Supernatural, The Sky Was Full of Wings, 1/5
Title: The Sky Was Full of Wings 1/5
Author: l
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing/character: Dean/OFC, Dean/OMC. Sam/Dean/OFC, Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 33,794
Kink: Primary: Age Regression
Notes/Warnings: incest, graphic het sex, graphic M/M sex, dub-con, incest, threesomes, moresomes, voyeurism, oral sex (het & M/M), abduction, rimming, barebacking, blood play, bondage, collaring, orgasm denial, knife play, light D's, submission, marking, biting, first time, bonding. SPECIAL THANKS: to my betas, who were awesome to take this on tru_faith_lost & twivamp92 Any remaining errors are mine.
Summary: While working a case Dean is stolen by the Autumn Queen of the Fae to be her consort. During his time there he is aged regressed, loses his memories, and is a sexual bargaining chip. Sam must rescue him before the ritual sacrifice. He must offer boons to the court for Dean's release. Sam makes a bargain that he must fulfill or both Dean and he will be lost to the Fae. Neither Sam or Dean will leave fairy unchanged.
Artist: Thanks to last minute pinch hit artist musingdarkly & thanks to lightthesparks for additional art work. See all her pieces here.
PART 1 :: PART 2 :: PART 3 :: PART 4 :: PART 5
Interlopers.
She peeked through the leaves; bright eyed and mad, cunning, mischief and deception crawling in her mind and reflected in her smile.
Pretty interlopers…shiny, brighter than the summer king or newly minted pennies, bleeding all over her forest, brimming with power.
She could feel it, deep in her breast, spreading honey thick through her senses, hunger, desire, so much beauty, so many dark needy little secrets in these two.
She wanted them. They would dance with her, pretty lovely playthings to keep forever and ever. She would bend them, bite them, break them to her will, use them up, wind them tight and do it all over again.
She watched and drank in their beauty.
She looked deep into the tall brown one, tainted, hard, such soft curly hair and smooth, muscled skin. Long arms and longer legs to wrap around her, large palms to cup her, fluid and lethal. Driven with purpose, he will not bend to her will. She was going to need something to crack him open with.
She looked deep inside the other, the golden green one and understood he was the key to conquering the gorgeous tall one.
Eyes like her cousin’s flowers, meadows, leaves and dappled sun, burnished hair for her fingers to caress. Lips made to press against hers, broad and tapered he moved over her. Broken, he would come to her call and curl into her, wear her collar. All purpled black and bruised inside, all gooey tender, soft and hurt, ready to leave the mortal world. Flowing easy, a breeze whisper light, and he’d fall, flailing, drown pillowed in her arms.
Hunters become the hunted, their ignorance more deadly than any weapon. Never did she believe such a prize could be hers, no matter what the water foretold.
Interlopers had to pay. A gleeful smile curved her mouth at the thought.
The last bit of sun dipped below the horizon as they crossed the state line into Eastern Kansas on the I-70, the hills rolling away on either side of the car. Sam could smell the distant storm through the cracked window of the Impala. On the horizon, the heat lightning crackled against the purples and blues of the sky. Something uneasy stirred in Sam, nothing he could put his finger on, as if the approaching storm was a portent for things to come.
He looked at Dean, noticed his white knuckled grip against the steering wheel, coiled tension locking his muscles, and wondered what they were getting into this time. Sam lifted the folder from his lap, figuring now was as good a time as any to go over the case.
A stray breeze caught the papers and sent them cascading off Sam’s lap into the seat and foot well.
“Damn it,” Sam cursed as he slammed his hand over the largest pile, simultaneously bending and reaching for the loose pieces by his feet. As he came up, Dean’s hand rested over his, warmth sparking up his arm.
“Got ‘em?’” Dean asked.
“Yeah.” Sam answered throat tight, feeling the slide of calluses as Dean moved his hand back to the steering wheel.
Dean’s gaze intermittently flickered sideways and Sam could feel it, little darts pricking into his skin as he shuffled the papers back into the folder.
“So what’ve you got?” Dean asked. Sam ran a hand through his hair, collecting his thoughts.
Sam answered, “Three disappearances. Darryl, Tom and Paul, 21, 27 and 31, respectively. Each disappeared for about a twenty-four hour period. When they finally show up again, each was reported to be around sixteen or seventeen physically. No memories of where they were during the missing time.”
“So you think the guys are actually the same ones that went missing?”
“You’ll need to see them or their families tomorrow. They can probably tell you better. It looks that way from the one DNA test I was able to get my hands on.”
“So what is the ‘real world’ explanation for what happened?”
Sam snorted, “CDC issued a statement saying they think it’s a disease or possibly the result of genetic experimentation.”
“What do we think?”
“Assuming it’s the real deal, there are maybe a few possibilities. If it’s real age regression, something with a lot of power. Otherwise, shifter or ghoul or variation there of could mimic the real missing person, but I can’t see a good reason.”
“Yeah, no real advantages in coming back underage. In fact, it would kind of suck. Well, you know, apart from the sex thing.”
“Sex thing, Dean?” Sam laced his tone with as much ‘you had to go there’ condescension as he could manage.
“Multiple orgasms…go all night.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows and grinned, so ridiculous that Sam couldn’t help smiling back.
“Okay, but I still can’t think of a monster that would want to be younger. And, that would mean they’re traveling in some kind of pack as well, since there would technically be three of them.”
“Maybe something that breeds by stealing a form?”
“You just can’t get off the whole sex thing, huh?” Sam teased.
Dean raised his eyebrow and mocked, “Gotta play to your strengths.”
“So, if not a monster, then, the real deal. What do we know that’s powerful enough to do that? Angels?”
“Haven’t seen Cas, so I’m going with, no.” Sam felt relieved. He was tired of being pulled between the angels and the demons. The back and forth problem solving, brain storming things out the way they had their whole lives, was a rare occurrence these days. This was good.
Dean started throwing out guesses. “Trickster, Fae, Gods, Godessess, Beira, Shidhe, Fountain of Youth, witches?”
“Hmm… not witches, this would require too much power. Any of the others, maybe, or a Fountain of Youth variation. Some of these things would have other markers, so I’ll check the library tomorrow.”
Dean gave him a long considering look. “You look beat. Why don’t you try to get some rest?”
Sam leaned back, but knew he wouldn’t sleep. He watched Dean through half-opened eyes.
“Stop it.” Dean snapped.
“What.”
“I can feel that.”
“What?”
“You’re watching me.”
Sam turned his eyes to the storm and tried to ignore everything but the rhythm of the wheels, a soothing spin, lulling him into relaxation.
By the time they woke in Hartford Kansas, the storm had passed. The sky was water colored in shades of blue, filled with leaden gray clouds, threatening but not yet delivering more rain. They went their separate ways, Dean to interview the victims and families and Sam to the library. They agreed to meet at a diner they’d spotted around five o'clock.
