the recitation. He’s relieved when black smoke starts to leak from her mouth again, and he keeps reading in earnest. He’s almost at the end -
“I’ll come back for you, Dean. You and your little boyfriend!” she screams one last time, and then her head tilts back and smoke as black as pitch pours out of Dora’s mouth. Wind whips around them as the smoke funnels up like a tornado in reverse and hits the devil’s trap on the ceiling, where it pools.
“No you won’t, you bitch,” Dean growls. He raises the Colt and shoots into the center of the smoke, the report loud in the small room, and the black mass crackles madly for a few seconds before giving off a yellow flash of light and dissipating in the next moment.
Dean and Sam stare up at the ceiling, mouths agape. “Did that work?” Dean asks. He looks down and meets Sam’s wide-eyed stare. “Shit, did that really -”
They hear a thump as Dora’s body crumples where she stands, just hits the floor in a dead faint, and Sam snaps out of it first. He rushes forward to check her pulse, and it’s weak, but it’s there.
“She’s still alive,” he whispers, overcome with relief.
Dean comes up behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Good, now let’s -”
Sam doesn’t let him finish. He grabs his hand and then quickly stands and turns into him. In a matter of moments, he has Dean right where he wants him against the motel room wall.
Dean looks up at him, bewildered. “Sam?”
“Dean,” he sighs in answer, and kisses him.
It’s strange how easy it is to kiss Dean. He’s known that he was real for less than 24 hours, but pulling him close and cradling his jaw in one hand is nothing. Coaxing his lips open with his tongue is as natural as breathing. The noxious smell of sulfur permeates everything, but Sam doesn’t think he’s ever tasted anything sweeter.
When Dean finally starts to kiss him back, it’s infinitely better. He luxuriates in the feel of Dean’s mouth moving against his for a long minute or two, until Dora groans in pain and he can’t ignore reality any longer.
“Shit,” he says, pulling back from the kiss.
Dean looks up at him and grins his reckless grin. “Shit is right. Let’s call an ambulance for her and then get the hell out of here.”
“Sounds good,” Sam says, grinning back at him. “You should maybe put some pants on first, though.”
They’re at another motel, this one a much safer distance from the diner and the motel room that are now more than likely crime scenes. Sam’s just gotten out of the shower and is digging through Dean’s duffel, looking for something that he might be able to wear. Dean stares at the towel wrapped around his waist, licks his lips.
“So,” Dean starts, pauses. “What are your plans from here?”
Sam stands, a ragged Led Zeppelin tour T-shirt in one hand, and turns to look at Dean. “Well, I thought we’d lay low for a while, then I can go back for some of my stuff. I’ll let her Jess have the rest-to keep or sell if she wants-and we can get out of here. I’ll ask Jess to take Bones, at least at first.” He runs the other hand through his damp hair to get it out of his eyes, and Dean follows the movement helplessly, his eyes snagging on the defined muscles in Sam’s arms, his chest.
“You’re… leaving Palo Alto?” he swallows. “With me?”
Sam gives him a calculating look, then drops the shirt back in the duffel. “Dean,” he starts, and then he’s moving towards him, and Dean can’t do anything but stare like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. “This might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, but…” He pulls Dean up off the bed and tugs him close, into his space. “But I can’t just ignore all this now that I know about it. I can’t walk away from it. From what might have happened to my mother.” He raises one hand up so that he can cup Dean’s face in the palm of his hand, pull him closer. The next thing he says, he says against Dean’s lips. “I can’t just let you walk away from me, either. Now that I know you’re real…”
Sam falls silent and just looks at him, stares deep into Dean’s eyes, and he’s so close-so close and so big. He’s just this kid, someone Dean met less than a day ago, but… Dean senses that he’s more than that. He closes his eyes, breathes out shakily against Sam’s lips. It’s… it’s almost like…
And then Sam’s lips are on his again, and he’s kissing him like he’ll die if he doesn’t. Dean doesn’t know where to put his hands. Doesn’t know what else to do but kiss him back. Something swells inside him, an emotion that he doesn’t have any experience with, and he realizes: Sam fills in all the empty spaces. The gaping holes Dean didn’t know he carried around inside himself.
He’s too stunned to move away, to retreat like he normally would when things get too intense, and Sam keeps kissing him with purpose, his big hand cupping Dean’s cheek. Dean opens his mouth to Sam’s exploring tongue, tips his head, and lets his eyes flutter closed. A torrent of emotions is swelling inside him, and he’s dizzy. He’s so dizzy. He puts his hands up, braces them against Sam’s bare chest, and when Sam tugs him closer, into his body, he goes with it gratefully because he knows he can’t stand on his own-not anymore.
“Dean,” Sam whispers against his lips, and Dean shudders. “Can I… Please, tell me that I haven’t read this wrong. That you…”
Dean doesn’t know what he’s asking, but it doesn’t matter. At this moment, he’d give Sam anything he wanted without question. “I do,” he says, voice rough with arousal, and Sam grabs his hipbones tightly and exhales noisily.
“Shit, Dean. What you do to me. It defies all logic.”
Dean feels his skin flush, but Sam doesn’t give him time to be embarrassed. He ducks down and rubs his face against Dean’s neck, smelling his skin and then kissing and licking the stubble on his throat with wild abandon.
“God, your neck,” he says, a low rasp, then sucks a hickey into the skin just below his ear. The pain is sharp, and Dean squeezes his eyes shut so tight he sees white sparks behind his eyelids.
