There's a Hole In You and Me Part V
Part IV
Sam considers what he’s learned while Dean goes to restart the fire. The deaths of the two hikers were recorded as accidents but Sam had figured they’d been the last victims. There was no information about them in the police file, just another Jane Doe and John Doe. There are other things he needs to ask Dean, about the bodies and the victims and the timing, but he usually relies on the fact that people trust kids to get information and that won’t work on Dean.
Sam tries not to be obvious while he watches Dean grow more and more restless. He tries sitting on the ratty couch and watching the fire, staring out at the ever more violent rain, even does some pushups - which Sam is willing to admit, if only to himself, to finding somewhat captivating - before settling on his back on his bed, tossing an old baseball he found in a corner up into the air and catching it inches from his face.
“Wanna play something?” Dean asks, apparently finally giving up on the entertainment value of a baseball and holding up a pack of playing cards. Sam shrugs like this isn’t the perfect opportunity to subtly glean some info. He tucks the papers back into his journal and places it out of the way on the window sill to clear the table while Dean expertly shuffles the deck.
***
The window slams open on a particularly strong gust of wind and the entire contents of the window sill are knocked into the air. Dean’s baseball goes rolling under a bed, an unlit candle falls to the floor with a thud, and the wind sends Sam’s journal flying, all the papers tucked into it fluttering out.
Sam swears and starts grabbing papers from the air, stuffing them into the journal without checking what they are, cursing himself for leaving case materials so exposed. When the journal is stuffed fat with papers again and he can’t see any more on the floor, he turns back to Dean, ready to explain away his odd attachment to his journal and laugh it off.
Dean, however, is holding a single sheet of paper in front of him, the small creases of a frown
appearing between his eyebrows.
“I’ve seen this before...”
Sam holds his breath and prays for Dean to shrug it off.
“Is this what you were stealing from Ms Hamilton’s office?” Dean asks curiously. There’s no
reproach in his voice and the truth slips out of Sam before he can help it.
“No, that’s my copy.”
Dean’s eyes widen slightly before he hands the sheet of paper back to Sam.
“Why do you have a crime scene photo in your journal?” Dean sits down at the table, not taking his eyes off Sam. “Why do you have a crime scene photo from this lake in your journal?”
Sam pauses. This is the part where he’d come up with a great lie - he already has several floating around in the back of his mind for this exact situation - but there’s something missing. Dean isn’t pushing him to lie. Dean isn’t suspicious or hostile at all - in fact, he seems almost... unsurprised, as if he’s been expecting this from the start. The thought doesn’t do much for Sam’s confidence in his acting ability but he takes a breath and pushes past the years of training to do the one thing he’s never supposed to.
“I’m investigating some unsolved murders around here.” There. He said it. It’s out and he can’t take it back. Dean’s reaction isn't anywhere near what he expected.
"I knew you were older!" Dean crows, relief written into every relaxed line of his face.
Sam stares at him.
"What?" Dean shrugs. "It's a big deal. So you're investigating the Blackwater serial killer?"
Sam shrugs noncommittally.
"Just looking into the deaths, looking for patterns."
Dean watches him silently for a moment, considering. Like he's deciding whether to call bullshit on a teenager investigating murder. He doesn't question it though, just nods before raising an eyebrow.
"You said murder. Most of those deaths are recorded as accidents though, right? I mean, there were those two hikers, dead in a storm. Then before that there were murders, the two brothers with the gun. Before that there wasn't anything, but people like to say that's because we never found the bodies. Before that there were those two old ladies, and before that - "
"Wait, what two old ladies? I thought there were no deaths recorded in 1968 or 1958?" Sam asks excitedly. He knew it was a good idea to ask Dean.
"Oh yeah, not a lot of people know about them, 'cause they were old. There used to be a retirement home out where the boathouse is now. Everyone says those two killed each other or something but they probably just died in their sleep - they were something like ninety years old." Dean shrugs like this isn't information Sam would have killed for.
"And before that, the brother and the sister - the police report has that as an accident with possible foul play, which is basically code for 'murder we couldn't solve'," Sam continues, and Dean nods.
"Yeah, but that's so far back no one really knows anymore. I mean, we all tell stories about 'the curse of Blackwater', or 'the sibling curse', but - "
"Sibling curse?" Sam asks excitedly. "I noticed the pattern, but they weren't all siblings. I thought maybe it was about people who spent a lot of time together, or people with history, or -"
"Nah, they were all siblings," Dean says with a little smile. He's enjoying having the upper hand a little too much, Sam thinks. "The old ladies had different last names 'cause they got married at some point, but they were sisters. Then there were the brothers, and no one knows for sure for the hikers but they sure looked alike - same hair, same nose, same height - "
"What about the 1948 murder? That was a nanny and the father of the kids, right?" Sam asks
"Brother and sister. She was a widow apparently, that's why they took her in as a nanny."
"You know a lot about this," Sam comments.
"Been hearing these stories since I was seven," Dean says. "Dave and I used to tell them after lights
out, too. Helped with my nightmares."