Sam got to the diner first. It was decorated with a fifties kitsch motif, lots of black and white checks, with red and chrome accents. Dean followed in a few minutes and sat across from him at the booth. Dean gave the waitress, Carrie, his patented, ‘you are the only thing on my mind’ smile as they ordered.
Carrie returned Dean’s smile, added a wink and said with just a hint of drawl, “Sure thing, sugar.” She tucked her pen back in her orange red up-do and they both watched as she sashayed away, tight white mini skirt hugging every curve. Dean picked up the paper to check for any additional leads while Sam checked out the scenery.
Sam couldn’t help but smile and tap his fingers against the slick red vinyl of the bench seat as Lesley Gore lamented, “You would cry too, if it happened to you.” He remembered how Dad would always give him and Dean quarters for the jukebox, whenever they were in a place with one that worked. He and Dean would press up tight, shoulder to elbow, as they stood in front of the curved glass case, trying to read out all the names for the songs. Dean would always look for Zeppelin or the Scorpions.
Sam remembered he always chose based on how he felt about Dean at the time. He’d pick out some classic rock if he were happy with Dean. If he were annoyed or pissed, he’d pick the girliest selection on the box, which was totally worth being able to watch Dean squirm the entire time it played, even if it earned him an arm punch or the dreaded, ‘Samantha.’
“Sam, Sam,” Dean was calling his name and Sam shook off the past.
“Yeah, sorry.”
Sam looked up to find Carrie standing at the table with their food, teasing grin on her face, “Just all lost in thought, weren’t you darlin’?” Sam heard the ‘adorable’ even if it wasn’t spoken, his cheeks blushed and his ears burned. Dean snickered and Sam kicked him under the table.
Carrie put down their food, asked if there was anything else. When they declined, she sauntered away. They ate quickly so they could get on to discussing the case. Carrie cleaned away the plates and gave Sam a little wink as she was leaving.
“So, anything interesting?” Dean asked.
“Maybe.” Sam thought he had a pretty good idea, but he was hoping for another explanation. “Why don’t you tell me what you found out. It’ll help me fill in the holes.”
Dean pulled out the first photo of Darryl, 21. “This was the one you had the DNA record on, right?”
Sam nodded yes.
“Darryl looks like this now,” and Dean showed Sam a picture taken with his cell. He looked like the younger kid brother of the guy in the photo, maybe sixteen at the oldest.
“His mom was a wreck. Dad died last year after a lingering fight with cancer, and Darryl’s been taking it really hard.” Dean gave him a quick glance, acknowledging that it wasn’t that long ago they had grieved their own father. “She thought maybe he’d run away and was freaking out. She told me that she found a bundle of flowers in his bed on the day he was taken.”
“What kind?”
“Thistle.”
Dean continued. “Same story, with Tom. Tom’s fiancée was killed in a car crash three months again. He was driving. Cops found thistle in his bed after his disappearance. Paul is recently divorced, wife cheated on him, then dumped him, moved half-way across the country with the kids. Here’s pics of both of them,” He flipped the cell open for Sam again and showed him the pictures. Both photos seemed to be of sixteen or seventeen-year-old boys. “Those're all the common threads I found.”
“Oh, and look at this.” Dean tossed the paper over and Sam scanned the page until he came to the article Dean had marked, ‘Iraq Hero Snatched While Hunting.’ “I’m guessing one of ours. Article mentions a bouquet of flowers. So tell me your guess.”
“Am I that transparent?”
“Mmmm. You’ve got that ‘I think I know what it is, but I hope I’m really, really wrong' look, which usually means we’re about to step in major shit.”
It was both comforting and stifling to know that Dean could read him so well. Sam sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “I think it’s fairies.”
Dean made a snort grunt sound at the back of his throat.
“Are you seven Dean? Seriously?”
Dean swallowed his amusement and waved a hand, signaling Sam to continue.
“Not just any fairies either, high court Fae. They would have the power to do both the age regression and the memory removal. I found these two articles.”
Sam passed the photocopies to Dean. The first headline read, “Locals Spot Mysterious Black Horse.” Below that in smaller type, “Harry Wells Claims Horse Took Him on An All Night Wild Ride.”
Dean tapped his finger on the article, “Phooka?”
“Sounds like it.” Sam pushed over the second photocopy, which proclaimed in bold type, “ Unusual Occurrences In and Around Hartford.” This article reported things moved in the home, stolen food, miraculously mended shoes. “One woman was hysterical, apparently she is a hoarder and woke to find a spotless, organized home, all her back issues of magazines and newspapers in the recycling.”
“Sounds like brownies, maybe leprechauns on the shoes,” said Dean, looking stunned, which was exactly how Sam felt. They’d heard about a lot of this stuff, even run into a hunter or two who'd dealt with a troll or a goblin.
“Well, definitely all fairy creatures,” said Dean.
“The variety of creatures and incidents implies a gathering or appearance of a full court of Fae, especially combined with the disappearances. I called Bobby, and he checked with a woman he knows in New York. She says it’s likely Autumn Court.”
“Autumn Court?”
“Winter and Summer Courts are most common, but apparently in the last century or so, reports of both a Spring and Autumn Court have sprung up. Bobby’s source said it’s mostly whispers and rumors, because people who’re taken either don’t come back or come back with their memory wiped.”
That skeptical look comes back to Dean’s face. “So how did she get the information?”
“Dean how have we gathered information on Lilith?”
Dean’s eyes widened, “Hunters have caught underlings.”
“Right.”
“This source know anything useful?”
“She suspects that the men are being taken as potential consorts, especially since, as soon as one is returned, another is taken. My research indicates that kind of thing has been suspected in the past, Lots of folk tales report the fair folk, mostly rulers, to have taken humans as mates or consorts. Bobby’s source said that once she has chosen her consort, she might be planning to sacrifice him on Samhain.”
“Jesus, really?” Dean was rubbing his neck, face pensive and brows knit. This information meant not only did they have to stop this, but they had a deadline.
“I don’t know if the thistle means anything specific.”
“Symbol of Fall, given by Aphrodite as a way to snare a man, means love that endures beyond all suffering.”
Sam huffed, always impressed when Dean would come up with some obscure bit of knowledge.
“What?” Dean said defensively.
“Nothing. That would definitely fit both the Fae and the consort theory.” Sam sighed, hope of any other possibility quickly fading.
Dean looked at Sam and narrowed his eyes, thoughtful, “Spill it Sam., What else?”
“Dean, the kind of power we’re dealing with here… I mean… I know we can’t walk way, but…”
“You’re freaked,” Dean said flatly.
“Yeah, this level of Fae, Dean… I just don’t know. She’s gonna make the Trickster seem like a stage show magician.”
“So she’s like a goddess?”
“For our purposes, yeah. We can’t go in guns blazing. We won’t even find her if she doesn’t want to be found. This is high court fairy. She might accept an offering, but…” Sam trailed off. He really didn’t want to bring up the next bit, because there was no way Dean was going to accept this theory, but considering he could lose Dean, not telling him wasn’t an option either.