“And your jaw, fuck, your jaw… and your chin,” Sam continues, and Dean shivers as Sam makes his way, tongue first, from Dean’s neck all the way to the cleft in his chin. He swirls the tip of his tongue around the indentation and then laps up, catches the bottom of his lower lip.
“And don’t even get me started on your lips,” he whispers, hot air fanning over the sensitive, pink flesh. Dean keeps still as Sam hovers, lips just a fraction of an inch from his own, and breathes against his mouth. Time seems to stretch interminably and Dean, against his will, sways forward until their lips touch faintly. The space breached, Sam surges forward again and uses his tongue to lick at the soft fullness of Dean’s lips. He laps at them, then bites lightly and sucks them into his own mouth, then laps at them again, until the entirety of Dean’s lips tingle with something between pleasure and pain.
“Sam,” he groans, and opens his mouth wide, eager to feel Sam’s tongue in his mouth again. To his disappointment, Sam retreats, goes back to sucking on his lower lip, so Dean gets bolder. He’s no shrinking flower. He grabs Sam’s shoulders and thrusts into his mouth with his tongue. He knows he’s a good kisser-he’s had plenty of practice, anyways-but something about Sam makes him forget everything he’s ever learned, and he just runs his tongue over Sam’s teeth, learns his mouth. Maybe it’s not good, because Sam freezes for a second, and Dean’s just about to retreat when Sam suddenly hollows his cheeks and sucks Dean’s tongue further into his mouth.
The feel of Sam sucking on his tongue sends a bolt of arousal through him, and his cock throbs in his pants. He groans, long and low, into Sam’s mouth and presses closer, lets his cock, hard in the confines of his jeans, rub against Sam’s hip. It feels so damn good, and Sam releases his tongue, gives a groan of his own.
“Shit, Dean, you’re so hot,” he says, panting, and uses his grip on Dean’s hips to encourage his thrusts against him. The towel wrapped around Sam’s waist is working loose, and Dean feels a surge of apprehension. He’s never…
Dean’s hands move from his shoulders so that he can wrap his arms around Sam’s neck, and Sam looks down at him, eyes blazing. “Want to see you. Can I?”
Dean’s head tips back as he groans, and Sam takes that as assent. His hands fumble for the belt at Dean’s waist, and in seconds he has it undone and his jeans peeled open. Dean shudders and is expecting a hand to work it’s way down his pants, but Sam surprises him-he lets the towel fall from own hips and then he’s dropping to his knees in front of him. Dean stares down at him, stunned. Sam is a work of art when he’s naked, all perfect sculpted muscle and flushed skin. His cock is huge-hard, it stands out straight from his body, and Dean finds himself wishing that he could feel its smooth length in his hand or with his mouth.
“Oh, God,” he groans. It’s too much to handle, the way Sam looks up at him and then smiles slyly as he pulls Dean’s cock out of his boxers. Except for where he’s exposed, he’s still fully dressed, and Sam, naked, rubs his hard cock against the leg of Dean’s jeans as he learns the weight and feel of Dean’s cock with his hands. “You are so sexy like that,” Dean says, and Sam gives his cock a tug that ends on a twist, makes his knees wobble.
“Whoa, there,” Sam says, then directs him the few steps to the bed. The back of Dean’s knees hit the mattress and he drops, boneless. Sam scoots forward, still kneeling in front of him.
“Shit, Sam, you’re so -” he breaks off when Sam exhales.
“Can I…” he starts, and then he’s licking up Dean’s cock. Dean doesn’t think he’s seen anything hotter than Sam’s tongue swirling around the head of his dick, and he gasps Sam’s name while he hums happily around his cock, continuing to lap at the precome welling from his slit. “I’ve never…” he gasps, and Sam makes an inquisitive sound around him. “I mean…” Dean feels light-headed-he can’t get a breath-but he has to get this out. “I mean, I’ve never… with another man…”
“Shhhh,” Sam soothes, and then sucks the entire length of him into his wide mouth.
“Oh, oh God… Sam!” he groans, and forgets his apprehensions - just gives into the sensations coursing through him. Sam sucks him fast and sloppy, and it’s embarrassing how quickly Dean comes undone under his mouth. He can feel Sam rubbing up against his leg, can see him when he takes himself in hand, and he’s close to the edge after just minutes. When he tugs at Sam’s hair in warning, though, the other man doesn’t pull off, and Dean erupts down his throat with a shout.
“Shit,” he sighs, and he’s still reeling when he feels Sam tense and sees him come, spattering himself and Dean’s pant leg.
“Dean…” Sam whispers, his voice a wreck, and Dean comes to a quick decision. He leans down and grabs Sam up in his arms, and Sam doesn’t protest as he pulls him back onto the bed with him.
“So,” he starts, then pauses. It’s hard for Dean to admit when he wants something, so he takes his time, shoving off his pants and then settling back on the bed with Sam. Despite the other man’s larger size, it feels natural manhandling Sam into place so that he can curl around him. Once he has him where he wants him, he pushes his nose into the hair at the nape of Sam’s neck. “So, if you’re sure about wanting to come along…”
August 2002
John says the words that will allow Sam to escape hunting and have a normal life. Without him and without Dean. And Dean will be better off, too-you can’t miss a brother you don’t remember having. He lights a match and drops it in the ritual bowl. The fire flares up quick and is gone in an instant, and John stares down at the curling smoke as it rises off the mess of herbs and hair and blood.
Once the demon’s dead, John will undo it. He’ll put it back the way it was…
But even if he doesn’t, if something happens to him before he can reverse it, the spell won’t last forever. Four years, and then Sam will remember. Be remembered. And if Sam is angry at him for what he’s done… well, John just hopes he can forgive him.
The End.