Sam laughs.
"Murder stories helped with your nightmares?" That's a new one.
Dean shrugs a little awkwardly and Sam decides to change the subject.
"So the first deaths were in 1938 - " he starts, but Dean's already shaking his head. "Yeah man, they were, I checked in Ms. Hamilton's office. Apparently they were barely recorded, but two little girls drowned in the lake."
"No, those were the second and third deaths. The first was in 1928, this lady people around here call Rose. I don't know if that was her real name. They say her brother killed her because she inherited all this land."
Sam stares at Dean for what feels like a full minute before speaking.
"That's it. It's gotta be her. Murdered by her own brother, that's definitely unfinished business, especially if he got away with it."
Dean quirks an eyebrow.
"Unfinished business? You talkin' about ghosts now?"
The hint of laughter in Dean's voice irks Sam but he just shrugs.
"Not ruling anything out, that's all. So, you know where this Rose lady was buried?" He aims for casual but apparently his acting is truly shot to hell because Dean doesn't answer for a second, just burns holes into Sam's retinas with his stare. When he finally does answer, he's speaking slow and calm, like he's talking to a child. Or an insane person, supplies Sam's brain.
"No, I don't know where she's buried. Why would you need to know that?"
It's the tone and it's the way Dean's looking at Sam, so careful, like Sam's fucking fragile or something. It snaps his self control straight through and the excitement at finding a lead combined with the tension between him and Dean since last night has him biting out a retort before he can think it through.
"I need to know where she's fucking buried so I can salt and burn her fucking bones and stop another two deaths," Sam says, and though the storm is still raging outside, the air inside the cabin feels too calm, too still. It's oppressive, pushing in at Sam's skin until he feels like exploding.
There's some small voice in the back of his head whispering that there's no reason to get this angry, that Dean hasn't even done anything wrong, but he ignores it and glares at Dean, chest heaving like he just ran a mile.
"You really think it's a ghost?" is all Dean asks, calm as can be. He's dropped the talking-to-a-crazy-person tone and Sam's grateful for that. Sam's anger deflates all at once, his shoulders dropping and the hot energy running through him slipping away, leaving him feeling sapped and tired.
"I know it is," he says quietly and Dean just nods.
Sam's quiet for a long time, letting Dean digest the information and decide whether Sam's crazy. He goes to lie on his bed and stare up at the wooden ceiling, thinking about what he needs to do next. It's going to be hard to do anything with the rain pelting the windows like this but Sam needs to get this done - there are only a few more days left before another two people die and this time it'll be Sam's fault.
"Is... salting and burning the corpse the only way to kill a ghost?" Dean asks, stumbling over the words a little.
"Yup," Sam answers, wondering if this is a test of his sanity.
"Then I'm thinking we should probably break into Ms. Hamilton's office to find out where Rose was buried. She keeps all kinds of records about the history of this place in there, I'd bet good money there's some kind of obituary or article about the death."
Sam sits up and stares at Dean. Dean heaves a put upon sort of sigh.
"Look, I'm not saying I believe in ghosts, but... I don't think you're lying, and there've been two deaths every ten years for a really long time, which is weird enough, and you sound like you know what you're doing, and it's not like it'll do any harm if there isn't a ghost, and - "
Sam's grinning by the time Dean breaks off.
"What?" Dean asks, frowning and blushing a little.
"Nothing." Sam schools his features into a more serious expression. "We can't do anything while it's raining like this, though. Can't see two yards in front of me and twenty bucks says the creek’s flooded anyway."
Dean nods.
"What ever could we do to pass the time until it clears up?" Sam asks in an overly innocent voice, raising an eyebrow at Dean, who looks away quickly.
"How old are you really?" Dean asks in a suddenly tight voice.
"Does it matter?" Sam asks. "I've seen and done things you can't even imagine. I'm not a kid."
Dean looks at him for a long moment then nods abruptly, pushing up out of his chair and making his way to Sam’s bed.
***
He knows he’s not pushing on the age issue for selfish reasons. He knows this, and yet somehow he has himself convinced that it’s okay because Sam is clearly not like any other... whatever-year-old.
Any thoughts about age are shoved out of his head the instant he finds himself standing at the edge of Sam’s bed, looking down at Sam’s slim body sprawled over the blue comforter. He’s wearing the only jeans he seems to own, a little too big at the waist - just enough to slip down over his hipbones and reveal a strip of flat stomach. His ratty t-shirt rides up as he shifts under Dean’s gaze.
“What do you want to do?” Dean asks, feeling young for a second. Sam probably knows more about this than him, and that’s an unwelcome thought.
“Whatever you want,” Sam replies and it’s not a casual cop-out. He says it like it’s true, like it’s important.
Dean reaches down and tugs Sam’s shirt up, over his ribs, over his head, Sam’s arms coming obediently up to help. There’s adrenaline pounding through Dean’s veins, a moment of panic when he realizes what he’s doing followed by an inexplicable calm at the sight of Sam lying back, knees casually spread, head tilted back and dark slitted eyes fixed on Dean.