Sam hesitated, trying to come up with a way to say it that Dean might find easier to hear. He finally shoved the three photos and one newspaper picture towards Dean. “Tell me everything the four victims have in common.”
“Sam - ” Dean started to protest.
Sam cut him off, “Just humor me.”
Dean held up a hand and raised a finger for each similarity. “All male, late twenties to early thirties, decent looking guys.” Sam couldn’t help but smirk, he hadn’t been sure Dean would cop to that one. Sam raised his eyebrows, waiting. Sam loved watching Dean like this, that little scrunch in his brow, the thoughts chasing across his face as he tried to figure something out. Excitement coursed through him, like being a little drunk. Sam made himself be quiet, knowing Dean would connect the dots. “They’ve all been through something traumatic.”
“And - ”
“Shit.” Dean’s eye went wide. “Makes you and me look like fairy chow, huh?”
“We fit the profile pretty neatly.” Although privately Sam thought Dean’s thirty years in hell probably made him more susceptible. No way in this life or the next was he saying as much to Dean. Last thing he needed was Dean to get defensive at this point.
“Anything we can do for protection?” Dean asked.
Sam sighed. “We’ve got to be super careful. A lot of what we could do as protection could also be seen as a sign of aggression, which is the last thing we want.”
“So basically we’ve got less than twenty four hours to figure this out before new guy is returned and a replacement is snatched?”
“Yeah, so tomorrow we go look for a fairy ring?”
“Looks like.”
Sam knew he looked worried, and he appreciated Dean’s reassuring clasp on his shoulder.
It wasn’t until they got up to leave that Sam realized that the whole time they were talking, he and Dean had their ankles and calves wrapped around the other, unconsciously seeking comfort and touch. They almost tripped unscrambling themselves while getting out of the booth.
They woke the next morning to the pitter-patter of light rainfall.
“Ah fuck, naturally. Can’t we ever catch a break?” Dean grumped.
“Mmmph,” Sam rolled over to see Dean up and headed to the bathroom.
Dressed and showered, Sam rolled out the map of the Flint Hills National Wild Life Refuge on the small table in the motel room and stood at the table’s edge with a pen. Dean looked through the folder and tapped a location on the map. Sam brought the pen down to the spot; as Dean leaned back, his fingers brushed alongside Sam’s.
Sam made a neat black circle and looked up to find Dean’s gaze locked on him, waited until Dean shuffled the papers again and reached over to point at the next location. They continued that way until all the incidents were mapped, no sound in the room except the shuffle of papers and the scritch-scratch of the pen. When Sam finished the last mark and straightened up, Dean was rising up to get a better look at the marks, and Sam let go a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding.
They both brought their hands down on the same place on the map at the same time, overlapping. They were locked together, shoulder to ankle, for just a flash, before they both moved.
“So near this side of the reservoir?” Dean asked.
“Yeah,” Sam agreed, turning to pinpoint the area on the laptop. It was already open to the satellite maps he had brought up of the area earlier. Sam put it on the table and pulled up a chair. Dean leaned over him, resting one hand against the table so he could see what Sam was looking at, his breath warm and moist on the back of Sam’s neck.
Sam zoomed in with the touch pad until the area near the reservoir was visible.
Sam said, “I figure what we’re looking for is more likely to be in a wooded area. We can be thankful that most of the 18,000 acres here is plains grasses.” Sam turned his head just a bit and was surprised to find Dean’s cheek nearly up against his nose. Sam turned back to the monitor. “There are several tributaries off the reservoir, and I think one of these areas is most likely. He pointed at three separate spots on the map.
“Turn the laptop around,” Dean instructed as he moved back to the paper map and began to mark those three areas. When he finished, Dean stood up and looked down at Sam. “That’s still about thirty square miles and none of them close to each other. Any ideas about which area to start in?”
Sam got up then and went to stand next to Dean, putting his finger to one of the marked areas. “This one.”
Dean shot him a questioning look. Sam shrugged and answered, “It’s the most central to all the incidents and has heavier tree cover than the other two.”
“Okay then.” Dean turned and rolled up the map. They packed up what they’d need for the three-mile hike in and the subsequent search, plus guns and knives, which would provide some protection form the Fae, but without standing out as being particularly hostile. The Wildlife Refuge was also a hunting area, so they’d have pretty much what anyone else in the area would be carrying.
They drove as far into the park as they could get. The sky was gray and the car windows carried transparent rivulets as the rain came down in a slow drizzle. It was a three mile hike into the first search grid. As they got into the more heavily treed areas, the overcast sky and shadows cast by branches gave the area the feeling of permanent twilight.
They walked the rest of the way in and started the grid search they had mapped earlier. They were on the second grid when something changed in the atmosphere. It wasn’t anything visible, but Sam would’ve sworn the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. He moved closer to Dean, close enough that they were brushing with every step and Dean didn’t tell him to move back.
When he got so close they almost tripped, Dean stopped and silently signaled that he wanted Sam to cover his back. Sam turned, putting them back to back and felt Dean’s muscles, tight and ready against his own. They both pulled weapons and turned in a circle, carefully surveying the area for signs of anything that shouldn’t be there. Suddenly a ten point buck, shot from a copse of bushes, and Sam felt Dean flinch behind him. Then they both let out breathy laughs.
They continued to move through the grid. The rain stopped but there was still no sun as the afternoon slipped away. Sam’s skin continued to twitch, and he watched as Dean’s eyes shot back and forth over the search areas, hands flexing. Neither of them put away their weapons. They walked close, brushing and almost stumbling, but reluctant to part.
The grass was almost knee high, limiting their visibility of the ground. Dean tripped over something and Sam was unable to catch him. He almost took Sam with him.
“Ah fuck.” Dean swore and when Sam looked down, Dean’s hands were clamped around his ankle. The grass was bent low now and Sam could see what might be a prairie dog hole. Sam put his gun in the back of his jeans and bent down, swatting away Dean’s hands. Dean’s eyes were stormy, and he was scowling.
“Just let me check it,” Sam said. He rolled up Dean’s pants and loosened the boot, gently rolling down the sock. He could see the flesh around Dean’s ankle already beginning to swell. Dean hissed as Sam probed the area gently.
“Can you get your boot and sock off?”
“I’m not a baby, Sam.” Dean grouched. When Sam looked at him, Dean’s lip was actually out in a pout, which was pretty adorable, but Sam saw that his eyes were pinched with pain. He dug around in the bag for some painkillers and the first aid kit. As Sam wrapped Dean’s foot, he couldn’t help grazing the arch with the pad of his thumb, remembering the scar that Dean used to have there. It still struck him every time he spotted a patch of Dean’s unmarred skin where a scar used to be, how Dean’s body had been wiped of its history.
After Sam finished, Dean worked his sock and boot back on and tested the weight. The light was starting to fade and that creepy sensation was back. Sam and Dean both drew their guns again.
Voice low, Dean said, “Sam we’ve been out here for six hours and we got nothing. I’m tired, I’m wet, I’m cold, and I’ve got a twisted my ankle. Let’s not forget our three-mile walk out of here and it’s getting dark. We need to come back tomorrow.” Sam knew if Dean was complaining, the ankle was worse than he was letting on, and he didn’t disagree with his brother’s assessment of the situation.
“Yeah. Are you up to taking a slightly roundabout way back. It will help us cover a bit more area.”
Dean nodded his agreement, and they began the trek back, Dean limping slightly. Dean kept his gun out and darted his eyes from side to side, until they started moving again. The further they moved towards the car, the looser Sam felt, tension dropping from muscles held too tight. Shortly after that, Dean stored his gun and Sam took it as a signal to do the same.
When they paused for another water break, Sam saw Dean’s pinched lips. His skin was pale, and when Sam grabbed his wrist, Dean’s skin was clammy to the touch. Anger flashed through Sam that Dean couldn’t just tell him he was hurting.
When they started to move again, Sam threw Dean’s arm over his shoulder to keep any additional pressure off his ankle.
“Dude - “ Deans started to protest.
“Shut it.” Sam cut him off.
The tightness left Dean’s body as the places where they touched began to warm. Dean’s body heat soaked into Sam too, making him feel more relaxed than he had been since this case began.
All Dean could think about by the time they got back to the hotel was a shower and bed. He was so tired he let Sam drive on the way back, while he drifted in and out of sleep, the irritation of his ankle keeping him from nodding off completely.
Sam insisted Dean take first shower while he called for pizza. Pizza was there when he got out and he ate a couple of slices that mostly remind him of cardboard. Dean blinked when Sam’s hand cupped his shoulder, realizing he’d fallen asleep. Dean scowled up into his brother’s contrite face.
Sam said, “Sorry. Need to check the ankle and want you to ice it if we’re going back out there tomorrow.”
When Sam moved his hand around to the middle of Dean’s shoulders to help him up, Dean snapped, “Geez Sam, not an invalid here.”
Dean regretted it almost instantly as he saw the hurt look cross Sam’s face before he shuttered it away. He thought he could still feel the warm impression of Sam’s hand on his back as he sat up.
Dean lifted his foot, and Sam held it in his lap, releasing the binding from earlier. Sam’s fingers drifted over his skin, pressing gently. It was tender but hadn’t swollen up any more. Dean watched as Sam’s thumb glided across his arch, tracing the scar Dean had received when they were on a Selkie hunt. Dean had been entranced by her human form and pulled into the water against his will. Sam had found her skin and burned it, but not before Dean has gotten his foot sliced by something on the bottom of the lake. The cut had been deep enough that Sam had needed to stitch it up. Sam thumbed over the scar that wasn’t, one more time and then they were both looking at the other, before suddenly pulling away.
Sam got Dean an ice pack, and Dean made himself not say something spiteful when Sam pulled up the covers to Dean’s chin, tucking him in like a child. Sam left to take his own shower. The drum of the water was relaxing. The last thing Dean remembered before falling asleep was the stroke of Sam’s thumb, thoughtful and tender across his instep.
Dean woke suddenly, something in the dream bringing him from sleep to wide-eyed heart-thudding wakefulness. Dean tried to remember, thought there was something important about the dream. All that was left was just impressions, crystalline colors shot through with sunlight, wings and miles of naked skin. His dick was hard enough to actually hurt. He couldn’t remember being this turned on in a very long time, something in the dream, touching, tasting, flesh and a rising desire.
Dean figured he just head into the shower and take care of it. He crawled out of bed, desperate not to wake Sam. He wasn’t exactly sure why, morning wood wasn’t uncommon and they’d both dealt with it, but this time he wanted to get by unnoted.
As Dean crept between the beds, Sam’s hand shot out and closed around his wrist and it burned against his skin. Dean barely held back his whimper and hoped Sam would think the small sound that did escape was about his ankle.
“You okay, Dean?”
Dean’s mind shuffled, wondering if Sam had heard him dreaming. The flush rose over his chest and face and he was thankful for the still dark morning. Sam pulled lightly to get his attention.
Overreacting and frantic to get away, Dean nearly shouted, “Get off me Sam.” Pulling away he rushed into the bathroom and shut the door.
Dean turned on the shower, waiting impatiently for the temperature to reach the almost punishing heat he preferred. Seconds after the water started to beat across his skin, Dean put one hand against the cool tile and wrapped the other around his cock. He moved his hand hard and fast knowing he wouldn’t last long. Stroke up and tight squeeze at the crown as the dream fragments of feather touches and slick skin ran through his head. Flick of the thumb over the slit and back down as pictures of muscles rippling under skin passed his eyelids. Then one final pull, the ghost of Sam’s fingers on his wrist bringing him off.
It was too early to wake Sam after he got out of the shower, so Dean iced the ankle again and turned on the TV, watching the silent images flicker over the screen. He sipped his way through two cups of coffee as the sun slowly slanted through the break in the curtain. Sun, something to be thankful for, no tramping around in the rain today.
Dean watched the hazy buttered light sneak over Sam. His brother’s face buried in his pillow, eyelashes fanned against his cheeks. Then, hazel eyes stared into his, and Dean smiled.
“Morning, sunshine.” All Dean got in return was a mumbled something and one arm thrown up to block the sun. Dean hummed as Sam finally rolled out of bed and into the bathroom. Dean was buzzing a little as he went for coffee number three and Sam dressed.
Sam asked, “How’s the ankle?”
“Good enough that I think we can finish the first grid today.”
“You need me to rewrap it?
Dean weighed the advantages of having the bandage done up tighter versus his discomfort with having Sam touch him. He was still freaked out about the dream, but a guy couldn’t help what he thought in the shower, right? It wasn’t like he planned it. It was just the lingering dream, nothing else.
Dean finally decided that better now than Sam have to half carry him because he couldn’t make the three mile hike back out. “Yeah, good idea.”
Sam smiled; it struck Dean that Sam wanted to help him, that it made Sam feel good to be the one doing the helping. Sam made quick work of it this time, no lingering touches, for which Dean couldn’t decide if he was grateful or disappointed.
The walk in was easier. They were within a hundred yards of where they’d finished the day before when Sam spotted it, near a copse of Sycamores and Cottonwoods, large mushrooms in a ring about six feet in width. Suddenly Sam felt the creeping sensation from the day before return. Before he could say anything, both Sam and Dean came to a stand still, quiet, without thought or motion.
There they were, the two brother hunters, prey, pretties.
This time she wouldn’t miss.
Careful, she wove the wind in strands, glamour and magic spun from the earth.
First, the tall one struck blind, frozen out of time and space.