He's not sure he'd call that trust but... There's something - a feeling that Dean could do anything right now, that Sam would let him do anything he wants, and that's... A rush like Dean's never felt before.
"Take the rest off," Dean says, his voice only cracking a little. Sam's cheeks flush red but he complies, kicking off socks and pants, barely hesitating before pushing his boxers down and off too. He's already hard and Dean has a passing thought that this - seeing another guy's dick for the first time outside of locker rooms and skinny dipping - should be a bigger deal than it is.
Dean feels weird for a second, standing at the side of the bed looking down at Sam - this is nothing like making out in the backseat of the Impala with his girl after a game - but then he's watching as Sam's hands clench in the blue fabric of the sheets, his cock hard and darkening, leaking against his stomach and Dean just knows Sam's trying not to touch himself.
Dean's calm breaks and he's climbing onto the bed, kneeling between Sam's legs to run a hand down his chest and watch the shiver that follows. Sam's head tips back and Dean watches his long throat as he swallows convulsively, switches from fingertips to fingernails to graze up along Sam's ribs and over a nipple. Sam whimpers and his knees shift, spreading further, cock jerking. The sight makes Dean ache to push him further, see what other noises he'll make.
Dean's has exactly zero experience with men - excluding the previous night - and yet somehow it doesn't occur to him that he doesn't know what he's doing as he leans down to lick a stripe from the base of Sam's cock to the tip. It's skin-salty with the slightest edge of bitterness from the precome slipping from the tip and Sam makes a muffled noise from behind clenched teeth.
Sam's hips jerk up when Dean does it again, so he presses a forearm across his narrow hips and easily holds him down. Sam seems to take it as permission, because he strains against Dean's arm with every lick. Dean finally decides Sam's wet enough and rests the head of Sam's cock between his lips, lets it slide in and out a few times before pushing deeper, over his tongue and back. Sam's past whimpering now, full-out whining and it does something hot to Dean's belly to see him losing control like that. His own dick is hard and too sensitive, rubbing along the inside of his underwear, but he can’t seem to take a hand off Sam to see to it.
Dean can't take him very deep but he slides up and down, wrapping his free hand around the rest and jerking him in time with his mouth. It's a little clumsy but Sam’s cock is slick with spit and when Sam loses it he's practically writhing, hair curling sweat-damp and hands white-knuckled in the bedspread. Dean pulls back to stroke him through his orgasm, come landing on Sam's chest and belly.
Dean tears open his own jeans and heaves a shaky sigh of relief when he gets his cock in hand. This isn’t going to take long, his hand already a blur on his cock, Sam’s eyes glued to the head of his cock popping in and out of the ring of his fingers.
“Can I..?” Dean manages to grind out, gesturing to Sam’s stomach. Sam’s eyes widen and he nods as the blush deepens on his cheeks.
It only takes another half dozen strokes and Dean’s leaning forward and coming all over Sam’s stomach and chest, his own come mixing with Sam’s. He’s breathing hard as the last pulses leave him and he immediately drops his hand to drag his fingertips through the mess, rubbing it into Sam’s skin, bringing one finger up to Sam’s lips to paint them with come. Sam’s tongue darts out to taste and the glimpse of deep pink has Dean’s cock twitching again.
***
Sam’s warm, warmer than he thinks is really normal, but he can’t bring himself to care. Dean’s running a washcloth over his skin, cleaning him up and the wet cloth feels so rough against his skin, like it’s rubbing over raw nerve endings. He squirms a little until Dean finishes up and lies down beside him on the bed with a contented sigh.
Dean gently pushes and pulls at Sam until he's on his side facing away from Dean. He runs his fingers through Sam's hair and nuzzles at the back of his neck, wraps an arm around Sam's waist to pull him in close and keeps him there. There's a quiet voice in the back of Sam's mind whispering that this counts as cuddling and Sam, as a rule, does not cuddle, but his limbs are like molten fire and he can't even contemplate moving.
***
When he wakes up, the light in the cabin is tinted orange-red, filtering in through the dusty windows and casting a warm glow over the room. It's sunset, Sam sees when he lifts his head, and the rain has stopped. Dean's still plastered to Sam's back, their skin sticking damply together.
A brief moment of claustrophobia goes through Sam when he tries to move and finds himself caged in by Dean's arm, but he manages to shift Dean away and slip out of bed. His clothes are piled at the foot of the bed and he grabs them and a towel and heads out to the shower.
When he comes back, Dean's barely moved but he's awake. He smiles at Sam, a big, open grin that pulls at Sam, makes him want to grin right back. He does - feels stupid, feels like a little kid on Christmas with how good this is, feels the familiar urge to tuck any sign of emotion away and cover it up so it can't be used against him - but he can't hold it back anyway.
"Shower's free if you want," Sam says. Dean laughs.
"Is that a nicer way of saying I stink?"
Sam just raises an eyebrow and Dean flips him off as he heads out the door.
***
Part VI