Next, take the other. Interlopers weren’t allowed to play without price.
Part 2
Author: l
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing/character: Dean/OFC, Dean/OMC. Sam/Dean/OFC, Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 33,794
Kink: Primary: Age Regression
Notes/Warnings: incest, graphic het sex, graphic M/M sex, dub-con, incest, threesomes, moresomes, voyeurism, oral sex (het & M/M), abduction, rimming, barebacking, blood play, bondage, collaring, orgasm denial, knife play, light D's, submission, marking, biting, first time, bonding. SPECIAL THANKS: to my betas, who were awesome to take this on tru_faith_lost & twivamp92 Any remaining errors are mine.
Summary: While working a case Dean is stolen by the Autumn Queen of the Fae to be her consort. During his time there he is aged regressed, loses his memories, and is a sexual bargaining chip. Sam must rescue him before the ritual sacrifice. He must offer boons to the court for Dean's release. Sam makes a bargain that he must fulfill or both Dean and he will be lost to the Fae. Neither Sam or Dean will leave fairy unchanged.
Artist: Thanks to last minute pinch hit artist musingdarkly & thanks to lightthesparks for additional art work. See all her pieces here.
PART 1 :: PART 2 :: PART 3 :: PART 4 :: PART 5
Interlopers.
She peeked through the leaves; bright eyed and mad, cunning, mischief and deception crawling in her mind and reflected in her smile.
Pretty interlopers…shiny, brighter than the summer king or newly minted pennies, bleeding all over her forest, brimming with power.
She could feel it, deep in her breast, spreading honey thick through her senses, hunger, desire, so much beauty, so many dark needy little secrets in these two.
She wanted them. They would dance with her, pretty lovely playthings to keep forever and ever. She would bend them, bite them, break them to her will, use them up, wind them tight and do it all over again.
She watched and drank in their beauty.
She looked deep into the tall brown one, tainted, hard, such soft curly hair and smooth, muscled skin. Long arms and longer legs to wrap around her, large palms to cup her, fluid and lethal. Driven with purpose, he will not bend to her will. She was going to need something to crack him open with.
She looked deep inside the other, the golden green one and understood he was the key to conquering the gorgeous tall one.
Eyes like her cousin’s flowers, meadows, leaves and dappled sun, burnished hair for her fingers to caress. Lips made to press against hers, broad and tapered he moved over her. Broken, he would come to her call and curl into her, wear her collar. All purpled black and bruised inside, all gooey tender, soft and hurt, ready to leave the mortal world. Flowing easy, a breeze whisper light, and he’d fall, flailing, drown pillowed in her arms.
Hunters become the hunted, their ignorance more deadly than any weapon. Never did she believe such a prize could be hers, no matter what the water foretold.
Interlopers had to pay. A gleeful smile curved her mouth at the thought.
The last bit of sun dipped below the horizon as they crossed the state line into Eastern Kansas on the I-70, the hills rolling away on either side of the car. Sam could smell the distant storm through the cracked window of the Impala. On the horizon, the heat lightning crackled against the purples and blues of the sky. Something uneasy stirred in Sam, nothing he could put his finger on, as if the approaching storm was a portent for things to come.
He looked at Dean, noticed his white knuckled grip against the steering wheel, coiled tension locking his muscles, and wondered what they were getting into this time. Sam lifted the folder from his lap, figuring now was as good a time as any to go over the case.
A stray breeze caught the papers and sent them cascading off Sam’s lap into the seat and foot well.
“Damn it,” Sam cursed as he slammed his hand over the largest pile, simultaneously bending and reaching for the loose pieces by his feet. As he came up, Dean’s hand rested over his, warmth sparking up his arm.
“Got ‘em?’” Dean asked.
“Yeah.” Sam answered throat tight, feeling the slide of calluses as Dean moved his hand back to the steering wheel.
Dean’s gaze intermittently flickered sideways and Sam could feel it, little darts pricking into his skin as he shuffled the papers back into the folder.
“So what’ve you got?” Dean asked. Sam ran a hand through his hair, collecting his thoughts.
Sam answered, “Three disappearances. Darryl, Tom and Paul, 21, 27 and 31, respectively. Each disappeared for about a twenty-four hour period. When they finally show up again, each was reported to be around sixteen or seventeen physically. No memories of where they were during the missing time.”
“So you think the guys are actually the same ones that went missing?”
“You’ll need to see them or their families tomorrow. They can probably tell you better. It looks that way from the one DNA test I was able to get my hands on.”
“So what is the ‘real world’ explanation for what happened?”
Sam snorted, “CDC issued a statement saying they think it’s a disease or possibly the result of genetic experimentation.”
“What do we think?”
“Assuming it’s the real deal, there are maybe a few possibilities. If it’s real age regression, something with a lot of power. Otherwise, shifter or ghoul or variation there of could mimic the real missing person, but I can’t see a good reason.”
“Yeah, no real advantages in coming back underage. In fact, it would kind of suck. Well, you know, apart from the sex thing.”
“Sex thing, Dean?” Sam laced his tone with as much ‘you had to go there’ condescension as he could manage.
“Multiple orgasms…go all night.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows and grinned, so ridiculous that Sam couldn’t help smiling back.
“Okay, but I still can’t think of a monster that would want to be younger. And, that would mean they’re traveling in some kind of pack as well, since there would technically be three of them.”
“Maybe something that breeds by stealing a form?”
“You just can’t get off the whole sex thing, huh?” Sam teased.
Dean raised his eyebrow and mocked, “Gotta play to your strengths.”
“So, if not a monster, then, the real deal. What do we know that’s powerful enough to do that? Angels?”
“Haven’t seen Cas, so I’m going with, no.” Sam felt relieved. He was tired of being pulled between the angels and the demons. The back and forth problem solving, brain storming things out the way they had their whole lives, was a rare occurrence these days. This was good.
Dean started throwing out guesses. “Trickster, Fae, Gods, Godessess, Beira, Shidhe, Fountain of Youth, witches?”
“Hmm… not witches, this would require too much power. Any of the others, maybe, or a Fountain of Youth variation. Some of these things would have other markers, so I’ll check the library tomorrow.”
Dean gave him a long considering look. “You look beat. Why don’t you try to get some rest?”
Sam leaned back, but knew he wouldn’t sleep. He watched Dean through half-opened eyes.
“Stop it.” Dean snapped.
“What.”
“I can feel that.”
“What?”
“You’re watching me.”
Sam turned his eyes to the storm and tried to ignore everything but the rhythm of the wheels, a soothing spin, lulling him into relaxation.
By the time they woke in Hartford Kansas, the storm had passed. The sky was water colored in shades of blue, filled with leaden gray clouds, threatening but not yet delivering more rain. They went their separate ways, Dean to interview the victims and families and Sam to the library. They agreed to meet at a diner they’d spotted around five o'clock.
Sam got to the diner first. It was decorated with a fifties kitsch motif, lots of black and white checks, with red and chrome accents. Dean followed in a few minutes and sat across from him at the booth. Dean gave the waitress, Carrie, his patented, ‘you are the only thing on my mind’ smile as they ordered.
Carrie returned Dean’s smile, added a wink and said with just a hint of drawl, “Sure thing, sugar.” She tucked her pen back in her orange red up-do and they both watched as she sashayed away, tight white mini skirt hugging every curve. Dean picked up the paper to check for any additional leads while Sam checked out the scenery.
Sam couldn’t help but smile and tap his fingers against the slick red vinyl of the bench seat as Lesley Gore lamented, “You would cry too, if it happened to you.” He remembered how Dad would always give him and Dean quarters for the jukebox, whenever they were in a place with one that worked. He and Dean would press up tight, shoulder to elbow, as they stood in front of the curved glass case, trying to read out all the names for the songs. Dean would always look for Zeppelin or the Scorpions.
Sam remembered he always chose based on how he felt about Dean at the time. He’d pick out some classic rock if he were happy with Dean. If he were annoyed or pissed, he’d pick the girliest selection on the box, which was totally worth being able to watch Dean squirm the entire time it played, even if it earned him an arm punch or the dreaded, ‘Samantha.’
“Sam, Sam,” Dean was calling his name and Sam shook off the past.
“Yeah, sorry.”
Sam looked up to find Carrie standing at the table with their food, teasing grin on her face, “Just all lost in thought, weren’t you darlin’?” Sam heard the ‘adorable’ even if it wasn’t spoken, his cheeks blushed and his ears burned. Dean snickered and Sam kicked him under the table.
Carrie put down their food, asked if there was anything else. When they declined, she sauntered away. They ate quickly so they could get on to discussing the case. Carrie cleaned away the plates and gave Sam a little wink as she was leaving.
“So, anything interesting?” Dean asked.
“Maybe.” Sam thought he had a pretty good idea, but he was hoping for another explanation. “Why don’t you tell me what you found out. It’ll help me fill in the holes.”
Dean pulled out the first photo of Darryl, 21. “This was the one you had the DNA record on, right?”
Sam nodded yes.
“Darryl looks like this now,” and Dean showed Sam a picture taken with his cell. He looked like the younger kid brother of the guy in the photo, maybe sixteen at the oldest.
“His mom was a wreck. Dad died last year after a lingering fight with cancer, and Darryl’s been taking it really hard.” Dean gave him a quick glance, acknowledging that it wasn’t that long ago they had grieved their own father. “She thought maybe he’d run away and was freaking out. She told me that she found a bundle of flowers in his bed on the day he was taken.”
“What kind?”
“Thistle.”
Dean continued. “Same story, with Tom. Tom’s fiancée was killed in a car crash three months again. He was driving. Cops found thistle in his bed after his disappearance. Paul is recently divorced, wife cheated on him, then dumped him, moved half-way across the country with the kids. Here’s pics of both of them,” He flipped the cell open for Sam again and showed him the pictures. Both photos seemed to be of sixteen or seventeen-year-old boys. “Those're all the common threads I found.”
“Oh, and look at this.” Dean tossed the paper over and Sam scanned the page until he came to the article Dean had marked, ‘Iraq Hero Snatched While Hunting.’ “I’m guessing one of ours. Article mentions a bouquet of flowers. So tell me your guess.”
“Am I that transparent?”
“Mmmm. You’ve got that ‘I think I know what it is, but I hope I’m really, really wrong' look, which usually means we’re about to step in major shit.”
It was both comforting and stifling to know that Dean could read him so well. Sam sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “I think it’s fairies.”
Dean made a snort grunt sound at the back of his throat.
“Are you seven Dean? Seriously?”
Dean swallowed his amusement and waved a hand, signaling Sam to continue.
“Not just any fairies either, high court Fae. They would have the power to do both the age regression and the memory removal. I found these two articles.”
Sam passed the photocopies to Dean. The first headline read, “Locals Spot Mysterious Black Horse.” Below that in smaller type, “Harry Wells Claims Horse Took Him on An All Night Wild Ride.”
Dean tapped his finger on the article, “Phooka?”
“Sounds like it.” Sam pushed over the second photocopy, which proclaimed in bold type, “ Unusual Occurrences In and Around Hartford.” This article reported things moved in the home, stolen food, miraculously mended shoes. “One woman was hysterical, apparently she is a hoarder and woke to find a spotless, organized home, all her back issues of magazines and newspapers in the recycling.”
“Sounds like brownies, maybe leprechauns on the shoes,” said Dean, looking stunned, which was exactly how Sam felt. They’d heard about a lot of this stuff, even run into a hunter or two who'd dealt with a troll or a goblin.
“Well, definitely all fairy creatures,” said Dean.
“The variety of creatures and incidents implies a gathering or appearance of a full court of Fae, especially combined with the disappearances. I called Bobby, and he checked with a woman he knows in New York. She says it’s likely Autumn Court.”
“Autumn Court?”
“Winter and Summer Courts are most common, but apparently in the last century or so, reports of both a Spring and Autumn Court have sprung up. Bobby’s source said it’s mostly whispers and rumors, because people who’re taken either don’t come back or come back with their memory wiped.”
That skeptical look comes back to Dean’s face. “So how did she get the information?”
“Dean how have we gathered information on Lilith?”
Dean’s eyes widened, “Hunters have caught underlings.”
“Right.”
“This source know anything useful?”
“She suspects that the men are being taken as potential consorts, especially since, as soon as one is returned, another is taken. My research indicates that kind of thing has been suspected in the past, Lots of folk tales report the fair folk, mostly rulers, to have taken humans as mates or consorts. Bobby’s source said that once she has chosen her consort, she might be planning to sacrifice him on Samhain.”
“Jesus, really?” Dean was rubbing his neck, face pensive and brows knit. This information meant not only did they have to stop this, but they had a deadline.
“I don’t know if the thistle means anything specific.”
“Symbol of Fall, given by Aphrodite as a way to snare a man, means love that endures beyond all suffering.”
Sam huffed, always impressed when Dean would come up with some obscure bit of knowledge.
“What?” Dean said defensively.
“Nothing. That would definitely fit both the Fae and the consort theory.” Sam sighed, hope of any other possibility quickly fading.
Dean looked at Sam and narrowed his eyes, thoughtful, “Spill it Sam., What else?”
“Dean, the kind of power we’re dealing with here… I mean… I know we can’t walk way, but…”
“You’re freaked,” Dean said flatly.
“Yeah, this level of Fae, Dean… I just don’t know. She’s gonna make the Trickster seem like a stage show magician.”
“So she’s like a goddess?”
“For our purposes, yeah. We can’t go in guns blazing. We won’t even find her if she doesn’t want to be found. This is high court fairy. She might accept an offering, but…” Sam trailed off. He really didn’t want to bring up the next bit, because there was no way Dean was going to accept this theory, but considering he could lose Dean, not telling him wasn’t an option either.
Sam hesitated, trying to come up with a way to say it that Dean might find easier to hear. He finally shoved the three photos and one newspaper picture towards Dean. “Tell me everything the four victims have in common.”
“Sam - ” Dean started to protest.
Sam cut him off, “Just humor me.”
Dean held up a hand and raised a finger for each similarity. “All male, late twenties to early thirties, decent looking guys.” Sam couldn’t help but smirk, he hadn’t been sure Dean would cop to that one. Sam raised his eyebrows, waiting. Sam loved watching Dean like this, that little scrunch in his brow, the thoughts chasing across his face as he tried to figure something out. Excitement coursed through him, like being a little drunk. Sam made himself be quiet, knowing Dean would connect the dots. “They’ve all been through something traumatic.”
“And - ”
“Shit.” Dean’s eye went wide. “Makes you and me look like fairy chow, huh?”
“We fit the profile pretty neatly.” Although privately Sam thought Dean’s thirty years in hell probably made him more susceptible. No way in this life or the next was he saying as much to Dean. Last thing he needed was Dean to get defensive at this point.
“Anything we can do for protection?” Dean asked.
Sam sighed. “We’ve got to be super careful. A lot of what we could do as protection could also be seen as a sign of aggression, which is the last thing we want.”
“So basically we’ve got less than twenty four hours to figure this out before new guy is returned and a replacement is snatched?”
“Yeah, so tomorrow we go look for a fairy ring?”
“Looks like.”
Sam knew he looked worried, and he appreciated Dean’s reassuring clasp on his shoulder.
It wasn’t until they got up to leave that Sam realized that the whole time they were talking, he and Dean had their ankles and calves wrapped around the other, unconsciously seeking comfort and touch. They almost tripped unscrambling themselves while getting out of the booth.
They woke the next morning to the pitter-patter of light rainfall.
“Ah fuck, naturally. Can’t we ever catch a break?” Dean grumped.
“Mmmph,” Sam rolled over to see Dean up and headed to the bathroom.
Dressed and showered, Sam rolled out the map of the Flint Hills National Wild Life Refuge on the small table in the motel room and stood at the table’s edge with a pen. Dean looked through the folder and tapped a location on the map. Sam brought the pen down to the spot; as Dean leaned back, his fingers brushed alongside Sam’s.
Sam made a neat black circle and looked up to find Dean’s gaze locked on him, waited until Dean shuffled the papers again and reached over to point at the next location. They continued that way until all the incidents were mapped, no sound in the room except the shuffle of papers and the scritch-scratch of the pen. When Sam finished the last mark and straightened up, Dean was rising up to get a better look at the marks, and Sam let go a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding.
They both brought their hands down on the same place on the map at the same time, overlapping. They were locked together, shoulder to ankle, for just a flash, before they both moved.
“So near this side of the reservoir?” Dean asked.
“Yeah,” Sam agreed, turning to pinpoint the area on the laptop. It was already open to the satellite maps he had brought up of the area earlier. Sam put it on the table and pulled up a chair. Dean leaned over him, resting one hand against the table so he could see what Sam was looking at, his breath warm and moist on the back of Sam’s neck.
Sam zoomed in with the touch pad until the area near the reservoir was visible.
Sam said, “I figure what we’re looking for is more likely to be in a wooded area. We can be thankful that most of the 18,000 acres here is plains grasses.” Sam turned his head just a bit and was surprised to find Dean’s cheek nearly up against his nose. Sam turned back to the monitor. “There are several tributaries off the reservoir, and I think one of these areas is most likely. He pointed at three separate spots on the map.
“Turn the laptop around,” Dean instructed as he moved back to the paper map and began to mark those three areas. When he finished, Dean stood up and looked down at Sam. “That’s still about thirty square miles and none of them close to each other. Any ideas about which area to start in?”
Sam got up then and went to stand next to Dean, putting his finger to one of the marked areas. “This one.”
Dean shot him a questioning look. Sam shrugged and answered, “It’s the most central to all the incidents and has heavier tree cover than the other two.”
“Okay then.” Dean turned and rolled up the map. They packed up what they’d need for the three-mile hike in and the subsequent search, plus guns and knives, which would provide some protection form the Fae, but without standing out as being particularly hostile. The Wildlife Refuge was also a hunting area, so they’d have pretty much what anyone else in the area would be carrying.
They drove as far into the park as they could get. The sky was gray and the car windows carried transparent rivulets as the rain came down in a slow drizzle. It was a three mile hike into the first search grid. As they got into the more heavily treed areas, the overcast sky and shadows cast by branches gave the area the feeling of permanent twilight.
They walked the rest of the way in and started the grid search they had mapped earlier. They were on the second grid when something changed in the atmosphere. It wasn’t anything visible, but Sam would’ve sworn the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. He moved closer to Dean, close enough that they were brushing with every step and Dean didn’t tell him to move back.
When he got so close they almost tripped, Dean stopped and silently signaled that he wanted Sam to cover his back. Sam turned, putting them back to back and felt Dean’s muscles, tight and ready against his own. They both pulled weapons and turned in a circle, carefully surveying the area for signs of anything that shouldn’t be there. Suddenly a ten point buck, shot from a copse of bushes, and Sam felt Dean flinch behind him. Then they both let out breathy laughs.
They continued to move through the grid. The rain stopped but there was still no sun as the afternoon slipped away. Sam’s skin continued to twitch, and he watched as Dean’s eyes shot back and forth over the search areas, hands flexing. Neither of them put away their weapons. They walked close, brushing and almost stumbling, but reluctant to part.
The grass was almost knee high, limiting their visibility of the ground. Dean tripped over something and Sam was unable to catch him. He almost took Sam with him.
“Ah fuck.” Dean swore and when Sam looked down, Dean’s hands were clamped around his ankle. The grass was bent low now and Sam could see what might be a prairie dog hole. Sam put his gun in the back of his jeans and bent down, swatting away Dean’s hands. Dean’s eyes were stormy, and he was scowling.
“Just let me check it,” Sam said. He rolled up Dean’s pants and loosened the boot, gently rolling down the sock. He could see the flesh around Dean’s ankle already beginning to swell. Dean hissed as Sam probed the area gently.
“Can you get your boot and sock off?”
“I’m not a baby, Sam.” Dean grouched. When Sam looked at him, Dean’s lip was actually out in a pout, which was pretty adorable, but Sam saw that his eyes were pinched with pain. He dug around in the bag for some painkillers and the first aid kit. As Sam wrapped Dean’s foot, he couldn’t help grazing the arch with the pad of his thumb, remembering the scar that Dean used to have there. It still struck him every time he spotted a patch of Dean’s unmarred skin where a scar used to be, how Dean’s body had been wiped of its history.
After Sam finished, Dean worked his sock and boot back on and tested the weight. The light was starting to fade and that creepy sensation was back. Sam and Dean both drew their guns again.
Voice low, Dean said, “Sam we’ve been out here for six hours and we got nothing. I’m tired, I’m wet, I’m cold, and I’ve got a twisted my ankle. Let’s not forget our three-mile walk out of here and it’s getting dark. We need to come back tomorrow.” Sam knew if Dean was complaining, the ankle was worse than he was letting on, and he didn’t disagree with his brother’s assessment of the situation.
“Yeah. Are you up to taking a slightly roundabout way back. It will help us cover a bit more area.”
Dean nodded his agreement, and they began the trek back, Dean limping slightly. Dean kept his gun out and darted his eyes from side to side, until they started moving again. The further they moved towards the car, the looser Sam felt, tension dropping from muscles held too tight. Shortly after that, Dean stored his gun and Sam took it as a signal to do the same.
When they paused for another water break, Sam saw Dean’s pinched lips. His skin was pale, and when Sam grabbed his wrist, Dean’s skin was clammy to the touch. Anger flashed through Sam that Dean couldn’t just tell him he was hurting.
When they started to move again, Sam threw Dean’s arm over his shoulder to keep any additional pressure off his ankle.
“Dude - “ Deans started to protest.
“Shut it.” Sam cut him off.
The tightness left Dean’s body as the places where they touched began to warm. Dean’s body heat soaked into Sam too, making him feel more relaxed than he had been since this case began.
All Dean could think about by the time they got back to the hotel was a shower and bed. He was so tired he let Sam drive on the way back, while he drifted in and out of sleep, the irritation of his ankle keeping him from nodding off completely.
Sam insisted Dean take first shower while he called for pizza. Pizza was there when he got out and he ate a couple of slices that mostly remind him of cardboard. Dean blinked when Sam’s hand cupped his shoulder, realizing he’d fallen asleep. Dean scowled up into his brother’s contrite face.
Sam said, “Sorry. Need to check the ankle and want you to ice it if we’re going back out there tomorrow.”
When Sam moved his hand around to the middle of Dean’s shoulders to help him up, Dean snapped, “Geez Sam, not an invalid here.”
Dean regretted it almost instantly as he saw the hurt look cross Sam’s face before he shuttered it away. He thought he could still feel the warm impression of Sam’s hand on his back as he sat up.
Dean lifted his foot, and Sam held it in his lap, releasing the binding from earlier. Sam’s fingers drifted over his skin, pressing gently. It was tender but hadn’t swollen up any more. Dean watched as Sam’s thumb glided across his arch, tracing the scar Dean had received when they were on a Selkie hunt. Dean had been entranced by her human form and pulled into the water against his will. Sam had found her skin and burned it, but not before Dean has gotten his foot sliced by something on the bottom of the lake. The cut had been deep enough that Sam had needed to stitch it up. Sam thumbed over the scar that wasn’t, one more time and then they were both looking at the other, before suddenly pulling away.
Sam got Dean an ice pack, and Dean made himself not say something spiteful when Sam pulled up the covers to Dean’s chin, tucking him in like a child. Sam left to take his own shower. The drum of the water was relaxing. The last thing Dean remembered before falling asleep was the stroke of Sam’s thumb, thoughtful and tender across his instep.
Dean woke suddenly, something in the dream bringing him from sleep to wide-eyed heart-thudding wakefulness. Dean tried to remember, thought there was something important about the dream. All that was left was just impressions, crystalline colors shot through with sunlight, wings and miles of naked skin. His dick was hard enough to actually hurt. He couldn’t remember being this turned on in a very long time, something in the dream, touching, tasting, flesh and a rising desire.
Dean figured he just head into the shower and take care of it. He crawled out of bed, desperate not to wake Sam. He wasn’t exactly sure why, morning wood wasn’t uncommon and they’d both dealt with it, but this time he wanted to get by unnoted.
As Dean crept between the beds, Sam’s hand shot out and closed around his wrist and it burned against his skin. Dean barely held back his whimper and hoped Sam would think the small sound that did escape was about his ankle.
“You okay, Dean?”
Dean’s mind shuffled, wondering if Sam had heard him dreaming. The flush rose over his chest and face and he was thankful for the still dark morning. Sam pulled lightly to get his attention.
Overreacting and frantic to get away, Dean nearly shouted, “Get off me Sam.” Pulling away he rushed into the bathroom and shut the door.
Dean turned on the shower, waiting impatiently for the temperature to reach the almost punishing heat he preferred. Seconds after the water started to beat across his skin, Dean put one hand against the cool tile and wrapped the other around his cock. He moved his hand hard and fast knowing he wouldn’t last long. Stroke up and tight squeeze at the crown as the dream fragments of feather touches and slick skin ran through his head. Flick of the thumb over the slit and back down as pictures of muscles rippling under skin passed his eyelids. Then one final pull, the ghost of Sam’s fingers on his wrist bringing him off.
It was too early to wake Sam after he got out of the shower, so Dean iced the ankle again and turned on the TV, watching the silent images flicker over the screen. He sipped his way through two cups of coffee as the sun slowly slanted through the break in the curtain. Sun, something to be thankful for, no tramping around in the rain today.
Dean watched the hazy buttered light sneak over Sam. His brother’s face buried in his pillow, eyelashes fanned against his cheeks. Then, hazel eyes stared into his, and Dean smiled.
“Morning, sunshine.” All Dean got in return was a mumbled something and one arm thrown up to block the sun. Dean hummed as Sam finally rolled out of bed and into the bathroom. Dean was buzzing a little as he went for coffee number three and Sam dressed.
Sam asked, “How’s the ankle?”
“Good enough that I think we can finish the first grid today.”
“You need me to rewrap it?
Dean weighed the advantages of having the bandage done up tighter versus his discomfort with having Sam touch him. He was still freaked out about the dream, but a guy couldn’t help what he thought in the shower, right? It wasn’t like he planned it. It was just the lingering dream, nothing else.
Dean finally decided that better now than Sam have to half carry him because he couldn’t make the three mile hike back out. “Yeah, good idea.”
Sam smiled; it struck Dean that Sam wanted to help him, that it made Sam feel good to be the one doing the helping. Sam made quick work of it this time, no lingering touches, for which Dean couldn’t decide if he was grateful or disappointed.
The walk in was easier. They were within a hundred yards of where they’d finished the day before when Sam spotted it, near a copse of Sycamores and Cottonwoods, large mushrooms in a ring about six feet in width. Suddenly Sam felt the creeping sensation from the day before return. Before he could say anything, both Sam and Dean came to a stand still, quiet, without thought or motion.
There they were, the two brother hunters, prey, pretties.
This time she wouldn’t miss.
Careful, she wove the wind in strands, glamour and magic spun from the earth.
First, the tall one struck blind, frozen out of time and space.
Next, take the other. Interlopers weren’t allowed to play without price.
Part 2